Page 41 of In Death's Hands
I may not be lonely now, but I am struggling to grasp everything that happened today. It’s still vividly replaying over and over in my head, as if looking for a way to be understood, to make sense. And now, with what Nathan has shared, I feel even more on edge. There’s a buzzing beneath my skin that has nothing to do with the adrenaline I felt today, and everything to do with the mundane veil of my life tearing apart. “Who are the Fates then, if they’re not women?”
“We only remember the barest details about them, but we know that the powerful trio is made up of a female, a male and a being that is both and neither. They are balance, in everything they are and do.”
“What do you mean, from what you remember?” I ask as I turn to face him again. “You speak both as if you know them and as if they’re a myth for you too.”
Nodding slowly, he answers me quietly. “That’s where things get complicated.”
“Oh, we’re looking at complicated in the rear-view mirror.”
There’s a slight tug at his lips before he turns serious again. “You know that we woke up in that cave, without memories. But we do know a few things, enough to function. Call it atavism, inner truth, intuition. Whatever name you want to put to it, the result is the same. We know the Fates exist the same way we knew what roles we had to carry in this world. The same way you know how to breathe. But as…” He hesitates for a second, looks at me deeply and takes a breath. “As Death’s assistant, I canseethat they are real.”
“How?”
“I see their threads.”
My breath gets stuck in my lungs. “You see their threads?”
He nods. “When someone is dying, their threads will shine brighter, making them unmistakable before they disappear.”
I feel something big coming and lean against the windows. Their coolness allows me to ask the next question. “Can you see them all the time, or only when someone is close to death?”
“They’re not as obvious if the person is not close to their end. But yes.” He nods, his eyes anchored on mine, watching my every reaction. “If I focus, I should be able to see them.”
I swallow, panic grabbing at my throat and begging me not to ask the next question. “Can you see mine?”
He starts shaking his head and my knees weaken. He seems in pain himself but still answers, “No.”
I nod, as if what he said makes perfect sense. In a way, I’m not even surprised. I’ve been living from bad news to bad news, from accident to accident. What’s one more fucked-up thing on my list? Sure, there’s panic in the background, but it’s muted by years and years of weariness. I’m so damned tired of it all.
I think I’m still nodding as I make my way to the coffee table. I hear my name, still in the background, and don’t bother answering. What’s the point?
I find the panel I saw Nathan use and push it open. Inside is a pretty bottle, filled with a liquid that is sure to make me feel something. When I take it out, the glass sparkles and I notice for the first time that Nathan started a fire. When did that happen? I’ve been so focused on him since I met him that the rest of my world seems blurry.
Who could blame me? He’s tall, dark and handsome. And by dark I don’t mean he’s got a dark complexion or dark hair, although he does, and I keep wanting to bury my fingers in the soft-looking strands. No. He’s literally Death’s assistant. What’s darker than that? What I can’t wrap my head around is how Death’s assistant keeps saving my life. Isn’t it against the rules or something? Don’t they have a quota to fill? But instead of reaping my soul, like I’m sure is in the job description, this man has been by my side for some of the worst moments of my life. And we’ve known each other for just a few days. I want to say that it’s his proximity that has turned my life upside down, but come on, no one would believe me at this point…
I pour a generous amount of the golden drink into a matching glass and take a large sip. It’s like the fire reaches out a hand to accompany the liquid down my throat. I’m not a big drinker. Sure, I like to go out and party with Joana. I’ve learned long ago to enjoy everything I can, while I can. But I’ve never liked the fuzziness from drinking taking over. I like my mind aware of what could happen to me; I don’t need to tempt fate and invite disasters—they have too easy a time finding me as it is.
“Liv.”
Ah, my name made it out of the background haze. I turn to Nathan, who’s hovering near me with a worried look etched on his perfect features. Only the heat at my back makes me realise how close I’ve got to the fire.
Gently—hesitantly—he reaches out. With his hand on my cheek, his thumb creates a burning path down my cheekbone. I am wholly frozen to the moment. My eyes are fixed on his, wondering how such darkness can even exist. And yet, within the seemingly endless black pit within him, a light shines through. A gold thread reaching out of the despair.
I wonder where that strange thought came from, but his touch, the intensity with which he looks at me, like he can see so deep within me that there is no need for skin to cover my soul, makes it disappear like smoke in the wind.
His senses come back too quickly for my liking, and he removes his hand like I burned him. Maybe I did. Maybe he did feel the fire rising rapidly within me.
He turns away, his hand flexing at his side as he stares and stares into the fire. WhileIstare athim. I mourn the loss of his touch, and I wonder why that is when I’ve only just met him. Trauma bonding feels like something one of my therapists wouldsay, but what do I care? Have them meet Death’s assistant and then I’ll listen to their sound reasoning.
I didn’t dream that fire on my skin… or deep within me, awoken by his touch. I’ve never felt anything like it. I wonder if he felt the same. Maybe it’s part of his arsenal as Death’s assistant. Coming directly from him and his… abilities.
Abilities that allow him to see that my threads are missing. The thought comes back with a vengeance.
“Why aren’t I dead?”
“What?”
When he turns to me again, he seems shocked. The fire I’m certain we both felt mere seconds ago is entirely snuffed out, replaced by what looks like fear in his eyes. I admit that I gavemyselfwhiplash, but with the crap-fest in my head, it’s no wonder I’m jumping from one thought to the next. It’s frankly a miracle I make any sense at all.
