Page 62 of Between Life and Death

When I was satisfied with my restoration, I left the ghosts in my room and headed over to Harper’s and Lyra’s chambers, knocking first.

“Come in,” Harper called out, her voice muffled through the door.

When I entered, I found Harper stretched out on the bed, lying on her stomach. Lyra sat cross-legged on the other side, a set of cards in her hands. She waved at me, offering a kind smile.

I smiled back. “Hi, Lyra.”

Harper plucked a card from the stack sitting in front of them before she turned and looked at me. “I didn’t think you were actually going to go back.” She gestured to my outfit with her free hand. “But apparently you are.”

“He might come back. I have to try again.” I sat on the edge of the bed.

“It’s foolish, Sage. What if he figured out you drugged him? Can you imagine what the king’s advisor, of all people, will do to you? He’ll have you thrown in jail and hung before noon!” she exclaimed as she threw down two cards, the game they played foreign to me.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I said, watching as Lyra played her hand.

Harper sighed in defeat, chucking her cards onto the bed. “Fine, but you aren’t doing this alone. Give me five to get ready.”

“You don’t have to. I’m the one who created this mess.”

She looked me dead in the eye. “Yeah, you kinda did. But I’m not going to make you clean it up alone.” She leapt from the bed and headed towards the bathing room.

I helped Lyra clean up the cards, and before long, Harper stepped out from the bathing room wearing a little orange number that set her dark skin aglow. With her hair braided and pulled up into a ponytail, she shot me a thumbs-up. “Alright, I’m ready to go.”

I nodded, grabbed our fur coats, and the three of us headed downstairs.

Ryker sighed when he saw us. “Not you too.”

Harper and I exchanged confused glances. “What do you mean?” I asked him.

“Von just headed to the bathhouse.” He gestured to us. “Judging by the officialwe’re going to thebathhousecoats, you two are as well.”

“Wait, what?” I blurted out. “Why is Von going to the bathhouse?”

“He’s going to try to track down the whereabouts of the king’s advisor,” Ryker said, rubbing the stubble on his jaw, rough finger pads sounding against the short bristles.

I highly doubted Von was going to dress up in a skimpy little outfit and entertain the men. Which meant he was going to use another tactic.

I had a feeling it involved force.

“We gotta go.” I looked down, reaching for Harper’s hand.

That was when I noticed it—the tattoo. A delicate, thorny vine started at my wrist and slithered up and around my forearm.

What in the Spirit Realm was that?

The errant breeze plucked at my hair, mussing it as we ran down the soaked stone streets towards the bathhouse. The smell of fresh rain, decomposing leaves, and wet soil painted the air with heavy brush strokes. The droplets swirled and twirled as they gently rained down, and although they did not pound with ferocity, it was the constant, steady trickle that left us soaked and cold—the temperature low enough that it felt like winter was stirring awake.

Ducking inside, I shook off the water droplets that had yet to soak into my clothes, my teeth chattering.

Harper’s painted lips quivered, her makeup smeared, her hair clinging to her head. I imagined I looked no better. I groaned, realizing I would have to do my hair and makeup for the third time today.

“Where have you two been?” screeched a woman’s voice with the tenacity of a vulture. The madame stepped out from the shadowy claim of the stark hallway. She jerked the bronze candlestick upright, casting the deep planes in her face in a harsh glow, illuminating her age. Her hair, which was typically neatly piled on top of her head, looked a bit more sporadic tonight, some forgotten wisps falling loosely by her neck.

Two hulking men stood behind her—that could not be good.

“We were sick,” Harper lied, her hands rubbing her arms, chasing away the bitter cold.

“You two better have been deathly ill. I received word from neither of you explaining that you would be away. Do you know that I had to ask some of the girls to work double shifts? Do you think that is fair?” she scolded us like she had just found us with our hands in the cookie jar. In some strange way, it almost came across as . . . motherly.

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