You Need Me To Kill People?

Death insists on accompanying me to my room. I wonder why he is being so good.

After dinner, Jason disappeared with a few of the other soldiers. He disappeared without a word or glance in my direction and I don't have any idea what to anticipate. At least I have nothing to lose but my life.

"I don't want you to hate me," Death says as we make our way toward the elevator.

"Where is the mother?" I decided to break the silence.

"In Dragomir," he replied, "I'm only your enemy if you want me to be."

"We will always be enemies." My voice is cracked into chips of ice. The words melt on my tongue. "I will never be what you want me to be."

Death sighs as he presses the button for the elevator. "I really think you'll change your mind." He glances at me with a small smile. A shame, really, that such striking looks should be wasted on such a miserable human being. "You and I, Loralie—together? We could be unstoppable."

I will not look at him though I feel his gaze touching every inch of my body.

"No, thank you."

We're in the elevator. The world is whooshing past us and the walls of glass make us a spectacle to every person on every floor. There are no secrets in this building.

He touches my elbow and I pull away. "You might reconsider," he says softly.

"How did you figure it out?" The elevator dings open but I'm not moving. I finally turn to face him because I can't contain my curiosity. I study his hands, so carefully sheathed in leather, his sleeves thick and crisp and long. Even his collar is high and regal. He's dressed impeccably from head to toe and covered everywhere except his face. Even if I wanted to touch him I'm not sure I'd be able to. He's protecting himself.

From me.

"Perhaps a conversation for tomorrow night?" He cocks a brow and offers me his arm. I pretend not to notice it as we walk off the elevator and down the hall. "Maybe you could wear something nice."

He steps forward. His lips twitch. His eyes fall, his lips draw in a tight breath. He drops a gloved finger down the apple of my cheek. "I'll tell you that, tomorrow night at dinner, daughter."

***

The ceiling is fading in and out of focus.

My head is heavy, my vision is blurry, my heart is strained. There is a distinct flavour of panic lodged somewhere underneath my tongue and I'm fighting to remember where it came from. I try to sit up and can't understand why I was lying down.

Someone's hands are on my shoulders.

"How are you feeling?" Death is peering down at me.

"Well, at least you're awake," he sighs. "You had me worried for a moment."

I try to control my trembling limbs. "Get your hands away from me."

He waves sheathed fingers in front of my face. "I'm all covered up. Don't worry."

"I hate you."

"So much passion." He laughs again. He looks so calm, so genuinely amused. He stares at me with eyes softer than I ever expected them to be.

I turn away.

He stands up and Takes a short breath. "Here," he says, reaching for a tray on a small table. "I brought you food."

I take advantage of the moment to sit up and look around. I'm lying on a bed draped in damask golds and burgundy in the darkest shade of blood. The floor is covered in the thick, rich carpet the colour of a setting summer sun. It's warm in this room. It's the same size as the one I occupy, its furniture standard enough: bed, armoire, side tables, chandelier glittering from the ceiling. The only difference is there's an extra door in this room and there's a candle burning quietly on a small table in the corner. I haven't seen fire in so many years I've lost count. I have to stifle an impulse to reach out and touch the flame.

I prop myself up against the pillows and try to pretend I'm not comfortable.

"Where am I?"

Death turns around holding a plate with bread and cheese on it. His other hand is gripping a glass of water. He looks around the room as if seeing it for the first time. "This is my bedroom."

If my head weren't splitting into pieces I'd be tempted to run. "Take me to my own room. I don't want to be here."

"And yet, here you are." He sits at the foot of the bed, a few feet away.

Pushes the plate in front of me. "Are you thirsty?"

I don't know if it's because I can't think straight or if it's because I'm genuinely confused, but I'm struggling to reconcile Death's polarizing personalities. Here he is, offering me a glass of water after he forced me to die. I lift my hands and study my fingers as if I've never seen them before. He left me to die when I couldn't bring him Jihoon's soul. "I don't understand."

