I touched the mask over my face to make sure it was still in place and drew the hood of the cloak over my head. Behind me, the safety of the palace beckoned, but since the Reaper had not come to me no matter how many times I called to him in my bedroom, I was forced to go against my nature and venture out into the city for him. If they caught me, I could hang, but if I did not try, then Joreen would surely die.

Torch light flickered along the cobbled stones, creating shadows that danced and flickered with the breeze whistling through the alley. I imagined Wardens hiding in every sliver of darkness until my heart pounded so furiously breathing became difficult. This was utter foolishness. Barely five minutes into my mission, and I was already so nervous, I feared I might faint.

"Reaper," I hissed, pressing my body against the buildings and keeping an eye out for Wardens or anyone else foolish enough to be out after curfew. No telling if they might risk their own necks to report me.

When he didn't materialize before me the way he usually did, I kept pressing further into the city, leaving the posh town homes and boutiques behind. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and an icy wind howled through the alleys, carrying fine droplets of mist that splattered my face and numbed the tip of my nose.

I quickened my pace, wishing I could trade seeing someone's death for controlling the weather, and debated turning back, but Joreen's life hung in the balance. And if she died without me trying to stop it, her accusations that I was a coward would haunt me forever.

I stopped abruptly as a figure passed in front of me, and a small gasp escaped. The woman didn't acknowledge the sound. She stepped off the sidewalk and into the illuminated street.

"Hat Lady Sal?"

It had been weeks since I last saw her on Market Street, and I had begun to suspect something terrible had happened to her. More vocal than many about Edresh's current state, she'd been in trouble with the Wardens more than a few times, and it didn't surprise me that she would break curfew.

"Sal, you should get back inside."

Nothing. She stood motionless, only her eyes moving as she swept them up and down the street, searching for something. Her lustrous green hair hung over her shoulder in an intricate braid, and of all things, she wore a wedding dress.

"Sal," I tried again, hunkering deeper into my cloak, my sense of self-preservation warring with the need to help an old friend. "Sal."

She blinked and rolled her shoulders. Confusion twisted her delicate features into something feral, and not a single drop of rain dampened her hair or her dress. None clung to her long lashes or rolled down her cheeks, and when she took a step, there was no wet footprint on the stone road.

I reached for her unknowingly, and an overwhelming sense of doom washed over me. I snatched my hand back—too late. Sal moved, and it passed through her bodice, igniting a thrumming note in my chest.

I staggered. Black streaked my fingers as I curled them into my palm and pressed them against my heart, hoping it would calm the storm brewing inside me, but already the vibrations moved upward, twisting and forming into something new. This would not be a single note but a song, and every fiber of my being ached to hear it, anticipating the ecstasy even as I knew singing it would herald doom.

Images burst through my mind. Moments in Sal's life. First steps and words. First looks and kisses. A proposal and wedding day. Tangled sheets in the moonlight. Tangled sheets soaked with sweat and sickness. Every single strand glowing, connecting to the next until the final one snapped and went dark.

"My Opo," she asked, her voice hollow. "My Opo will be all right?"

I grabbed my head and hit my knees. Her question sparked the same feeling of knowing I had when I sensed someone was about to die, but instead of a single vision of white, I saw all the future moments in Opo's life that connected him back to Sal.

Sobbing over a grave. Sleepless nights in their bed that ended in the living room on their sofa. The first shy smiles at his neighbor, Sophia, who brought him meals. Another wedding day that began with a prayer for Sal's blessing on his union. A daughter bearing her name.

"Yes. Yes, he'll be all right," I shouted, clawing at my chest, trying to stop the flood of her very essence—her soul—into mine.

Boots pounded on the pavement, and I didn't even care that they caught me. If the Wardens could stop this, I would gladly pay the ultimate price, because I couldn't live with myself if I consumed Sal's soul. It would be the very end of her. No rest in the Afterlife. No hope of rebirth.

She wavered before me; her edges coming undone, breaking into tendrils that floated toward me. A song formed on my tongue. Then something sharp sliced through the air, cutting through her middle, and with a wide-eyed look of shock, she disappeared, and the song died, leaving a spreading numbness in my chest.

Heaving, I rolled onto my back and looked into the rain. In my peripheral vision, the newcomer placed something behind his back before leaning over me, his broad shoulders blocking the worst of the rain. A cowl covered his head, and the lower half of his face was covered as well.

He went in and out of focus, a halo of light appearing around him. I had the strangest sense what was left of Sal was with him somehow. Not consumed but hidden somewhere. Safe where I couldn't reach her.

"Reaper," I croaked as he dragged me to my feet and into an alley.

