My chest heaves, and my throat tightens. I should look away. I should leave.
I cannot.
The gray of his eyes leans to black in the low streetlight. Rain droplets glide along his long lashes as he searches my face, and I want so badly to lift my fingers to his face and brush them away.
“Please, stay.” His voice breaks, and I let out a small gasp, but I don’t reply.
For a moment too long, his words hang between us, full of promise that things could be different. And it’s terrifying how every part of my bodywantsthem to be different. But how long until this promise turns into poison?
When I take a while to answer, Sylas clears his throat. I immediately step back, my ears burning with embarrassment. There’s a single truth between him and me: I am a Mortemagi. He’s an Aspieri.
The drive to Priya’s house in Riverview is quiet—the overseer didn’t give us any explanation as to why we’re heading to the Principal Grand Master’s personal house, rather than to the Grand House at DOTS, but the sun also hasn’t risen yet.
Sylas’s leg fidgets against mine, and I place a hand on his knee, in reassurance or annoyance, or maybe a bit of both.
After what seemed like an hour, the car halts, and we get out in silence.I look around, an ominous feeling crawling down my spine. I never expected my first time in Riverview to be for my judgment.
Something is deeply wrong about this place. The buildings are tall, streetlights line the pavement in nauseatingly even spaces, and even the slabs of concrete are precisely cut to maintain the symmetry. What’s even more unnatural is that all the houses look alike, with the same black roofs, same white exterior, same white gate, and same small red mailbox. All… except for the one in front of us.
This two-story house extends over two lots, with a garden that makes my own look like a child’s playground. Under the shy glow of the street-light, a row of blue flowers glints with pride. My eyes widen, and I blink hard. They’re growing the rarest of all roses: the diamond blue. Nan would’ve lost her mind. If she were here, she would’ve knocked on their door and asked them a million questions about how they managed to grow such a temperamental species in Riverview, given that it shares Albion’s weather.
Overseer Paltro unlocks the white gate, furtively glancing around. He moves across the garden like a fugitive, ushering the four of us forward. At the black oak door, he knocks twice, then thrice, then once more. A single lamp hangs to the right of the entrance, illuminating the worried wrinkles of the overseer’s face.
The door opens, and my stomach drops.
Priya Parrish stands in front of us, wrapped in a thick, black shawl over a long black skirt, her eyebrows pulled into a scowl that makes the God of Death seem less scary.
Once we’re all inside, she gingerly closes the door. “My aging parents are sleeping upstairs, so I will say this as calmly as possible.” She rubs her temple and glares at the four of us, still huddled by the door. “What were you thinking? You have breached one fundamental law and at least two Gorhail rules.”
“Neither Gorhail nor DOTS would have known we were gone if Lyria hadn’t told Paltro.”
“Mr. Archyr, I would zip my mouth if I were you. Had your sister not informed your uncle, you would’ve been arrested the moment you set foot back at Gorhail.” Priya darts into a room on our left, grabbing a thick raincoat. “Whatwould your explanation have been for two previously dead students walking around?”
Sylas’s eyes flick to mine, then he lowers his head without saying a word. I’ve never seen him so submissive before. I hadn’t considered the aftermath of Dearly Departed if we were caught, and now that I’m under Priya’s terrifying stare, I realize just how reckless we’ve all been.
Priya studies me for a beat, then her calculating eyes shift to Overseer Paltro. “Thank you for reaching out to me before notifying the rest of the Grand House, Rodric.” She hands him the raincoat. “As agreed upon, youwillcome with me to DOTS, and youwilltestify that you hired a rogue Mortemagi to resurrect Beau Cardot and Victor Carver.”
Overseer Paltro gives her a curt nod. “I will say it’s connected to the Grimm copycat investigation. Your orders or—”
“Mine.” She takes one step toward Sylas, and he glances down at her, his brows furrowed. Her eyes scrutinize him for a moment, then in a menacingly low tone, she says, “I am only sparing you from prison because of your ‘valuable contribution’ to the Grimm task force.”
Stepping away from Sylas, she sighs at Overseer Paltro, and something tells me thereisno valuable contribution, and neither is there a Grimm task force. I wonder if they’ll establish one now.
“Well, then.” The overseer looks me up and down, then clasps his hands together, and I begin to unravel the power play between him and Priya. He seems to be usingmeas leverage to keep Sylas out of trouble. My gaze trails to Priya; she’s going to great lengths for the Corvi cuff.
“Sylas, you’re drafted to Firstline immediately,” Overseer Paltro orders. “Riverview Division. You’ll return to Gorhail this morning, pack your bags, and leave right away.”
Sylas’s head snaps to me, his worried gaze lingering a second too long. It moves something in me, because in that single second, I realize I’m not ready for him to leave Gorhail, and as one second stretches into the next, it becomes clearer that I don’t want him to leaveme.
“Uncle…” he starts, but Overseer Paltro’s death stare shuts him up. We all stand in silence for a moment, the four of us huddled next to one another—Victor leaning against the entryway wall by the door, Sylas a statue between us, and Beau restless on my right.
“Cardot and Carver.” Priya eyes them with a quiet menace. “Which one of you orchestrated this? A Mortemagi as green as Viola shouldn’t even know about resurrections.”
I drown out her words, because my attention is drawn to a photographon the mantel. A younger Priya, an older couple whom I assume are her parents, and a woman shorter than Priya with shoulder-length black hair. I wonder if this was the sister she told me about on my first night at Gor-hail, the one who was in the same year as my father.
“Miss Corvi,” Priya says, jerking my attention back to the small foyer in which we stand. I freeze. “What in Death’s name possessed you to carry out not one but two resurrections? Andhowdid you do it?”
A ghost. Does she know I anchored to a ghost? Gods, save me from the madness about to descend upon me if she finds out.