He cocks his head, inspecting me as though I might've seriously injured myself. "I only asked if you were thirsty. That shouldn't be difficult to understand." A pause. "Drink this."

I take the glass. Stare at it. Stare at him. Stare at the walls.

I must be insane.

Death sighs. "I'm not sure, but I think you fainted. And I think you should probably eat something, though I'm not entirely sure about that, either." He pauses. "You've probably had too much exertion your first day here. My mistake."

"Why are you being nice to me?"

The surprise on his face surprises me even more. "Because I care about you," he says simply.

"You care about me?" The numbness in my body is beginning to dissipate.

My blood pressure is rising and anger is making its way to the forefront of my consciousness. "I almost killed my own brother because of you!"

"You didn't kill—"

"Your soldiers beat me! You keep me here like a prisoner! You threaten me! You threaten to kill me! You give me no freedom and you say you care about me?" I nearly throw the glass of water at his face. "You are a monster!"

Death turns away so I'm staring at his profile. He clasps his hands.

Changes his mind. Touches his lips. "I am only trying to help you."

"Liar."

He seems to consider that. Nods, just once. "Yes. Most of the time, yes."

"I don't want to be here. I don't want to be your experiment. Let me go."

"No." He stands up. "I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't. I just—" He tugs at his fingers. Clears his throat. His eyes touch the ceiling for a brief moment. "Because I need you."

"You need me to kill people!"

He doesn't answer right away. He walks to the candle. Pulls off a glove. Tickles the flame with his bare fingers. "You know, I am very capable of killing people on my own, Loralie. I'm actually very good at it. I am Death himself."

"That's disgusting."

He ignores my retort. "The mechanics of fear are simple enough. People are intimidated by me, so they listen when I speak." He waves a hand.

"Empty threats are worth very little these days."

I squeeze my eyes shut. "So you kill people for power."

"As do you."

"How dare you—"

He laughs, loud. "You're free to lie to yourself if it makes you feel better."

"I am not lying—"

My mouth freezes in place.

"Why didn't you fight back right away? Why did you allow him to touch you for as long as he did?"

My hands have begun to shake and I grip them, hard. "You don't know anything about me."

"And yet you claim to know me so well."

I clench my jaw, not trusting myself to speak.

"At least I'm honest," he adds.

"You just agreed you're a liar!"

He raises his eyebrows. "At least I'm honest about being a liar."

I slam the glass of water on the side table. Drop my head in my hands. Try to stay calm. Take a steadying breath. "Well," I rasp, "why do you need me, then? If you're such an excellent murderer?"

A smile flickers and fades across his face. "One day I'll introduce you to the answer to that question."

I try to protest but he stops me with one hand. Picks up a piece of bread from the plate. Holds it under my nose. "You hardly ate anything at dinner. That can't possibly be healthy."

I don't move.

He drops the bread on the plate and drops the plate beside the water. Turns to me. Studies my eyes with such intensity I'm momentarily disarmed. There are so many things I want to say and scream but somehow I've forgotten all about the words waiting patiently in my mouth. I can't make myself look away.

"Eat something." His eyes abandon me. "Then go to sleep. I'll be back for you in the morning."

"Why can't I sleep in my own room?"

He gets to his feet. Specks of dust off his pants for no real reason. "Because I want you to stay here."

"But why?"

He barks out a laugh. "So many questions."

"Well if you'd give me a straight answer—"

"Good night, Loralie."

"Are you going to let me go?" I ask, this time quietly, this time timidly.

"No." He takes a few steps into the corner with the candle. "And I won't promise to make things easier for you, either." There is no regret, no remorse, no sympathy in his voice. He could be talking about the weather.

"You could be lying."

"Yes, I could be." He nods, as if to himself. Blows out the candle.

And disappears.

I try to fight it

I try to stay awake

I try to find my head but I can't.

I collapse from sheer exhaustion.