"Is he?"
"He said he'd come back."
"He said a lot of things."
She reached out and touched my hand. Her fingers were cold. Cold and dry and papery, like something that had been dead for a long time.
"He said he loved me. He said I was perfect. He said I was the only one who understood him. And then he left. Just like he left you."
"He didn't leave. He was taken."
"Is that what you tell yourself?"
"It's what I know."
"Do you know it? Or do you just need to believe it?"
I pulled my hand away.
"Why are you here?"
"I told you. I know where he is."
"Then take me to him."
"Are you sure you want to go?"
"I've been hunting him for weeks. I've killed people for him. I've—"
"I know what you've done."
Her eyes were hollow, but something flickered in them. Something that might have been sympathy. Or pity. Or hunger.
"I've been watching you. Following you. Waiting for the right moment."
"You're the shadow."
"One of them."
"There are others?"
"There are always others."
She stood up. Her stool scraped against the floor, a sound like fingernails on a chalkboard.
"Come with me. I'll take you to him."
"I don't trust you."
"You don't have to trust me. You just have to follow me."
"And if it's a trap?"
"Then you'll kill me. The way you've killed everyone else who got in your way."
She walked toward the door.
I followed.
