“Justice? It’s not like you can seek revenge. Whoever killed you is long since dead.”
“Then I will find him on this side.”
“And do what? Kill him real good?”
The Bridegroom smiled then, the corners of his mouth pulling back to reveal an even,
predatory set of teeth. Alex felt a chill settle over her. She remembered the way he’d looked wrestling with the gluma. Like something that wasn’t quite human. Something even the dead should fear.
“There are worse things than death, Miss Stern.”
Again the murmuring rose from the banks of the western shore, and this time Alex thought she could pick out the sound of what might have been French. Jean Du Monde? It might be a man’s name or just nonsense syllables her mind was trying to shape into meaning.
“You’ve had over a hundred years to try to find this mystery killer,” Alex said. “Why
do you think I’m going to have any better luck?”
“Your associate Daniel Arlington was looking into the case.”
“I don’t think so.” An old murder that headlined Haunted New England tours wasn’t Darlington’s style at all.
“He visited the … place where we fell. He had a notebook with him. He took photos. I
highly doubt he was just sightseeing. I can’t get past the wards of the house on Orange Street. I want to know why he went there and what he found.”
“And Darlington isn’t … he isn’t there? With you?”
“Even the dead don’t know where Daniel Arlington is.”
If the Bridegroom hadn’t found Darlington on the other side, then Sandow had to be right. He was just missing, and that meant he could be found. Alex needed to believe that.
“Find Tara,” Alex said, eager to be out of the water and back to the world of the living.
“I’ll see what work Darlington left behind. But I need to know something. Tell me you didn’t send that thing, the gluma, after me.”
“Why would I—”
“To form a connection between us. To make me indebted to you and lay the
groundwork for this little partnership.”
“I didn’t send that thing after you and I don’t know who did. How am I to convince you?”
Alex wasn’t sure. She’d hoped she’d somehow be able to tell, that there was some vow
she could force him to make, but she supposed she’d know soon enough. Assuming she could figure out what Darlington had discovered—if anything. The factory that had been
the murder site was a parking garage now. Knowing Darlington, he’d probably gone there to take notes on the history of New Haven concrete.
“Just find Tara,” she said. “Get me my answers and I’ll get yours.”
“This is not the pact I would have chosen, nor are you the partner I would have sought,
but we will both make the best of it.”
“You’re quite the charmer. Daisy like that way with words?” The Bridegroom’s eyes turned black. Alex had to force herself not to take a step backward. “Quick temper. Just
the type of guy to off a lady who got sick of his shit. Did you?”
“I loved her. I loved her more than life.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
He took a deep breath, summoning his composure, and his eyes returned to their
normal state. He held out his hand to her. “Speak your true name, Miss Stern, and let us
make our bargain.”
There was power in names. It was why the names of Grays were blacked from the
pages of Lethe’s records. It was why she would rather think of the thing before her as the
Bridegroom. The danger lay in connection, in the moment when you bound your life to someone else’s.
Alex fingered the carob pod in her pocket. Best to be ready in case … what? He tried to
drag her under? But why would he? He needed her and she needed him. That was how most disasters began.
She took his hand in hers. His grip was firm, his palm damp and ice-cold against hers.
What was she touching? A body? A thought?
“Bertram Boyce North,” he said.
“That’s a terrible name.”
“It’s a family name,” he said indignantly.