Page 138 of Demon Touched

Leah

Istare at the fancy seal on the envelope in my hand, trying to make out the crest embedded in the scarlet wax.

“Who’s that from?” Syrus asks, sliding onto the bed behind me.

“I don’t know.” I frown, holding the envelope out so Syrus can see it better. It was delivered half an hour ago by one of Strickland’s staff, along with some refreshments. “I can’t imagine who would send me something that looks so official.”

Syrus pulls me a little closer so I’m flush against his chest. He’s been like this for the last few days, wanting to be right next to me at every moment. I’m not complaining, of course. I just hope it means Syrus is trying to show me there was no tension about the discovery of my new powers. The other option is that he’s freaking out over them, and he’s soaking up what he sees as our last hours together before our inevitable doom.

Either way, we haven’t properly talked about it yet, though we danced around the subject a little when I told Syrus that Strickland wants my help with the collateral. But this morning, when I was washing my face and thinking aloud about going down to see the collateral again, he’d muttered something in Cyrax.

“You’re always going somewhere I can’t follow.”

I didn’t think he could be talking about the restricted part of the Assembly building. But before I could ask what he actually meant, he’d disappeared under the guise of finding one of the staff to clear our breakfast things.

As it is, I’ve not had a chance to examine the Mantle or the Dawnheart again. Strickland obviously doesn’t want me messing around with them alone, and he’s been especially busy. Apparently, his opponent Jaxon has been giving him some trouble, and there’ve been political fires to put out.

Now, as Syrus and I look at the letter in my hand with him wrapped around me, I wonder if this desire for closeness is because he fears it too—the distance that’s naturally developed between us now we’re no longer linked.

Syrus drops his lips to my bare shoulder, kissing it lightly, and I close my eyes, wishing that everything was simpler.

“Well, this might sound a little radical,” Syrus says teasingly. “But you could always open the letter and find out who sent it.”

I roll my eyes and nudge him in the ribs with my elbow before sliding my finger under the edge of the seal and breaking it open.

The letterhead displays the crest more clearly, over a company name: Gailraithe and Sons Solicitors.

It means nothing to me, but I keep scanning down the neatly written message.

Dear Mrs. Reed, Chief Assemblyman Strickland has been kind enough to…

“It’s from Hathwell’s solicitors,” I blurt out before I’ve even gotten to the end. “They say Strickland told them I was staying here.”

Syrus’s arm tightens a little around my waist. “I suppose after you told him your real name, he was bound to do a background check on you.”

He’s right. Strickland isn’t reckless, and it makes sense he put feelers out about me, especially if he’s going to trust me with the collateral. It just feels strange to know those feelers ended up with Hathwell’s lawyers.

“What do they want?” Syrus prompts. “Are they asking about Hathwell’s death?”

“No,” I shake my head. “Not directly.” The letter is very restrained, written in crisp lawyerly language which diplomatically doesn’t mention how strange it is I’ve been missing since before Hathwell turned up dead. “They just say they’ve been looking to get in contact with me to settle his estate.”

I pause, having to re-read the next words of the letter.

“Apparently, Hathwell didn’t leave any will, and so everything—the house, his fortune, the shares in his father’s businesses—it all goes to me.”

Syrus has been running his fingers gently up my side; now they go still.

“That’s good news,” he says. “Isn’t it?”

“I suppose.” I exhale. “It’s just…I wasn’t really his wife, was I?”

“The man tried to kill you, Leah. Making you a rich woman is the least he can do in death.” On the surface, Syrus’s words are encouraging, but there’s a slight hollowness beneath them.

Syrus is right, though—with Hathwell’s fortune, I am a rich woman now, and that changes things.

It’s been a while since I thought of my old plans of building an independent life in Strata. But it turns out dreams dreamt so fiercely and nurtured for so long don’t just disappear. Even when they go dormant, they’re always ready to resurface when given the chance.

That’s what I feel now, re-reading the letter. With my shares in Reed Mills, I’m automatically a part of a guild—a license is a given, and I’d have enough money to live solidly, quietly, and never worry about work. I could look after Evie and Jeremy, Hodges and his family…everyone I care about here in Strata.