Death's Dancer

by Jasmine Silvera

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Come for me,” Azrael whispered in her ear, breath hot and damp against the lobe. Response surged through her body, curling her toes and arching her back, as the pulse of release swept through her.

  Isela woke with a gasp, alone in the enormous bed.

  The sun was setting in the western window—she’d slept all day. Every nerve ending in her body sang with unsatisfied desire, yet she was utterly relaxed. The heat rose in her body as she remembered his hands all over her, first in the shower, then the bed. It should have ended in mind-numbing sex.

  Instead, she had awakened at some point to find herself encircled; an arm thrown over her belly and a leg twined between her own. She’d stirred, shifting her hip to a better position, and he’d tightened around her. She’d gone back to sleep without a second thought.

  She woke up more turned on than she’d been in her entire life—and alone.

  Isela yawned, arching her body under the blankets. Even the sheets, which had seemed to whisper of silk the night before felt irritatingly raw against her skin. Her eyes swept the room for confirmation. She was well and truly alone. But she hadn’t been for long. It seemed like she could still smell him on her skin.

  She shivered, curling into a ball around his pillow and breathing him in.

  You will beg for me before we are done.

  Isela sat up. She had never begged a man for sex in her life, and she wasn’t going to begin now. She wasn’t the weak, exhausted thing Gregor had dragged in by the scruff the night before. She had to get back to the Academy—they would be worried about her—and call her family. Azrael had to track down the dead necromancer’s missing grimoire—and survive the Queen of Diamonds.

  And then?

  She had to go back to her life. Back to being the Academy’s premier godsdancer until she could no longer perform. Which, after last night, she feared was going to come sooner than she’d like to admit. Whatever the witches had done had helped but not eliminated the damage.

  Everything had changed now, she couldn’t deny it. Her brothers ran on four legs at night, and her mother and sisters-in-law had formed a coven. A Hessian solider wanted her dead. A glimmering gold light had decided to be her guardian angel. And she’d been seduced by a necromancer. Nothing would ever be the same.

  Isela climbed out of bed, sliding to the floor. A silk robe lay across the footboard, and she slipped it on. It fell to her calves, open sleeves settling into folds around her arms. An explosion of red-tipped, blush-colored peonies graced the emerald panels, matching the thick scarlet border. She searched for a tag and found none.

  In the bathroom, the light came on automatically, pleasantly even and perfectly flattering. Isela studied her face in the mirror. She looked thinner again but well rested. The tiny cuts on her face from running through the brush had almost disappeared. There was a new toothbrush and toothpaste next to the sink. She made use of them.

  In the main room, she finally noticed the tray beside a renewed fire. On the chair was the bag Divya had sent with Gregor from the Academy. Inside were the clothes she’d worn from her parent’s house to the summoning, freshly laundered and neatly folded. She slipped on underwear and Bebe’s corduroy pants, delighted to find her phone, fully charged beside a carafe of coffee and a stack of sandwiches. On the platter beside the carafe, tucked under the plate was a folded notecard.

  She unfolded the card, admiring the gold leaf border and the thick, heavy stock. In elegant script was his message:

  Gone to track down the book. Expect you in bed when I return. Clothing not advised.

  - A

  P.S. The robe was a token of gratitude from an empress for helping solve her father’s murder. You are the only woman who will ever wear it.

  She fingered the silk and contemplated the likelihood that she had just brushed her teeth in a priceless antique. She didn’t know a thing about silk, but one of the godsdancers she’d met in Tokyo had a thing for old kimonos. She had pieces that sold for more than Isela made in a year.

  But if he expected her to sit around all night like a human fuck puppet, in a robe that belonged in a museum, he had another thing coming.

  Isela picked up the phone. She’d missed calls from her mother, Bebe, and the Academy. Divya answered on the first ring, and the relief in her voice was palpable.

  “Your mother called twice. I didn’t know what to tell her.” She spoke carefully. “I saw the report of Gregor’s car being found in a ditch near Vysehrad.”

