A Girl in Black and White (Alyria Book 2)

by Danielle Lori

  Isadora stared.

  Her granddaughter’s dark eyes met hers, a small smile playing on her lips. “And then he stabs her in the heart,” she whispered, holding her hand above her; the blood dripped from her clenched fist onto the bodice of her dress in red rivulets.

  Isadora froze, a chill sending ice down her spine.

  “You told me you’d tell me a story, Grandmother,” the girl shook her head reproachfully, “you didn’t say you’d tell me mine.”

  Goose bumps raised on the old woman’s arms for the first time in years, cold fear gripping her heart.

  Blue began to tint the little girl’s pink lips like frost over glass. “Do you believe there is a place we all go when we die, where all our dreams come true?” she asked.

  Isadora swallowed, holding her hand over her beating heart. “Yes.”

  “If that’s true, then why is it so cold here?”

  A tear dripped down Isadora’s cheek, her throat thick with a heavy sense of dread.

  “There’s something you should know, Grandmother. A lesson to put away in your books.” The girl smiled white teeth and blue lips. “Not everyone gets a happily ever after.”

  Isadora stood frozen to the floorboards, a cold draft seeping into her bones.

  Her granddaughter noticed her discomfort, and cocked her head, running her bloody hands down the front of her dress, leaving a messy red stain in the center. “It’s okay, Grandmother. Nobody will get their happily ever after . . .” The fire flickered behind the little girl’s body as she glanced at the dead man on the table with an indifference that would always haunt Isadora.

  Her granddaughter glanced up at her—eyes empty voids, deeper than the dark pits of Lake Clare. Ice trailed up the cottage walls, the fire dissipating with a hiss before the little girl’s eyes rolled back into her head as she fell to the floor.

  Isadora was swept back in time, snippets of the past flashing through her eyes.

  “If he finds her, she’ll be . . . she’ll be a calamity to us all. Don’t forget, Mother.”

  A chill went down Isadora’s spine with the vague memory of the last time she’d seen her daughter.

  “A calamity, huh? She looks innocent to me,” Isadora had said, glancing at the bundled infant her daughter had pushed into her arms.

  “Then name her Calamity if that’s what it takes for you to remember, Mother. But don’t forget.”

  Reina was more often wrong than right. So, Isadora hadn’t thought much of it until she pulled back the blanket, taking a good look at the infant. A shiver danced under her skin as she looked into the child’s eyes, seeing something dark in her gaze that told her caution first.

  “Calamity,” she said softly.

  “Calamity it is . . .”

  One year ago, a stranger told me I would die.

  She was right.

  But my existence didn’t end. It was only different. Time had been measured by the burning of my lungs. The tick, a stinging blink in the dark. The tock, a swallow of salt water. And the pendulum, blond hair waving like a piece of lonely algae.

  My existence became nothing but a burning cold that caressed with an abusive hand.

  And then the silence.

  A quiet so deafening I could still hear it when I closed my eyes, as if putting my ear to a shell. But instead of hearing the ocean waves, I heard nothing. Nothing but a silence running its finger down my spine.

  To this day, I often times fought the impulse to look behind me, to make sure that Death wasn’t standing there in the dark, touching me with his icy fingers—lying in wait to drag me back. The impulse was pulling on my body now as I glanced out at the dark ocean waves.

  I wasn’t fearful of the place I’d been. I was afraid of the feelings that crawled out of the dark corners of my mind, whispering their longing to return. To shrug off my dress and walk into the water until there was nothing but waves lapping at the shore. Or better yet, cut my wrist and let the blood drip, drip, drip.

  My grandmother had always said you can only conquer a fear by throwing yourself into the fire. I hadn’t the guts yet to walk myself into these dark flames. I’d been there once before and barely made it out alive. Besides, there wasn’t a reason to do it, if you knew you could never return.

  Now, time was measured differently than when I’d been in the dark. It was the same as it had been before icy blue eyes and blood-stained hands.

  The church bell rang in six, slow dongs throughout the darkening city, announcing the evening hour. A small breeze blew off the ocean, a relief against Symbia’s sticky, hot air.

