She already had his scent and the pattern of his heartbeat. Foolish human.
Ten
The house was quiet. A gentle wind picked up the arms of the poplar tree and brushed them across the shutters lovingly. The porch light was off. Everything was shadows and whispers. Eli felt her shoulders relax. She closed her eyes. She took a deep breath in and tasted laundry detergent, instant coffee, dried blood.
The moment before the dance. This was where she belonged.
She was never more herself than when she was hunting.
She didn’t catch the scent that most ghosts carried. But an experienced ghost, a ghost that had fed on human and witch alike — that ghost might have taken in the essence of the house and its occupants. Ghosts were a bit like sponges that way. This one was old, and clever. Eli felt her pulse quicken in anticipation. Finally, a worthy opponent. It had been so long.
In the dark, there were no lovers or enemies, no heartsick girls with seashells in their hair, no regrets or childish fantasies of freedom. There was only here and now, and the promise of death.
Eli flowed between the darkest shadows on the lawn. She skirted around the front porch with the automatic light and the peepholes and windows that could betray her presence.
She picked the attic window.
All right, she was showing off. She wanted to stand over the house and look down over the world that was always above her.
She wanted to feel like a god.
Silently, she scaled the wall. It was easy. She was strong. The attic window was round and crusted with mould. Eli took out the pearl blade. Although it was designed to separate magic from non-magic, in the human world it could be coaxed to tear apart many different materials. She pressed it against the windowpane and the blade performed its alchemy, turning glass back into sand and sodium carbonate and limestone. The window crumbled.
Eli entered the home.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she whispered, grinning at her own joke.
She thought, I am the monster under the bed. She smiled wider, the glamour struggling to keep up with her crocodile teeth. She didn’t need to conceal her true form now.
The house was silent. She padded gently across the floor. Down the stairs. She trailed her finger along the narrow railing that curved and twisted away from her like a snake. But no one escaped her blades.
Next, the bedroom: rustling sheets, a soft gasp like a baby’s cry, a crackle of old springs. This would be the sacred place of death. This is where she would fulfill her purpose and keep both worlds safe. Her shoulders straightened with the weight of this calling. Her vocation. Invisible, brutal, and unloved — but necessary. Sometimes that was enough. You have value.
The figure didn’t wake as Eli hovered over it. She had to be sure. She leaned down, drawing the thorn blade, and pricked the bottom of a foot. Ghosts bled smoke or iron or scales. Once she had killed a ghost that had burst into a cloud of floral perfume.
A single drop of red blood beaded at the cut.
Ghosts didn’t bleed red.
The body woke up screaming. Eli threw a hand over the woman’s mouth to stifle the sound, mind racing.
“What’s your name?” demanded Eli. “Stop screaming and I won’t hurt you.” She slowly took her hand away from the woman’s mouth.
“Take anything you want. My wallet is in the drawer. Please take anything, just don’t hurt me.”
Impatient and flustered by the ghost’s response, Eli grabbed her hair and forced their faces together. “I asked for your name.”
“J-Jennifer White,” she stuttered. “What do you want?”
“No,” said Eli angrily. “It’s Virginia. This house belongs to Virginia.”
A look of confusion crossed the woman’s face.
“My mother’s dead,” she whispered. “She died last year.”
“How did she die?”
“Stroke.”
Eli released her head. The woman scrambled back. Eli reached for the frost blade. It burned like ice at her touch. Her blades never lied.
The woman was telling the truth.
“You’re human,” said Eli.
“Of course I’m human!” The woman looked at Eli. “Are you on drugs? I can call an ambulance.”
She had the wrong person.
She had made a mistake.
Eli stumbled back. “I’m sorry.” She fumbled at her waist, sheathing the daggers. The woman took the opportunity to lunge at Eli with a large pillow. The pillow snagged on the thorn dagger, knocking Eli back and tossing a handful of feathers into the air. They fell like snow.
The woman ran for the door. Eli knew she should kill her. Had she seen the sharp teeth through the fading glamour? Had crocodile eyes burned through the enchanted mask?
Instead, Eli stood in a cloud of feathers and watched her go.
She was not made to kill humans. There was no glory or honour in it.
Knowing the police would be here in a matter of minutes, she dragged herself back up to the attic and scrambled through the empty eye socket of the house.
My existence is marked by empty spaces, she thought bitterly.
The sound of sirens in the distance.
She ran.
Eleven
Eli ran wildly, her footsteps on asphalt echoing through the quiet street. She struggled to keep her glamour in place. Her heart was beating out of her rib cage. She turned left, then right, then right again, randomly, spurred on by panic.
A dead end.
The sirens were getting closer. Should she break into another house? Try to outrun the cars? She looked around for somewhere to hide.
A black car flashed its headlights at her, and she jumped back, grabbing two of her knives — one made from rose thorns, the other carved from stone.
The window rolled down and a familiar head poked out. “Need a lift?”
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Heard the call. I listen in on cop activity. Lots of times it’s witch crap.”
Eli slid over the hood of the car, wrenched open the passenger door, and fell into the seat.
He grinned. “What were you saying about not needing me?”
“Yes, you’re very useful for a human. Now get me the hell out of here.”
“What’s the magic word?”
“I was trained to kill?”
“Good enough for me.” He put the car into gear and drove off.
Alto saxophone drifted from the speakers.
Eli nearly dropped her weapons. “This is your getaway music?”
“I like jazz. What’s wrong with jazz?”
Eli shrugged and sheathed her blades. “Can you go any faster?”
“I could, but then the cops would chase me. Gotta blend in.” He glanced over at her. “Everything okay?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“What happened?”
“What did I just say?”
He drove under the speed limit. He stopped at stop signs. He yielded right of way. It was painful. She threw him an exasperated look when he stopped at a yellow light.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She slouched down into the seat, trying to calm her heartbeat. “Nice moustache.”
“Thank you.”
“Ever heard of sarcasm?”
“Is that a fun place to visit?”