“They would have that form had I reached them sooner,” he said. “They’re eager to pass, and traveling is simpler as a soul. Spirits are weighed down by the emotions and memories they cling to. Spirits linger, souls pass on.”
“Pass on to… here?”
Wherever they were, it wasn’t Thorn Grove. They’d crossed over into a place where time stood still. Signa was glad she no longer had to breathe, for the air here was too thick. It sat upon the base of her throat, making it impossible to swallow. She stumbled over soil as Death pulled her ahead. The farther they pressed forward, the antsier the souls around them became. They no longer hovered so tightly around Death but rushed ahead before inching back, fearful of getting lost in the forming mist.
They came to a magnificent blue-and-white bridge built over an endless lake. Though it was covered by fog, the sheer number of souls that were crossing over shone a hazy light upon it.
Some floated along in small spheres while others shifted back into their spirit selves, hurrying through the throng toward the call of something wonderful that waited for them on the other side. Something that Signa felt deep in her core, warm and rich and consuming.
She started to follow them, needing to find out what it was, but Death gripped her tightly. “Cross that bridge and you’ll no longer be of this world,” he warned her. “It’s not your time.”
They sat upon the bank of the lake, watching the souls from a distance.
It’d been ages since she’d visited a church, and she didn’t remember any lessons about the afterlife. She’d always believed it was a dark, lonely place. But whatever resided beyond the bridge didn’t feel like an end-all—it felt like a beginning. Like a journey beckoning to be taken. “What happens once you cross?”
“There are many possibilities.” He loosened his grip and leaned back to watch her. Perhaps it was to avoid spooking the spirits, but Death was softer here. “Some souls choose to give up the memories of their life on Earth and to be reborn as someone new. Others keep their memories and remain in the afterlife, awaiting those they left behind.”
“What of those who do not live a just life?” she asked. “Is there a punishment?”
Death’s voice was dark when he spoke next. “The afterlife is my domain, Little Bird, and I take care of my people. It’s no easy decision, but I do not welcome those who will taint my home. I claim those souls for myself, and I get rid of them. For them, there will be no afterlife. There will be nothing.”
It was a cold fate, but Signa already felt a fierce protectiveness of this place, and knew without even seeing it that she, too, would do whatever it took to preserve all that waited across the bridge. “Do you know everyone there?” she asked as she watched one of the souls bob across the bridge.
“I’ve met all residents of the afterlife.” There was pride in those words. “Though I admit that some stand out more than others. Your mother is one of the many reasons I don’t care to journey into that place often, you know. All she does is pester me with questions about you.”
Signa curled her fingers in the grass, a smile warming her lips. “Everyone’s been making her sound so fierce. I always imagined her a bit like Marjorie, I suppose.”
“Like a murderer?”
Signa swatted him on the chest. “Of course not! I meant someone who always seemed very proper.”
Death nodded, considering. “She has more manners than you, certainly, but that’s not saying much.” This time when Signa went to swat at him, his shadows caught her hand and tossed it back at her with a laugh. “Your father is a kind and tender man, very soft spoken. Rima is more like you, so loud with her opinions and always butting in. She knew her position in society well and abused it for her benefit. With as much money and influence as your family had, no one dared to criticize them, for fear that they might lose the possibility of an investment by the Farrows.”
Signa leaned against his shadows that stilled for her, soft as she imagined a cloud would be. “You seem to know a lot about them.”
“Of course I do,” he said with such seriousness that Signa stilled. “They’re your parents. I wanted to know everything I could about them. And you’re just as brazen as she is, you know. In all my years, no one has ever spoken to me with such hostility as you do, but she comes in a close second.”
Perhaps her mother wouldn’t be so disappointed in her after all. All the years Signa had spent obsessing over fitting into a particular mold—into what she’d believed everyone expected of her—perhaps it was all for naught.
He couldn’t know how grateful she was for him in that moment. He couldn’t know that, as glad as she was to hear him speak of her parents, she was reminded deeply of her own loneliness. But at Death’s side, slipping her hand in his, she realized she needn’t endure that alone. There was no pretending. No lying about what she wanted or molding herself into someone else. With Death, Signa could be wholly herself.
With him, she wasn’t so lonely.
She lowered her head upon her shoulder, smiling as Death tensed with surprise. “Tell me what it’s like across that bridge.”
He rested his chin upon her head. “If you really want to know, I’d be more than happy to invite you in and keep you to myself for eternity.” When she nudged him on the shoulder, Death laughed. “It’s a place that’s kinder than the living world. There are no needs, no wants, no fear.”
“So why don’t you spend more time there?”
Death brushed his thumb across the back of her hand, and her skin burned with want. “I will do whatever I must to protect that place and its people. But being there for too long is exhausting. I cannot share in their pleasures, Little Bird. There is no family waiting for me, and it’s possible some of my wants will never be settled, no matter where I am. Seeing them—being in that place—is a reminder of that. Besides, I find the living world far more entertaining.”
As someone still struggling to find her place, Signa could relate. Death was the most hated man in the world, and even here in the afterlife, he didn’t fit in. It was no wonder he came across as so prickly. She probably came across the same way.
“I chose a man in his eighties.” Signa knew at once what he was referring to, and the words were a bruise upon her mind. “He would have had another ten years, though they would’ve been ones wrought with pain in his bones. He’s there, on the bridge.” Death nodded ahead.
Signa didn’t want to look at the man she’d condemned to save Blythe, but he deserved at least that much. She hugged her arms around her stomach and forced herself to acknowledge the stout, short man whose life she’d stolen. Ten years was a long time. Even with pain, what things might that man have done with his life? What memories might he have made? What joy might he have felt?
“I don’t like doing that, Signa.” The shadows drew around them like a curtain, shielding the bridge from view. “We’re toying with Fate, who is not someone to be played with. Do not ask me again to take the life of someone who’s not ready to be claimed.”
The words sank into her and burrowed deep within her soul. She became smaller, curling in on herself.