  At this hour, the city was quiet—the never-ending lilt of its ghostly instrument so commonplace it faded underneath the sounds of the rats in dark street corners, the ringing of laundry as it was hung to dry on lines above the alleyways, and the shallow puffs on cheroots or traditional pipes.

  Sometimes it grew so silent—everyone tight in their homes for the evening meal—that the indiscernible music came to the forefront again, as though its tune drifted down the street, knocking on residents’ doors to remind them it was still there—that it still played. Then, they wondered what would happen if the music ever stopped. For all the city’s people knew, once the music ceased, so would the sun.

  Standing on the roof of the magistrate’s house, was the best view of the city. The residence maintained its reputable, rich air with its stone walls and the soft trickling of a fountain below in the middle of the home where an open courtyard sat. Though, its placement near the south side of town allowed the smell of garbage and spicy Southie cooking to cover the soft scent of the jasmine vines.

  The last gong of the bell reverberated through the air, and I swept my gaze across the city. The tall steeple of the church was to my left, while the palace sat on my right. The ocean straight ahead with the dark silhouettes of a few ships sitting on the water.

  A deep, masculine laugh reached my ears, and I followed the sound, walking across the roof to the front of the home. I looked down at two of the king’s men guarding the front door. I say ‘guarding’ lightly, because one was taking a piss, and the other was lighting a cheroot from a lantern.

  The man, spraying an overly wide stream, chuckled. “Was it worth it?”

  Letting out a puff of smoke, the king’s guard shook his head. “Barely got out alive. ‘Bout got my cock chopped off, in fact. Awkward situation getting home without my pants, got some nasty looks. Bloody wench never told me she was pledged.”

  “Like you would have cared,” said the other guard as he buttoned up his pants.

  “I do when the pledged is twice my size.”

  His friend chuckled.

  “I don’t think I believe it.”

  Their heads whipped toward my voice, seeing me standing above them in my hooded cloak. One guard only took a puff on his cheroot, unsurprised.

  The other narrowed his gaze on me. “Ei, how many times have we told you to stay off the roof?”

  “Close to five,” I said indifferently.

  Steady, the king’s guard with the cheroot, who I knew got the name from his charm with the ladies, took a lazy drag, a sly smile pulling on his lips. “So, what is it? You don’t believe I can get a woman? Or you don’t think I got disapproving looks in the buff?”

  He was confident it wouldn’t be the latter, it seemed.

  “Neither. I just merely think it would be difficult to find that small target to try and chop it off.” Yea, it was a cheap shot. But it’s all I had at the moment, and everyone knew the best way to anger a man was to question the size of his manhood.

  Steady choked on some smoke. While his friend’s laughter was instantaneous—my next target.

  “You know, Gregory,” I started, his amusement faltering as I called him by his real name and not Tuko, the only name his friends called him, “I heard the magistrate’s wife going on about finding out who’s been relieving themselves on her gardenia bush. Said she’s just short of hiring a street runner to off the culprit.”
r />   His jaw tightened. “And how did you hear her ‘going on’ about that?”

  It was a good question, considering Beatrice was a recluse who’d never left her house . . .

  I lifted a shoulder. “She’s awful chatty in the morning after her first cup of wine. Did you know she drinks like a fish? I don’t blame her, though. It’s good wine if I do say so myself.”

  Steady chuckled, eyeing his friend. “Gregory, huh?”

  “Oh, fuck off,” he responded before shooting a narrowed gaze at me, his hands on his hips. “You saying you been in their home?”

  I pursed my lips. “Well, there’s a trellis leading right down into the courtyard. It’s basically an invitation for a meal at their table.”

  He was silent for a moment, looking a little stunned that I would admit something like that. And then he sighed, resigned. “All right, missus. Come down from there. You haven’t harmed anything before, and that’s why we’ve let you off, but I can’t let you go knowing you’ve been going in their home.”

