North was a century and a half short of getting it, but most of the kids on campus probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought either. A retainer was the kind of thing
people’s parents bought them, that kids never knew the cost of, that got lost on school trips or forgotten in a drawer. But for Tara this was important. Something she would have saved
for months to get, that she would have worn every night and would have taken care not to
lose. Change your smile, change your life.
Alex tore off a piece of toilet paper and plucked the retainer from the case. “It mattered
to her. Trust me.” And hopefully still had some quality effluvia on it.
Alex stoppered the sink and filled it. Would this count as a body of water? She hoped
so.
She dropped the retainer into the water. Before it could sink to the bottom, she saw a
pale hand emerge beside the drain, as if it had bloomed from the cracked basin. As soon as
the fingers closed, both hand and retainer vanished. When she looked up, North held it in
his dripping palm, his mouth curled in distaste.
Alex shrugged. “You wanted effluvia.” She pushed the stopper down, dropped the
tissue in the basket, and turned to go.
A man was standing in the doorway. He was huge, his head nearly brushing the frame,
his shoulders filling the space. He wore a mechanic’s gray coverall, the top unzipped and
hanging loose. His white T-shirt revealed muscled arms covered in ink.
“I—” Alex began. But he was already charging.
He barreled into her, slamming her backward against the wall. Her head cracked
against the window ledge and he grabbed her by the throat. She clawed at his arms.
North’s eyes had gone black. He threw himself at her attacker but passed right through
him.
This was not a gluma. Not a ghost. This wasn’t something from beyond the Veil. He was flesh and blood and trying to kill her. North couldn’t help her now.
Alex slammed her palm into his throat. His breath caught on a gulp and his grip loosened. She brought her knee up between his legs. Not a direct hit, but close enough. He
doubled over.
Alex shoved past him, tearing the shower curtain off its rings as she passed, stumbling
over the plastic. She hurtled into the hallway, North on her heels, and was reaching for the
door when suddenly the mechanic was in front of her. He hadn’t opened the door—he’d
simply appeared through it—just like a Gray might. Portal magic? For the briefest moment Alex glimpsed what looked like a barren yard behind him, then he was striding
toward her.
She backed up through the cluttered living room, wrapping an arm around her middle,
trying to think. She was bleeding and it hurt to breathe. He’d broken her ribs. She wasn’t
sure how many. She could feel something warm and wet trickling down the back of her neck from where she’d hit her head. Could she make it to the kitchen? Grab a knife?
“Who are you?” the mechanic growled. His voice was low and raspy, maybe from
Alex’s chop to his windpipe. “Who hurt Tara?”
“Her shitbag boyfriend,” Alex spat.
He roared and rushed at her.
Alex lurched left toward the mantel, dodging him narrowly, but he was still between her and the door, bouncing on his heels, as if this were some kind of boxing match.
He smiled. “Nowhere to run, bitch.”
Before she could slip past him, he had his hands around her throat again. Black spots
filled her vision. North was shouting, gesturing wildly, powerless to help. No, not powerless. That wasn’t right. Let me in, Alex.
No one knew who she was. Not North. Not this monster in front of her. Not Dawes or
Mercy or Sandow or any of them.
Only Darlington had guessed.
18
Last Fall
Darlington knew Alex resented the call. He could hardly blame her. It wasn’t a Thursday,
when rituals took place, or a Sunday, when she was expected to prepare for the next week’s work, and he knew she was struggling to keep up with her classes and the demands
of Lethe. He’d been concerned about how the incident at Manuscript might impact their work, but she’d shrugged it off more easily than he had, handling the report so that he wouldn’t have to relive the embarrassment and going right back to complaining about Lethe’s demands. The ease with which she let go of that night, the casual forgiveness she’d offered, unnerved him and made him wonder again at the grim march of the life she’d lived before. She’d even made it smoothly through her second rite with Aurelian—a