  “I’m fine,” Isela said. “But I’m at the castle. Can you send a car soon? I need to come home.”

  Divya was all business again. “Niles will be there in less than twenty minutes.”

  Isela dressed, downing a cup of coffee and two sandwiches. She packed her bag, carefully folding the robe and adding it last. A gift was a gift. She grabbed a bottle of water and headed for the door. She cast one look back at the sumptuous room, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply so that she would always remember this moment. Her attraction to Azrael was a temptation she couldn’t afford to give in to. Getting some semblance of her life back and protecting her family came first.

  Focus, Vogel. Finish the job.

  She grabbed the door handle and pulled. The damn thing weighed a ton and a half. A startled, familiar young undead man waited on the other side. The doorman from the castle.

  “Miss Vogel.” He leaped from the chair beside the door as she moved down the stairs, bag over one shoulder. “My name is Tyler. I’ve been assigned to you during your stay at the palace. Like an attaché.”

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered, heading for the elevator.

  He tripped over his tongue and his feet. “But it’s an honor, Miss Vogel. Is there anything I can get for you?”

  “Azrael is gone for the day?”

  Tyler paled at her casual use of his name. Had he fallen off the zombie turnip trunk yesterday? She’d just come out of his bedroom for gods’ sakes. Did he expect her to address him as sir—or worse—master?

  “The Lord is gone for the day.” He nodded, slipping into the elevator with her before the doors closed.

  “Gregor? Lysippe?”

  “Accompanied him,” the boy answered, flustered.

  “Good,” she said. She wouldn’t have to worry about the Hessian trying to exact his revenge before she made it to the front door.

  “I’m happy to bring you anything you need,” he said. “You don’t have to—”

  “I need to stretch my legs,” Isela said as the elevator opened. “Can you walk me back through the castle?”

  “I would be happy to,” he said, leading the way. “What did you want to see? We have an excellent collection of early twentieth-century work in the Basilica gallery, or if you like sculpture, the Canova Psyche and Cupid has been installed in the stateroom. Mr. Schwarz mentioned your interest in the cathedral. The Mucha glass is quite incredible this time of day.”

  “Another time.”

  From the main building, Isela relied on her memory to guide her back to the front door. She left Tyler ticking off priceless works of art on his fingers. When he realized she was moving on, he hurried to catch up.

  “Tyler, is it?” she asked. The castle seemed empty.

  “Yes, Miss Vogel.”

  “It’s just Isela, or Issy,” she said. “Where is everybody?”

  “Everybody?” he echoed. “Ah, Lord Azrael thought it would be a good idea for the others to remain low profile during your stay.”

  “Doesn’t want to freak me out with a bunch of zombies wandering around, eh?” She winced at his stricken expression. “Sorry, Tyler. I was—that was rude of me—I apologize.”

  “It’s no problem, Miss Issy,” he prattled on. “I’m honored to be chosen to serve Lord Azrael.”

  “Of course,” she said. As they passed through the doors into the courtyard, Isela saw the blue car idling silently outside, and joy leaped in her chest.

  Tyler looked stricken, darting into he
r path. “Miss—you aren’t planning to—”

  “I just have a few things to take care of, for him,” she lied.

  “But he left strict instructions,” he began. “You’re to be made comfortable in the castle.”

  Isela gave him her most gracious smile. He blinked, a goofy answering smile on his face. While he stammered, she hefted her bag onto her shoulder and slipped around him. “I really have to just take care of a few things at home.”

  Niles emerged from the sedan, moving quickly to the rear door. She could have kissed him.

  “Wonderful to see you, Miss Vogel,” he said as she slid inside before Tyler could catch up.

  “Right back at you, Niles,” she muttered as the door closed behind her. When he climbed inside, she clapped her hands with joy. “Take me home.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Isela had never been so happy to see her apartment. Her father answered the phone when she called home.