  I laughed. “You couldn’t catch me if you tried. I saw you running in that king’s guards’ race. You were second to last; even Steady here was ahead of you, and he smokes like a chimney.”

  “It’s true,” Steady said. “Those short, stocky legs of yours don’t do much for you in a race.”

  “This is bloody ridiculous,” Tuko muttered, reaching for his long blade. “Come down here,” he ordered.

  “No thank you.” I glanced at my fingernails. “They’re having beef tonight, and I am so tired of eating like a rabbit. Meat is an important staple in one’s diet.”

  They both looked at me like I was simple-minded, so I only continued, “Though, that cook, Angelo, he’s a hit or miss, really. Seems to experiment too much with sauces. Upsets my stomach often, if it wouldn’t be improper to admit.”

  Steady shook his head, slightly amused, and unfortunately not in a hurry to arrest me, but at least Tuko eyed the house, looking for a way up. He let his long blade slide back into the sheath on his hip.

  My brows knitted. “Do they give swords to just anyone?”

  That was the last straw for Tuko.

  Testing a trellis with a frown about its stability, he started to climb.

  “You been eating Angelo’s cooking too, Gregory?” I eyed the trellis with mock unease. “He does make those sauces heavy; makes sense you’d put on a little weight.”

  He snorted but continued his dreadfully slow climb. And when Steady made no move to follow, I sighed. I knew Tuko would be an easy target; I’d have to up my game to get Steady to participate. Otherwise, I’d have to use harsher methods, and I didn’t want to hear about it later from someone a foot shorter than me.

  “You ever heard of Belladonna?” I said, absently. “Some women use it as eye drops to make their pupils large and their eyes more radiant. Interestingly enough, Beatrice does this. Don’t know why, considering she never leaves the house, but to each their own, I suppose. Little do many know, a large quantity . . .” I pursed my lips regretfully, “let’s just say a mouthful, well, it can be a slow and painful death. Seems silly to have the stuff lying around for just anyone to accidentally spill into a wine glass . . . and with Beatrice’s heavy consumption . . .” I left off on a suggestive note.

  Steady watched me with a blank gaze, before dropping his cheroot and stepping on it. “Damn it all to hell,” he muttered, moving toward the trellis.

  He couldn’t ignore a direct threat to the magistrate’s wife, and he knew it, but apparently climbing trellises wasn’t what he wanted to do tonight as he let another curse fly.

  Tuko reached the top, his face a little pale from his climb as he got to his feet.

  I felt for the man a little. Not too long ago I’d been forced to cross a glass bridge and had been much closer to dying than I’d preferred. That moment was in the top ten on the list of all the reasons I hated a certain Titan. Yes, I’d made a list. It helped me analyze my feelings and arguments. Which were all logical, I might add. I’d thought of seventy-two reasons to hate Weston over the six months I’d been here, and hate him I did.

  I tapped my lips in thought. “You know what I do when I’m scared of heights, Gregory?”

  He raised a brow, taking a step toward me.

  “I find a handsome man to hold onto. You should try it next time.”

  He grunted.

  Last time I offer him advice.

  He was short for a man, but he was still stocky—the kind that even a tall man would take a second look at before agreeing to a scuffle. Once he caught me, our little fight would be over. He knew it—and was pretty cocky about it—with the way he walked toward me as if he were strolling down the street in Northie with a pocketful of coin and three women at his command.

  “Pull that hood back,” he told me, “it’s about time I get a good look at ya. You’ve been terrorizing us long enough.”

  “I’m only a girl. Surely, I’m not that much of a threat,” I replied, taking a step back to each of his forward.

  “Girl,” he scoffed. “You’re an annoying wench that doesn’t know her place. Come quietly, and I’ll only tell them you tried to steal from me.”

  I laughed. “And lose a hand? I think not.”

  He raised a brow. “Your hand or your life? Your choice.”

  Steady was now on the roof, walking around the other side of the courtyard to block me in.

  “You’re trapped. Come on. I’ll try to talk them into just a finger,” Tuk said.