Gone from his amber gaze was the usual playfulness. In its place was a rage unlike any I'd ever witnessed. His gloved hands ripped my hood from my head, and he pulled my hair over my shoulder, searching the strands for something. When he finished, his body relaxed. He stepped away, leaned against the building, and folded his arms over his broad chest.

I snatched my hood back up. "Was that necessary?"

"What you just almost did is forbidden."

"What did I almost do?"

"You almost consumed that Goblin's spirit."

My suspicions had been right. I swallowed hard. "But I didn't?"

The Reaper shook his head. "You didn't. She's safe now."

"I didn't even know she was dead! How is that possible? Can everyone see her spirit? I've heard rumors of spirits wandering, but why?"

"Hold on. One question at a time."

I drew in a shaky breath and asked the one that worried me the most. "Why would a Death–someone like me consume a soul?"

"Because a soul is magic, and when it's consumed, its power is transferred. Most do it accidentally, overcome as you were, but it's like a drug. You'll crave more power, and the next time it might not be an accident."

"Why did you look at my hair?" I plucked at a strand falling over my shoulder and studied it for a sign it was different.

"A Deathsinger who has consumed a soul is marked. First with white in their hair. Every soul taken takes a little more from the Deathsinger until she is but a shell. Pale skin and bones and eyes of black. In Araphel, we call them Banshees."

I swayed, kept upright by two strong hands around my waist. "The Winter Woman."

The concern in his eyes morphed into confusion. "Who?"

"The King...there is a woman in the palace who looks like that. Like a Banshee."

An alarm bell tolled. The Wardens knew someone was out after curfew. He whispered in my ear. "Meet me at the Low Bridge tomorrow at dusk."

"Wait. I was looking for you because I need to know—"

"Tomorrow," he hissed, darting into the streets in full view of the Wardens.

Why would he do that when he could disappear in the blink of an eye? Unless it was to lead them away from me? I sank further into the alley and watched as he waited for the Wardens to get close before bolting toward the canals, drawing them farther from the palace. The Wardens rushed by, the loud stomp of their feet and the rattling of their weapons hanging from their belts echoing through the empty streets.

Praying the Reaper had drawn them all away, I made the bold decision to scale a building. Most of these buildings were older with the flat roofs, and it was easy enough to run along them, bringing me to the bridge connecting the city to the eyot much faster than I expected.

The only tricky part came when I had to figure out how to get down. There was a building with a trellis that was perfect, but between me and that building was a bell tower. Lightning from summer storms took it out, and the money had not been raised to repair it. The tiles around the damaged stump were loose. Just a week ago, one broke off and dropped on an unsuspecting priest. He might have been fine if it hadn't caused him to trip and crack his head on the temple steps.

I could backtrack and skirt around the ledge. It would mean being more visible, and it would waste precious time. Sending up a prayer, I reached out with a toe, tapping gently on the tiles, confirming the sturdiness of their attachment before stepping down completely. Satisfied, I repeated this with the other foot, grinning foolishly as I moved closer to my destination without issue.

"A silly little roof will not stop me after everything I've been through tonight. I–Ahhhh!" I screeched as the pale figure of the deceased priest appeared in front of me, his ratlike features pinched in disapproval when he saw me.

That was all it took. I had only a second to decide if sliding down the roof on my back was worse than going down on my front. Twisting, I landed on my stomach and immediately started grasping for anything to stop, or at least slow my fall. Instead, tile after tile crumbled in my hands, slicing the tender skin of my palms until it was impossible to tell what was rain and what was blood.

When my feet went over the edge, I resisted the urge to scream and fought harder, squeaking in shock when my fingers curled around the metal gutters lining the back of the temple. They'd put them up two years ago after tiring of constant complaints about runoff from the roof into the street, and I had never been so thankful in my life for the constant bickering that resulted in this nailed on bit of metal—the only thing that kept me from becoming a splat on the ground.

Arms shaking from nearly being torn from their sockets, I shuffled to the right until I was dangling over a dense bush that held onto its leaves all year long. Extending my arms completely, I counted to ten, released my hold, and braced for impact.

It turned out appearances were deceiving, and I should've taken my chances with the ground. The evergreen leaves cut through my clothes and bit into my skin like hundreds of needles.

"Oh, Nightshade, that hurt," I groaned, picking myself up and limping down to the rock path under the bridge.

All the time I saved, going over the roofs was lost as I gingerly stepped over each slippery rock, praying my leg wouldn't buckle beneath me. How I made it back to my room undetected, I wasn't sure, but I stumbled to my bed and sent up a prayer of thanks and a promise to never be so foolish again.

Except for tomorrow. When I broke all the rules again to meet the Reaper.