Then the vine around her neck tightened. A snapping sound echoed in the small room, and Lady Sheers’s head jerked to the side. The light left her eyes, and a trickle of blood fell from her lips.
Elswyth lay frozen on the ground, looking up at Lady Sheers’s dangling corpse. Then the floor itself began to crumble, and a shape emerged, lifting itself up from the darkness of the earth. Vines, hundreds of vines, searching out like tentacles. They grabbed on to the rafters of the room, onto the hearth, dug themselves into the walls. Slowly, a figure emerged.
At first, Elswyth wasn’t sure what she was seeing. The head of the creature came first: a nest of vines writhing over each other, reaching out like rays from a dark sun. But beneath it was the body of a man, tall and strong, wearing a fine gray suit in three pieces. A black cloak hung from his shoulders, and black gloves covered his hands. He rose out of the crumbling floor, inch by inch, vines always searching for new purchase.
Elswyth pushed herself up, tangled in her wedding dress. She bolted for the stairs, throwing what she could behind her. Jars of herbs shattered, and racks of rusted tools fell to the ground. Vines shot out at her, burying themselves in the wall behind her head, but she dove for the stairs, scrambling up, up and out of the basement, not looking back.
Elswyth burst through the door and into the alley, screaming, “Percival! Percival!”
She lifted the hem of her wedding gown and ran down the long alleyway and the ivy-covered walls seemed to close in on her as she passed.
Percival stood by the carriage. He looked confused at first, and then Elswyth heard a cracking sound behind her. The Reaper emerged from the house, forcing himself through the door. It flew off its hinges and shattered against the wall next to Elswyth.
The debris struck her in the back, and she fell. She turned to see the creature following her, his shapeless head writhing, arms raised at his sides. He moved slowly, as if he couldn’t be bothered to hurry. Step by step he came, the tendrils of his face reaching out and searching for her.
A thunderclap shattered the air. A bullet hole appeared on the Reaper’s chest, just above the heart, and black blood sprayed from the wound. The creature stopped for a moment, looking down at the bullet hole as if curious. Then he raised his head of tendrils, unbothered, and continued toward her.
“Elswyth, run!” Percival shouted. He loaded his rifle with another round and then snapped the gun closed.
Elswyth leapt to her feet, turning back only to flash her hand at the Reaper. A spray of witch hazel thorns struck him in the chest, drawing more spurts of black blood. Each thorn held enough poison to kill ten men, but the creature didn’t seem to notice. He stepped closer.
Elswyth ran. She sprinted down the alley and past Kehinde, who ran the opposite direction. He’d leapt from the carriage with startling swiftness, sprinting toward the Reaper.
“Get behind me!” he shouted. He produced his walking stick, which seemed longer than before. Carved patterns now twistedup the side. He knelt, putting his lips to the bottom of the walking stick, and fired a dart at the Reaper. It struck the creature’s chest, but the poison had no effect. Kehinde’s dart and Elswyth’s thorns all fell uselessly to the ground.
Kehinde stood just as vines began reaching for him. He swatted one away with his walking stick and then another, striking them so hard that they sliced in two. They fell to the ground, still writhing.
A vine sped toward him, rearing and striking like a serpent. Kehinde raised his wrist and blocked it, but he was driven back. A second vine slashed across his torso. The fabric of his suit tore open, and black wood shone beneath it where his skin would be.
And then Kehinde began to change. Polished wood grew from beneath his clothes, up his neck and over his face. Soon his skin was shining black. The Ebony had grown over his scars, making them seem like carvings in the wood. Even his eyes changed, solid black except for the small dark pinpricks of his pupils.
He took one fist, grabbed the torn fabric of his shirt, and ripped it free. The shirt fell to the side, revealing his bare chest. Intricate patterns of scars covered his torso, arms, and back. Ebony armor coated every inch of him, making his skin shine in the light of the gas lamps. The grooves of his muscles were smooth and polished, as though they were carved from onyx.
More vines leapt at him, and he parried them one by one, slicing through them with his walking stick. It shifted in his hands as he fought: What was once a walking stick had grown to a staff that was nearly Kehinde’s height. The tip swelled and then flattened into a blade, forming a spear. Kehinde continued slicing through the attacking vines, but for each one that fell, two more grewfrom the Reaper’s head. Kehinde drew his hand to the side and a leaflike blade of ebony wood formed there, shining and sharp. He launched it at the creature, striking him in the chest and driving him back.
The creature raised his right hand, and a gray pustule swelled on his palm—it opened into a black flower, and a spray of thorns burst from its core. The thorns collided with Kehinde, who crossed his arms before his face, blocking them. Still, the force of the blow pushed him backward, and he slid on his heels toward Elswyth. Thorns protruded from his arms and torso, dripping green poison.
In the moment of his distraction, the Reaper shot a vine from beneath his sleeve, directly at Kehinde. Elswyth leapt in front of him, intercepting the vine before it could strike. It wrapped around her wrist, so tightly that she cried out. She clenched her jaw against the pain and reached into the vine with her floromantic sense, feeling the thrill of vitae there, and ripped it from the vine. It flowed into her and the vine withered, fading to black, and then collapsed into ash.
The Reaper, to her surprise, didn’t send another vine at her. Instead he seemed to stare at her, somehow, from his face of ivy.
Kehinde, armor still speckled with poison thorns, sprinted forward, leaping with inhuman speed. He kicked off the brick wall to his right, launching himself high and soaring toward the Reaper’s head. Kehinde brought his spear down, screamed, and drove it through the creature’s skull.
It was silent for a moment; the creature twitched, Kehinde still on him, pushing his spear deeper. Then, slowly, vines crept out from the Reaper’s cloak, wrapping themselves around Kehinde. One of them tightened around his waist, lifting him into the air.Another wrenched his spear from the meat of the creature’s skull with a sickening crunch.
“Kehinde!” Percival shouted. He knelt to load his gun again, but his hands shook around the bullets.
The Reaper’s vines twisted, tightening like pythons around Kehinde. He gasped, his eyes bulging, and Elswyth heard a cracking sound. Then the vines reared back, throwing Kehinde and his spear across the alley, directly at Percival and Elswyth. Elswyth dove for her uncle, pulling him to the ground. Behind them, Kehinde’s body hit the carriage, shattering the door into shrapnel.
Mrs. Rose screamed. Kehinde lay across from her in the ruins of the carriage, unconscious, his right arm twisted at an unnatural angle. Elswyth leapt up, taking Mrs. Rose by the hand and guiding her out of the ruined coach. Percival looked at Kehinde and then roared. He propped up his rifle and fired. The explosion rocked her, and she clamped her hands over her ears. Behind her, Percival’s gun smoked.
The Reaper’s head—if it could be called that—jerked backward. A wet hole appeared in the middle of his face, a tear in the tangle of vines. It hit right where its brain should be, and yet the creature didn’t flinch. The hole resealed, new vines coming to replace the old, sliding over one another like worms.
The creature stepped into the alleyway and began to rise into the air. His tendrils latched onto the buildings behind and in front of him, lifting him skyward. He seemed like the center of some dark web, like a spider with a thousand legs, lording over them from above.
Percival fired again. This time, the buckshot hit the Reaper just below the throat. The fabric of his suit tore away, revealingsomething beneath: a necklace on an ancient bronze chain with a shining jewel at the center. An amber.
Elswyth stared at it. Her heart thundered in her ears. “No…”