  I chuckled. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” Well, not true. It was almost as sweet as a Titan saving me repeatedly so that he could destroy the land, but I didn’t want to upset this poor guard’s principles. Taking a step back, I felt the very edge of the roof under my sandal.

  “You’re going to fall,” Tuko warned, taking a large stride toward me.

  “You think I came and antagonized you to lose a hand?” I asked.

  Tuko shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but you’ve clearly lost your sense.”

  Both of my heels now hung off the ledge.

  “Lady . . .” Steady warned.

  “Ha. Now I know why they call you Steady. Calling a commoner ‘lady.’ But I do think Darren seems more fitting.”

  Tuko glanced at him. “Darren? Doesn’t fit you, man.”

  Steady shrugged. “Can’t say you look like a Gregory much, either.”

  “Now that I’ve brought you gentlemen together, I’ve an appointment to make.” I frowned. “He was probably expecting me here an hour ago. I bet he’s really sweating . . .”

  “Here?” Tuk questioned.

  “Enjoy the view, boys. It’s the best in the city. I shall let you borrow my spot for the night.” And with that, I leaned all my weight on my suspended heels—

  “Wait!”

  “Grab her, Tuk!”

  But it was too late.

  A thrill shot like hot lava from my fingers to my toes as I fell off the roof, back first. And then I was weightless.

  My palms burned, a hot and cold sensation running through me until my feet hit the dirt softly. Opening my eyes, I stood on the other side of the home in front of the entrance.

  I laughed. Thank Alyria that worked. Unfortunately, it wasn’t always the most reliable.

  “Gentlemen!” I hollered.

  It took a minute before they both stood above me. Tuk’s face was pale—I didn’t know if it was because of the heights or the fast-traveling thing . . . I knew it was the latter when he spit out, “Magic. You damned—”

  I cut Tuko’s cursing tirade off by giving the trellis a couple of hard yanks until it hit the ground with a thud and quite thoroughly smashing one of Beatrice’s gardenia bushes. “Whoops.” I eyed it apologetically.

  Tuko had gone on a second round of cursing, while Steady remained silent, his lips looking glued in a straight line.

  Magic made this land. But each region treated it differently based on their kin
g’s opinion of it. It was banned here in this southern city, and you could only find services using magic down the dark alleys in Southie.

  Tuk looked at Steady with unveiled disgust. “You telling me we’ve been conversing with that Girl in Black all this time? This is her, ain’t it? I thought she would be . . . taller or something.”

  I frowned at that.

  “Tuk, go down the trellis to the courtyard,” Steady told him, his gaze still locked on me.

  I bit my lip, my hands on my hips. “Yea, about that . . .”

  But Tuk was already gone. Coming back within a couple of seconds, he stated the obvious: there wasn’t one.

  I pursed my lips. “It’d be a little silly having a ladder leading right down into their home, don’t you think?”

  “You tricked us,” Tuk snapped.

  “I’ve been found out,” I said with a sigh.

  Steady’s gaze was pinned on me, hardening like a snake coiled around its prey.

  I tsked. “Careful, Steady. The word might get out that you aren’t as steady as you seem. Ladies might be disappointed.”

  He didn’t say a word; only looked at me like he was trying to kill me with his eyes.

  “I didn’t plan this out all the way, or I would have brought you two some cards or some rocks to play Five Stones to keep you busy. I’ll try to remember next time.”

  “Next time!” Tuk sputtered.

  “It’s all right. I’ll show myself in. Thank you for your time, gentlemen! It’s been a pleasure.”

  I didn’t hear Tuk’s reply or feel Steady’s killer gaze—thank Alyria—because I was already standing in the dimly-lit foyer of the magistrate’s lavish home. There was no one in sight, but that wasn’t a surprise. The magistrate spent most of his time at his mistress’s house while his wife stayed in the dark corners of the home with her servants, slowly poisoning herself through her eyeballs and drinking herself into a stupor. I guessed if I had to see and hear her pretentious husband every day, I might do the same . . .

  Walking across the room, my sandals trod softly on the marble floor while I expected Tuk’s shouting into the courtyard right about—now.