  “Hey, Little Bird,” he said, rambling in the familiar way he did when he was walking through the flat. “Your mom is going to be happy to hear from you. We read about Gregor’s car. I kept telling her the report said it was stolen, and you’re fine, but you know how she is.”

  Lukas sounded bewildered, and Isela pitied him. From the sound of things, they were the only two normal people in the family.

  “I know, Papa,” she said. “But you shouldn’t worry.”

  “I never worry about you,” he said. “The boys give me gray hair, but you were born happy, and you brought happiness everywhere you went. Hmm, I can’t find her. Maybe she’s in the studio—do you want to call down—”

  “No, Papa. I was hoping to talk to you for a while, if you aren’t busy.”

  “Course not.” He laughed, and she heard him settle into a chair. “How’s that fellow of yours?”

  “He’s. . . ah. . .,” she began. Going to kill me at the next available opportunity. “He’s fine.”

  “Did I tell you what arrived today? A box, express delivery from his tailor in Leipzig. Your mother didn’t want me to open it, but it was addressed to me for gods’ sakes.”

  Isela found herself smiling at her father’s stubbornness.

  “It was a coat, like his, only in brown,” he said a little awed. “It’s a fine thing, Little Bird. I’d thank him personally, but I have no idea where to send the note.”

  “I’ll let him know you liked it,” she said over the knot in her chest.

  Isela wasn’t foolish enough to think the coat was part of Gregor’s penance. That meant it had come from Azrael.

  “Bring him to dinner soon,” he said. “Your mom will warm up. She’s always been protective of you, too much so, in my opinion. You have a good head on your shoulders.”

  She doubted very much that Beryl would ever warm to the Hessian.

  “Oh, here’s Bebe. She wants to talk to you.” He handed off the phone before she could say good-bye.

  The sounds of footsteps retreating down the hall were accompanied by her sister-in-law’s hushed voice. “God, Issy, we have been worried sick about you. Are you okay?”

  She’d spent the night being seduced by a necromancer; she was definitely not okay. “Everything’s fine.”

  “How could you go with him?” Bebe said. “We would have protected you—the boys—”

  “Would have turned you all into widows,” Isela said. Now this was something she could talk about. “I saw him fight those demons, Bebe. He’s not human anymore. You ask me to live with knowing I got my whole family killed to prove a point to his boss?”

  Bebe was silent for a long time. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” Isela assured her. “And he’s been—reprimanded—for what he did last night.”

  “Reprimanded?”

  Isela didn’t think filling her sister-in-law in on the details was a good idea. “Trust me. He felt it.”

  “If you say so,” Bebe murmured. “Look, before I met your brother, I’d been in a few doozies when it came to relationships. I know what it’s like when you’re attracted to someone, but you can’t. . .”

  “Don’t worry, Beebs,” Isela cut her off. “Something tells me we’re done for good.”

  “Good.” Bebe sighed. “Can you talk your father out of wearing that coat?”

  “Is it safe?” Isela asked. “I mean was anything, you know—”

  “Done to it?” Bebe finished. “Like a geas? No. Your mom checked it out, but I can’t look at it without getting the heebie-jeebies.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” she said. “How are Mom and the boys?”

  Bebe’s sigh contained a world of meaning. Isela’s throat clenched as she thought of Markus turning his back on her.

  “Your mom understands, I think, but she’s worried,” Bebe said. “The boys. . . they’ll come around. Male pride. They wanted a fight.”

  Isela’s view of the Vltava from her window blurred with tears.

  “I’m going to do what I have to in order to protect you guys,” she said. “Even if they hate me for it.”

  “Oh, Issy.” Bebe breathed, and for a moment Isela could picture her sister-in-law’s heart-shaped face and pursed lips. “Just be careful. They love you more than you know.”

  “I will.”

  “OK, gotta go, I think Philip just shoved a crayon up his nose,” Bebe said finally. Isela could hear screaming in the background.

  “Tell Mom to call me,” Isela said without much hope.

  “Are you decent?”

  Isela looked up from her reading to see Kyle peek over the divider between the stairs and the main room.

