Page 40 of A Vow of Shadows

Hundreds of years in the dark and my eyesight was no better for it. Squinting, I saw the vague shape of feet peeking out from beneath the open door of one of the cupboards.

I crept around to the side of it and saw a weathered crone huddled in a ball. With her hands holding either side of her head, I didn’t think that she had seen me. Though it was possible she was hiding from me. I thought it more likely a result of her untimely death.

My heart ached for the woman as she trembled, holding on to the fears of the living even on the other side of death. Traumatic deaths often required more time and finesse. The shock of a violent end took time to wear off. Some never recovered.

I cleared my throat, and the old woman’s eyes whipped to me. No sooner had she taken in my dark form overwhelming her tiny hovel, then she began to shriek.

Her wailing would go unnoticed by most of the living, but those sensitive to the other side would swear they heard a banshee on this night. Their rumors made no difference to me, but still Ishushedher. Though I’d intended the sound to be gentle and raised my hands to indicate I meant no harm, I knew that I both sounded and looked like something not to be trusted.

Nights like this, I wished the reaper’s uniform was something more gentlemanly.

The front door banged open behind me and Katrin burst in.

“What the—” she said, glancing around. Her eyes landed on the body, and she screamed.

Flinging out a hand, one of my shadows wrapped around her mouth, effectively silencing her. I still didn’t know the extent to which Katrin’s presence could affect the world of the living. She might be heard easier than the wailing specter.

“I told you to remain in the carriage.”

Her answer was muffled by the shadow, and she glared at me until I waved it away. “I heard a scream and—”

“And you thought I was in trouble?” I asked. The quick aversion of her eyes told me otherwise. I pushed away the sting of her doubt. She wasn’t wrong for it. I’d done little to earn her trust thus far. “Miss Fil’Owen, I cannot cause harm in this world.”

Her gaze flicked from me to the spirit and back again, raising her brows in disbelief. “You may not be able to physically hurt her, but anyone can see you are frightening the poor dear.”

“Do not involve yourself, Miss Fil’Owen,” I warned, but Katrin paid me no heed, approaching the spirit with tentative steps.

She paused as though struck by a sudden thought. “Do you still ferry them if they can’t pay?”

“Of course,” I answered honestly. “My debt does not weigh against them. Everyone deserves the chance to enter the Afterworld.”

She nodded and continued toward the frightened soul. As she neared, the spirit recoiled, milky white eyes darting around for an escape. Katrin eased to a crouch. “Please don’t be afraid,” she said, palms outstretched in a better approximation of harmlessness than I could muster. “My name is Katrin, and that is Evander.”

I bristled at the use of my given name. The spirit flicked her eyes to me and emitted a smallsqueak.

“Lower your hood,” Katrin hissed over her shoulder.

I raised a brow at the order, and though she couldn’t have seen me beneath the shroud, Katrin raised one back. Sighing, I pulled the hood off my head, lowering the cowl until my entire face was visible.

Katrin smiled in triumph, turning back to the specter. “You see? He’s really quite nice to look at under all that.”

Though her words had been directed at the old woman, I felt the ground shift beneath my feet. I staggered a step and shook my head, righting myself before either woman could notice my distraction.

She thought I was nice to look at?

Despite my current predicament, I had to bite back a smile. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d smiled since becoming Ferrier. Every one of them had occurred since I met Katrin.

“My name is Eunice, and I’m waiting for Claude,” said the spirit, drawing my attention back to her.

Katrin looked at me, her forehead crinkled, and I shrugged. With gentle hands she encouraged the spirit out of her hiding place. The old woman stood a full head shorter than Katrin, her back curved from what was likely a long, difficult life.

“Who is Claude?” asked Katrin.

The old woman’s face lit up. “Claude is my husband. I’m waiting for him to return.”

A glance around confirmed my suspicions, there was nothing to suggest anyone else lived here.

Katrin took hold of the crone’s weathered hand. “Has Claude passed, ma’am?”