Irritation grated on Elise’s nerves so violently, her body felt as if it had gone aflame. She clenched her jaw with enough strength to cause pain, and when she spoke, there was nothing but venom in her voice. “You think you know my father better than me?”
Celie stepped forward, lifting her hands in surrender. “I believe we’re getting sidetracked now. Why don’t we just stick to our original plan?”
“No, I’d like to hear Miss Saint’s choice words for me. She’s come into my home and has shown me more disrespect than kindness.” Julius stood up, clasping his hands before him as he stepped closer to Elise. “Once again, you are in my home. You are a mere guest in this lair, and should the reapers decide to make a blood meal out of you, I will allow it. Many of them have yet to recover from your family’s relentless attacks.” The older reaper stood so close to Elise now, she could see the white scars on his face and throat. Though faded with age, they appeared no less brutal, serving as proof of his survival abilities.
Other reapers cowered around the area. They stood far enough back to not interrupt Elise and Celie’s conquest, but close enough for Elise to see their obvious distress. Some hid behind one another, whispering back and forth, while others began scurrying off to more distant parts of the cathedral.
The place ran on fear and pure apprehension. Julius had no authority besides moralized harm.
Elise understood why Karine wanted him dead.
She shifted on her feet, feeling the weight of the gun against her hip. Julius’s threat still hung between them, and Elise felt more determined than ever to execute her plan. “I know the danger of reapers, Julius. Multiple members of my family have been killed by them. While I understand your reluctance to trust me, I implore youto consider the state of this neighborhood and what would happen if we continued to work against each other.”
Julius’s jaw hardened. “What areyouinsinuating?”
“Elise,” Celie warned.
Elise ignored him. “A truce. Not on behalf of the Saints, but on behalf of the countless innocent people who have been caught in the crossfire of this never-ending war between reapers, Saints, and gangsters. I don’t have any viable power anymore, but I can get you protection from the greater forces that threaten your kind. Maybe together we can stop the beast that’s hunting all of us.”
“Why would I trust a Saint?” Julius asked, unimpressed.
Elise crossed her arms. “Half your clan has been eradicated, Julius. You will not last much longer against the beast without our weapons.”
A slow smile spread across Julius’s face. “You bargain just like your father.” He spread his hands by his sides, gesturing to the cathedral around them. “I would be happy to make a deal with you if you offer me one thing.”
“What?” Elise asked.
Julius leaned in, his finger catching one of her stray curls and twisting it until it sprang back against her cheek. “A blood bond between you and me.”So I can track your every move and feeling. He did not have to say the words for Elise to know why he wanted the bond.
Everything about this seemed like a bad idea, but all Elise had to do was get close enough before she could act on her plans. Gaininghis trust was her best option. No matter how much her spine tingled with unease and her gut twisted with apprehension, Elise nodded anyway. “Okay.”
***
Music pounded through Layla’s bones, and for the first time in ages, she did not feel compelled to dance. Her narrow escape from Karine had only been possible due to promising the ancient reaper Elise’s capture and containment. So her hunt continued.
She watched a young Black man lean against the outside wall of the Renny and lift a cigarette to his mouth. Smoke swirled around his face, drifting into the street to intermingle with the chaos of West 133rd Street. Swing Street—or Jungle Alley—as some called it, had become something of a spectacle over the past few years. Prohibition had gangsters opening speakeasies in and between the dozens of jazz clubs and cabarets lining the streets. Tassel and sequin dresses shimmered against the night as women, giggling and delightfully intoxicated, decided where to go next. Men tipped their hats at the passing groups, some trying to entice them to enter the clubs. Various forms of music exploded into the night air, creating a bright cacophony of sound.
Layla pressed farther into the alley wall by the Nest Club. Blood still coated her body, and the final stages of the healing process consumed her wrist. Harlem had grown dark enough that few rational, life-loving humans chanced roaming the streets, allowing her towalk around the quieter parts of town without being stopped for her disheveled state. The worst part of the journey was the excruciatingly slow pace at which her arm healed. It no longer throbbed, but it remained puffy and felt as if someone had stuffed cotton between her flesh and her bone.
The man she had been watching dropped his cigarette when a familiar face emerged from the nearby doors. One of Julius’s companions. They were far enough away that Layla couldn’t hear the words being exchanged between them, but she crept closer again, ready to intercept them if only to beat some answers out of them.
Before she could get near enough, a commotion sounded behind her in the back of the alley. Layla turned and saw the outline of a few people struggling near the other end, where another street intersected. The scent of blood wafted down the dark alley, though none of it was human. Still, Layla could sense the presence of humans around it, their essence a fresh and dominating sensation. With one last look at Julius’s companion, who was in the process of readying this man for his feeding, Layla snuck back into the alleyway. The scuffle seemed to settle down as a body collapsed and two other people began dragging it away.
She stepped into the streetlight before they could escape, her eyes lighting up when she recognized the faces of two reapers surrounding a fallen rogue reaper. While Julius was nowhere to be seen, his right-hand men stood with a body between them and gangsters preparing a car for their transport. Blood leaked from the reaper’s head and mouth, and judging from the rate at whichit flowed, Layla guessed the damage had been inflicted by Saint weapons.
Sure enough, a couple of gangsters stepped forward with guns drawn and blades made of Saint steel ready at their hips.
Layla eyed her two clan mates, Roy and Sam, young Black men who had been members of her clan for even longer than she had been. “What are you doing?” she demanded. Fire lit her nerves at the sight of her clan mates taking part in illicit activities against their own kind.
“Julius’s orders.” Sam spoke first, stumbling over his words. “He said this would help the clan and make life better for reapers.”
“Killing other reapers?” Layla demanded.
One of the gangsters waved his gun and nodded toward the alley. “I suggest you leave before you get too deeply involved in something you shouldn’t know about.” He had a heavy Italian accent. But what business did an Italian gang have with the Harlem reapers? Layla wondered. Either Julius had done a suspiciously great job at going behind her back, or she had done an awful job at paying attention to the activities of her own clan.
“No, Bruno, it’s too late for pleasantries. She’s already seen too much.” A young woman dressed in black stepped into the middle of the altercation. Wind funneled through the alley, lifting the long black hair from her shoulders and exposing her tanned skin. Though she spoke with a rather gentle tone, her words contained a threat that matched the unsatisfied frown on her face. Still, Layla dwelled on the fact that these seemingly new and foreign gangsters had Saintweapons, even though the Saint empire was all but closed for business at the moment.
It was then, with a belated and slightly embarrassing realization, that Layla realized her connection with the Saints might have been her only salvation. She relaxed her shoulders and willed her expression to slip from hostile to neutral. “I’m a friend of the Saints. I see you’re using their weapons. I could get you more or have them cut you off. Kill me and your ties to some of the most lethal weaponry on this side of the United States is gone,” Layla said in a low voice.
