Hearing him refer to Cassandra as a lost soul causes a twinge of pain in my heart. She’s far from lost now that she’s here. “She’s my friend.”
“You said you could communicate with spirits, but befriending them? That’s not…not typical, is it?”
I nod, feeling a bit of color come to my cheeks. Being friends with a ghost is weird even in the reaper world, I guess.
“No, it wasn’t. But she never judged me like the others did.”
He slows, and when he turns, I half expect to see a cocky grin on his face as he tells me I’m lame. But what I see instead is that same gentleness I got a glimpse of during dinner.
“That must be nice,” he says so softly I almost don’t hear him. He takes a few more steps forward. “You must be close to be willing to die for her.”
“Well, yeah. And that’s what you do for people you care about, right? Don’t think. Just help. Because you know they’d do the same for you. Or you’d hope so at least.”
“Yeah.” Something like guilt flashes in his eyes, and he looks away quickly as we fall into step together, shoes quietly thudding on the stone steps.
After going up the stairs, we go down another hall, up a set of spiral stairs, and finally come to another common room. There’s a large fireplace in the front and center, and it’s set up in a similar fashion to the others. A couch. Lounge chairs. Games and an old-fashioned juke box. It’s a space meant to hang out in, to chat and discuss demon hunting or whatever reapers talk about.
Behind the fireplace is a long, narrow, tunnel-like hallway. We enter it, and candles mounted on the walls flicker to life as we walk. There are three doors, and each has a symbol etched into it: a knife to represent the Proeliators, a crystal ball for the Magi, and a dark mirror for the Arbiters.
“This is our house,” Maxon tells me, waving his hand over the middle door. The symbol of two scythes glows red for a second before fading. The door swings open with a creak and we step in.
“Everyone should be in his or her rooms,” he tells me in a low voice. “If you’re lucky, it’ll stay that way.”
“I’m usually not that lucky. Fingers crossed.” Cool air blasts me in the face as soon as we step inside, and the door shuts with a whoosh behind us.
“Solis,” Maxon says, holding out his hand. The little ball of light in his hand lights up the hall. This place is a labyrinth of hallways and corridors and I’m going to get my fair share of cardio just walking around this place.
We stop at a doorway, with great wooden double doors blocking our passage. Maxon presses his hand against the door, and a few seconds tick by before the lock is turned from the inside. He pushes it open the rest of the way and steps to the side, letting me in first.
We’re in yet another common room, though this one is much smaller but just as nice as the one at the entrance to the dormitories. From there, we go up a spiral staircase, down another hall, and up one more flight of stairs. The doors to each room are closed, and the entire dorm is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
“The lavatory is that way,” Maxon says as we pass it by. His room is the last one in the hall. It’s pitch-black inside, and I slowly follow behind him, stepping into the dark. I pause in the doorway, waiting for him to do the same magic as before and conjure up a ball of light. Instead, he strikes a match and lights a candle, and then uses that candle to light another.
Nothing too exciting.
The room is large, with the same polished hardwood floors and fancy paneling up on the walls. There are two beds on opposite sides of the room, each with a large chest at the foot. A long and narrow table divides the room, and two dresses are against the walls across from the beds. Everything is rather formal yet plain.
“You can sleep there.” Maxon motions to the bed to the right. It’s neatly made, with white and gray blankets tucked tightly around the mattress. There’s a name plaque above the bed, with the name Dorian engraved into the dark metal. I turn, and see Maxon engraved onto a plaque above his bed.
“What happened to Dorian?”
Maxon turns wooden, the light leaving his eyes. “He went on a hunt and never came back,” he says in a deadened voice that makes my stomach sink.
“I’m so sorry.” I swallow hard against an unexpected lump in my throat. “Do you think he’s…he’s…?”
“Dead? Yes.” His jaw clenches. “He can’t be located, and the best arbiters have tried.”
“I’m sorry,” I mutter again, trying not to think too hard about sleeping in a dead reaper’s bed.
Maxon says nothing, just sits down on the bed and starts to take off his boots. My heart speeds up as, for a split second, I wonder if he’s about to strip in front of me. Do reapers not care about modesty? Is that why the headmistress didn’t have an issue letting me bunk here tonight? I watch as he sets his boots next to the bed and goes to his dresser, taking out a change of clothes for the night.
“You can put your stuff in here,” he tells me, pointing to the other dresser. “And sometime tomorrow, you’ll get more clothes as well as the rest of the items needed.”
“Okay.”
He grabs what he needs from the dresser and leaves, shutting the door behind him. I sigh, feeling both relieved and oddly disappointed, then put my uniform in the top drawer and set my boots by the foot of the bed like Maxon did with his.
I don’t think there is a snowball’s chance in hell I’ll fall asleep considering everything that went on tonight, but with my mind and body in overdrive, I’m exhausted. I lie down on the bed, meaning to just rest for a moment.
I tuck Maxon’s cloak around myself, still unable to fight off the chill, and close my eyes. I fall asleep, and dream about Cassandra and the demon. We’re running in circles through the alley, unable to get away.
Something falls on me and I shoot up with a gasp.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” Maxon’s handsome face is just inches from mine. He’s covering me with a blanket that must have come off his own bed.
I lean back, bringing a hand to my face to push my hair back. “You didn’t. I’m…I’m jumpy.”
“Understandable.”
“And exhausted.”
“Also understandable.” Was that the candlelight flickering, or did the corner of his mouth twitch?
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” I pull my fingers through my messy hair. “I don’t even know what time it is.”
“It’s late and you should sleep. We both should.”
I swallow hard and nod. “Do you need your cloak back?”
He shrugs. “Keep it if you’re cold.”
My eyelids are heavy and I want nothing more than to collapse back onto the pillows. Knowing he took his own blanket off to try and keep me warm makes my heart flutter—just a bit.
“You’ll get sleeping garments in the morning,” he tells me. “Will you be comfortable tonight?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Though the next time I die, I’ll remember to wear something comfortable.”
“The next time you die, there will be no coming back,” he says, and I slowly get out of bed, carrying the package of personal care items with me. I turn and pad out of the room, going into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Lanterns hang on the walls, and I snatch one, not being careful enough and almost burning my fingers on the hot glass.