She flinched, a cry trapping in her throat as their head tilted in interest.
It felt soreal.
Surely, they couldn’t see her. No one ever could. Even Death Seers were only usually visible to the person or creature that was dying. But this …
Bells raised her chin the way she’d seen Nicole do. ‘C-can you see me?’
They dipped their head slightly, then turned back to the body.
‘Are you … dead?’ she managed, mouth dry, heart tapping in her ears so loud she wasn’t sure she’d hear a response. ‘What are you doing?’
They chuckled – a simple huff. ‘No. But you shouldn’t be here, little one.’
A neutral voice. Unfamiliar. Dark.
Bells stared as they cupped something invisible above the body then stepped aside to let whatever it was drift towards the coiling darkness suspended behind them.
A soul, Bells realised.
They had probably taken the creature’s soul.
Bells risked a step closer. ‘Why am I here?’
The hooded figure glanced to her once more. ‘I think you should start to figure that out, don’t you?’
Without another word, they stepped back into the dark mist and disappeared. It spiralled up, looking for a moment like a stampede of those mythic deathless horses of the Hunt, before evaporating into the night and the distant sounds of the city.
Then, she was alone again.
With death, with blood.
And the remnants of the Wild Hunt spiralling in the air.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Dylan
DYLAN SWALLOWED A MOUTHFUL OF AMBERLIQUID, ITSalcoholic bite and syrupy scent burning the whole way down. He was more used to cheap shots and beer, even a decent glass of his father’s wines, than this. But he poured himself another anyway.
He knew Verin didn’t drink it. ‘Honestly, my boy? I just like the look of it,’ the Vampire had claimed when Dylan had asked him about the little trays of drinks about the house, considering he couldn’t digest human foods any more.
‘Tell me something about you,’ Dylan tried, turning to Callum.
The Empyreal arched a brow and glanced around as if waiting for a punchline.
He didn’t offer one, merely met Callum’s simmering gaze.
‘I’m intrigued. There. That’s something.’
Dylan couldn’t figure out this art conspiracy; he couldn’t even remember his own damn memories without breaking into a sweat. But getting tangled up in the lies and truths of Callum? This was something he could fight, could use to purge all this pent-up worry.
He needed another focus point or he was going to snap. And the lifeline he kept with sheer will had been strands away from dropping him into an abyss for weeks.
‘I mean somethingaboutyou,’ Dylan said. ‘Is your real name Callum?’
‘What do you think?’ he asked, sauntering back to his seat.
‘If I thought it was, I wouldn’t ask.’
