true, isn’t it?”
Tears slid down her cheeks. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
He was quiet then. Maybe he’d expected to feel better. Or maybe he’d expected her to be a better liar.
The hum of insects merged with the throb of blood in her head. It was a mistake to talk about it. They should have learned that by now.
It was too dark to see his expression, so she went over to him and put her hands on his face instead. His skin was hot, damp with sweat but not tears, and she stroked her hands over his cheeks and up into his hair, tenderly. Sometimes she wanted to hurt him but right now it was too much.
“What do you want from me?” she whispered. And thenshe pressed her hand to his lips before he could answer. The sounds slipped out between her fingers:
Everything
.
She bent her head to his and kissed him, harder when he tried to ask why, until he didn’t have the breath for questions. Explanations were painful. Promises were lies. She didn’t want any of that. She wanted his mouth, which was soft and familiar—and hard when she wanted it to be. He always knew. Their hearts were a mystery but they knew each other like this.
His hands found her like he was reliving a memory, and she wrapped her arms around him and gave in to the past.
He couldn’t promise he wouldn’t kill her. She couldn’t promise she would stay with him. They shouldn’t be together; she knew that. But she didn’t care. Tomorrow she would care, in an hour she might care. But not now.
CHAPTER TEN
THE DAYS MELTED TOGETHER. The nights seethed with sticky heat, and Viv struggled to sleep a whole night through without nightmares. She kept her bedroom door locked, but left the balcony doors open for the animals, and half expected to find the old Huntsman standing there whenever she opened her eyes.
Tonight, she woke not to nightmares, but to a loud animal snort. And the jingling of reins.
A horse?
Viv pushed the satin sleep mask off her eyes to find a brown mouse watching her. She raised a sleepy hand and lightly stroked its back.
“Who’s out there?” she whispered. The mouse closed its eyes and gave a little wriggle of pleasure, but didn’t answer. They never did.
Moving the mouse onto her pillow, and shooing away the other animals who’d been sleeping around her, Viv went to thebalcony, squinting into the dark in search of a horse. None of her friends rode horses. Even the most delusional hero-types had cars.
At first, all she saw was the garden, the fruit trees ringing the well. But then the darkness shifted. Moonlight slid along the glossy black body of a horse, traced the shape of a man holding the reins. Both horse and master were as black as the night they moved through.
Viv shivered with excitement. She knew who the man was—she could recognize a horseman. She just didn’t know why he was here.
Horsemen were magical beings, like fairies—except fairies were always female and horsemen were always male. And while fairies attended christenings, and bestowed curses, and otherwise played a role in cursed lives, horsemen were more standoffish. In Russian fairy tales, they served Baba Yaga. There were horsemen representing the red sun, the white day, the black night. This one was clearly Night.
He’d spotted her on the balcony and was watching her, waiting.
He didn’t call her name. He didn’t have to. It was rare to see a horseman, and there was no way she was letting him leave without finding out why he was here.
Viv hurried downstairs. When she got to the yard Night was standing near the well. The horse was chewing huge mouthfuls of the garden. Flowers disappeared between its teeth and naked patches of earth showed where grass used to grow.
Then Night was in front of her, holding out a black card printed with silver script. The words gleamed with light, so she could read them even in the dark.
A twist of silver branches crawled up either side of the card.
Silver branches meant the underworld. There was a nightclub
Tears slid down her cheeks. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
He was quiet then. Maybe he’d expected to feel better. Or maybe he’d expected her to be a better liar.
The hum of insects merged with the throb of blood in her head. It was a mistake to talk about it. They should have learned that by now.
It was too dark to see his expression, so she went over to him and put her hands on his face instead. His skin was hot, damp with sweat but not tears, and she stroked her hands over his cheeks and up into his hair, tenderly. Sometimes she wanted to hurt him but right now it was too much.
“What do you want from me?” she whispered. And thenshe pressed her hand to his lips before he could answer. The sounds slipped out between her fingers:
Everything
.
She bent her head to his and kissed him, harder when he tried to ask why, until he didn’t have the breath for questions. Explanations were painful. Promises were lies. She didn’t want any of that. She wanted his mouth, which was soft and familiar—and hard when she wanted it to be. He always knew. Their hearts were a mystery but they knew each other like this.
His hands found her like he was reliving a memory, and she wrapped her arms around him and gave in to the past.
He couldn’t promise he wouldn’t kill her. She couldn’t promise she would stay with him. They shouldn’t be together; she knew that. But she didn’t care. Tomorrow she would care, in an hour she might care. But not now.
CHAPTER TEN
THE DAYS MELTED TOGETHER. The nights seethed with sticky heat, and Viv struggled to sleep a whole night through without nightmares. She kept her bedroom door locked, but left the balcony doors open for the animals, and half expected to find the old Huntsman standing there whenever she opened her eyes.
Tonight, she woke not to nightmares, but to a loud animal snort. And the jingling of reins.
A horse?
Viv pushed the satin sleep mask off her eyes to find a brown mouse watching her. She raised a sleepy hand and lightly stroked its back.
“Who’s out there?” she whispered. The mouse closed its eyes and gave a little wriggle of pleasure, but didn’t answer. They never did.
Moving the mouse onto her pillow, and shooing away the other animals who’d been sleeping around her, Viv went to thebalcony, squinting into the dark in search of a horse. None of her friends rode horses. Even the most delusional hero-types had cars.
At first, all she saw was the garden, the fruit trees ringing the well. But then the darkness shifted. Moonlight slid along the glossy black body of a horse, traced the shape of a man holding the reins. Both horse and master were as black as the night they moved through.
Viv shivered with excitement. She knew who the man was—she could recognize a horseman. She just didn’t know why he was here.
Horsemen were magical beings, like fairies—except fairies were always female and horsemen were always male. And while fairies attended christenings, and bestowed curses, and otherwise played a role in cursed lives, horsemen were more standoffish. In Russian fairy tales, they served Baba Yaga. There were horsemen representing the red sun, the white day, the black night. This one was clearly Night.
He’d spotted her on the balcony and was watching her, waiting.
He didn’t call her name. He didn’t have to. It was rare to see a horseman, and there was no way she was letting him leave without finding out why he was here.
Viv hurried downstairs. When she got to the yard Night was standing near the well. The horse was chewing huge mouthfuls of the garden. Flowers disappeared between its teeth and naked patches of earth showed where grass used to grow.
Then Night was in front of her, holding out a black card printed with silver script. The words gleamed with light, so she could read them even in the dark.
A twist of silver branches crawled up either side of the card.
Silver branches meant the underworld. There was a nightclub
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