Page 36 of Mortal Things

“Anyone else?” Katie asks.

Esrell raises his glass. “Here, here,” he calls out.

“Me too!” calls out another Harbinger, one of Jewel’s. The goddess of Wealth.

Katie smiles as they bicker, then rests her eyes on me. “What about you, Regent-Elect?”

I blush as attention shifts onto me. “No, thanks.”

She shrugs and glances toward Étienne, who’s leaning his elbows against his knees and watching everyone’s antics. At her look, he lifts his eyebrow and gives her a smile of amusement.

“Yes?” he says.

Katie saunters over to him. “You seem reluctant to join in, Regent,” she says with a curious smile. “How odd. You usually enjoy this.”

“You know I’m always fond of you,” he replies.

She stops before him, then looks down and grabs his chin with her hand, tilting his face up to her. Then she places her other hand on the side of his face, and bends down to kiss him deeply on the mouth.

Everyone whoops loudly. A tingle shoots through my body at the sight, and my ring turns warm. For some reason, I find myself averting my gaze, wrinkling my nose as if it’s a detestable sight. My cheeks burn. In my mind, I’m suddenly revisiting my dream, of the way he’d kissed me to save me from drowning.

Katie pulls away from Étienne and releases his chin. He gives her a courteous smile but says nothing, and at his silence, her grin widens in surprise.

“Ah!” she exclaims. “This is new. No wonder he didn’t ask.” A grin spreads on her face as she looks around at the others. “The Regent’s heart belongs to another.”

The others burst into a round of whistles and shouts, while he just gives them a secret smile without acknowledging Katie’s observation.

My heart is pounding, although I don’t know why. Harbingers of Love are never wrong about their guesses of someone’s affections, but I neither know nor care who she’s talking about. Maybe Étienne has fallen harder for the girl from the bar than I thought.

As the others fall into raucous chatter again, Étienne scoots close enough to whisper in my ear. The warmth of his breath sends shivers racing down my spine. I brace myself for some sort of joke about Katie’s conclusion, but instead, he murmurs, “Come with me. Don’t make it look concerning. I need your help.”

I frown at him, wondering if he’s trying to trick me, but he’s already risen from his seat and is leaving the booth without a second glance. I hesitate a moment, looking back toward where the others are still shouting and laughing over Katie’s game. Then I mutter a swear under my breath and hurry after him.

He’s too fast. By the time I catch up with him, he’s already downstairs at the end of the steps.

My retort is ready for him. “You’d better have a good reason for dragging me all the way—”

My words are abruptly cut off as he clamps a hand over my mouth. A flash of indignation shoots through me, and I’m about to slap his hand away when he puts a finger against his lips and nods down the hall past the bathrooms.

I swallow my retort and look with him. There’s the feeling of something wrong down here, the dark instinct I get whenever a Wraith is nearby. He can’t sense or track them, but I, a Harbinger of Death, can.

His hand slips away from my mouth, leaving my skin tingling in its wake. I give him a questioning look. “A Wraith’s here,” I whisper, so quietly that I can barely hear myself.

He nods silently, as if relieved for my confirmation.

“But they’re harmless,” I whisper, trying not to think about the gathering of crow-like creatures I’d seen at my first test.

“Follow me,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowed at the hallway before us. He takes my hand as he goes, his fingers laced together with my own, guiding me along behind him.

He leads me down the corridor until we reach the bathrooms. We push past a cluster of people giggling before one of the doors, but as soon as we step inside, I freeze.

It’s empty in here. My eyes go immediately to the farthest stall from us. Its door is ajar, and across the surface is a set of deep slashes illuminated under fluorescent blue light, the grooves so vicious that I can see the back wall through the narrow gaps in the wood. The cuts run all the way from the top of the door to the bottom.

When I glance questioningly at Étienne, as if he might explain to me what it is, he walks closer to the stall and nods at the floor. I follow him. As I draw near, I see what he’s pointing out.

Streaked across the blue tiles is a faint smear of blood.

Every instinct rises up in my body. I want to tell Étienne that it could be from anything, especially in a club late at night. A brawl, a fight, a bloody nose, someone slipping when drunk and cutting themselves.