Page 97 of Find My Way Down to You

I pick at the threads of my bracelet. Think of every time London told me one of his plans. For himself. Forus. All the times he told me to get serious and stop dreaming.

He was right. Wasn’t he?

“Hewaswrong.”

Cary’s words hit like a slap. The tourists descend the stairwell, and I yank free of his hand. I stand, glaring at him.

“You don’t know him,” I spit.

“Of course not,” he agrees. “But I know you let one mortal’s opinion change who you are.”

Anger thunders in me, loud and reverberating. It’s the sound of After August pounding on his cage. Demanding to be let out.

“He wasn’t just ‘one mortal’!” I snap.He was everything.

Cary gets to his feet. “August, I am—”

“You have no clue what it means to be one of us,” I cut in. “All you do is guide souls. How could you possibly understand what losing him did to me?”

I hate how my voice breaks.

I hate it. I hate it.I hate it.

“You’re aDeathless,” I say venomously. “You don’t have to care about anything else.”

His face hardens. Mouth tight, narrowed eyes flecked ingold. For a long time, he’s quiet. The breeze changes direction. His scent fills my nose, a sugared contrast to his sour expression.

Suddenly, he stretches his hand in my direction, palm up. “Come with me.”

I flinch back. “Come with you?” A humorless snort jolts me. “Is this a joke?”

“No.”

“Go with youwhere?”

Is he taking me back to Aides? To Milos? Is Cary powerful enough to end my life and banish me to the Abyss?

In a blink, the lines around his mouth turn soft. The golden wrath has faded from his eyes. “Time for me to show you what it really means to be the ferrier.”

14

Rancid bile swirlsin my throat, choking me.

I double over, hands on my knees, swallowing. The stinging taste makes my eyes water. My legs shake. This is nothing like traveling to Aides. It’s disorienting in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

“Breathe,” Cary instructs.

Much easier said than done.

I cough, then force myself to take long breaths in through my nose. A minute passes before the spinning stops. When I raise my head, the world comes into clear focus.

We’re not in Santa Barbara. Or the underworld.

Nightfall coats the sky black. A city spills out before me. The roads are lined with long rows of buildings. Pubs and shops that shift from brick to white to vibrant blue. A red double-decker bus passes.

“Where are we?”

Casually, Cary says, “Soho. London.”