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“If that's your next question, then no, I don't. If this has happened before, then explain.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table.
“In the 20s people started turning up dead like Lily. There were eight cases in total, mostly undetermined deaths, but there were suicides, too. The police started to enforce curfew. Turns out, a few resurrection coins made it into the wrong hands.”
He sits back. “Where did you get a resurrection coin?”
I can pretty much guess what he means by resurrection coins—the things I make with the thread. “I don't even know what that is.”
Thane studies me for a moment. He doesn't blink. I wonder if he knows how uncomfortable his eyes make me, if he knows the paleness of his skin makes his lips look freshly bitten.
“Resurrection coins give a person the ability to resurrect or Exchange a person’s soul. They're distinct, having an image of a raven on one side and nothing on the back. Symbolism, I think—but the idea is that it's also a one-way ticket into Spirit. It’s illegal to be in possession of one unless you are the Eurydice, but one will pop up now and again and cause havoc for the Order—case in point,” he indicated to me.
The Order.
So, my hunters have a name.
He continues, “They'll want to know where you got the coin, too.”
Well. I definitely can’t say I have a whole box full under my bed. Thane leans over the table again.
“You want to know what I think?” He asks.
“No.”
“I think you make them.”
I scoff. “You think I make resurrection coins?”
He nods. “If I'm right, you had better be prepared, because the Order's after you, Eurydice.”
I shiver involuntarily. It's the words he uses—after you, not looking for you. It implies a hunt. That's exactly how I felt the last few months, hunted.
“What did you just call me? Eurydice?” I ask.
“It's your title,” he says. “The name of the one who can turn souls into coins and offer them safe passage into Spirit.”
“It's not my title. I'm not Eurydice,” I counter.
He shrugs. “You say tomato, I say to-mah-to. A resurrection coin means two things: you either got it from the black market, or you created it. So far, you have demonstrated virtually no knowledge of the death-speaker world, so forgive me for coming to the alternate conclusion that you are the Eurydice.”
I uncurl myself from my position in the booth and lean forward. Wiping sweaty palms on my jeans. I need to know more about the Eurydice without giving myself away. “You said the Eurydice can turn souls into coins, that she's supposed to offer safe passage into Spirit. How?”
“She summons the Adamantine Gates and offers the coin to Charon, the gatekeeper.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait,” I say, holding up my hands. This is too much. “Charon? The ferryman from Greek myth?”
“The very one. Except he’s not a ferryman. He’s a gatekeeper. Always has been, always will be.”
I stare at Thane for what seems like an eternity, waiting for him say this is all a joke.
“I can't really blame them for looking for you, really,” Thane says. “You've been gone so long...you're practically responsible for creating Influence.”
Influence. The thing that possessed Gage and the thing that corrupted my poppa. I can’t be responsible for that.
“What?” I realize Thane's already calling me the Eurydice. For now, I'm going to let it go in favor of learning more. “How?”
“You didn't incarnate for seventy years. Lost souls can't move into Spirit so they just stay. You know what their energy is like. It does crazy things to people, it feeds darklings—monsters—and death-speaker magic. It also spawns new darklings, like Influence.”