  “Has that ever stopped you before?” she countered.

  He contemplated that for half a second, then bounded up. “Nope. I came up to see if you’re hungry. You missed dinner. Yana ordered in for carp, and I know you—”

  “Hate fish,” she finished. “I just can’t get into the ‘bashing a carp in the head on the street’ business.”

  “Neither can Yana. That’s why she sends one of her dad’s cronies out to get it for her.” Kyle’s laughter was so welcome it brought tears to her eyes. “I hoped you hadn’t changed and gotten all savage on me, hanging out with the necromancer’s security hottie.”

  “Never,” she said, getting up to greet him and help carry the brown paper bags. “What’d you get?”

  The smells coming from the bag made her mouth water and her stomach grumble. Isela unloaded a series of paper boxes, a few with the beginnings of grease stains forming on the bottom. She glanced at the clock. It was well after midnight. After talking to her family, she’d buried herself in her research on Azrael’s data, mostly to keep her mind occupied. She had a headache and a vaguely sour belly from lack of food.

  “I thought we would cook something,” he said. “But I danced earlier, and you know how lazy that makes me.”

  “Where did you find Chinese at this hour?”

  He was in a brilliantly good mood as evidenced by the playful waltzing step of the balance he made across the kitchen to retrieve plates.

  “Fucking ballerinas,” she said, admiring the elegance that turned the simple step into something with breathtaking beauty and control. “Why are you so happy?”

  Kyle winked. “I have my secrets.”

  “Your secrets are my secrets. Talk,” she demanded.

  He sealed his lips shut and blew her a kiss. They ate in companionable silence, passing cartons and stealing bits of food from each other’s plates. She plucked a shrimp from his chopsticks halfway to his mouth.

  “Shouldn’t you be watching what you eat?” she teased.

  “You’re vicious,” he snapped good-naturedly. “That’s a beautiful yukata, by the way. They don’t even make those in silk anymore—total antique. Where did you—” Kyle leaned over to admire the stitching and paused, glancing at her neck. “Vogel, what happened to you?”

  He pushed the neckline open and blanched at the black-and-blue marks from her collarbones to her shoulder.


  She brushed his hand away and tightened her robe. “You know the accident, with Gregor’s car?”

  His brows rocketed north, and he grinned. “So no third date?”

  Isela laughed and offered her wineglass for a refill. “But on the upside, I have a new masseur.”

  Kyle froze midpour, his eyebrows up and a look of horror on his face. “Masseur is gendered and pretentious.”

  “Massage therapist.” She stuck out her tongue. “I tell, you tell.”

  “Nothing to tell,” he said with the most unbelievable mask of innocence she had ever seen.

  “You little liar.”

  “You’re one to talk.” He sipped his wine in an attempt to hide a grin on his face. “I didn’t bang the necromancer’s head of security.”

  “I didn’t. . .” she said, not waiting for him to register her words before moving on. “You and Jiří finally figured things out.”

  Kyle almost choked on his wine. “If you aren’t fucking tall, dark, and Teutonic, who’s giving you priceless silk robes?”

  “You heard my offer.” Isela sat back in her chair and crossed her legs primly.

  “That’s not fair,” he said. “You know it was Jiří. You, on the other hand, are a wildcard.”

  “Come on, Kyle.” She narrowed her eyes, tapping his knee with her big toe.

  His eyes widened. “The necromancer?”

  “Well, not exactly,” she said. “But he’s making a persuasive argument.”

  “Do you have a death wish?”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  But the truth was, Isela had never felt so alive. At the Academy, her life had slipped into a familiar rhythm. She hadn’t even noticed the touch of ennui beginning to creep in during the unchanging days. Now she was involved in more supernatural powers than she’d even known existed and was being seduced by a necromancer.

  It wouldn’t last forever, of course. Even if she survived this, he’d tire of her eventually. She’d enjoy it while it lasted and let go when it was done, as she always had. She felt a surprising little twinge of regret in her chest.