The Reaper made a hissing sound that was almost a scream. He swept his arm to the right, and vines followed, striking Percival. The old man flew to the side, landing painfully on the cobblestones, his gun clattering to a halt alongside the ruined coach.
Elswyth’s mind raced. She looked at the amberheart, hanging around the Reaper’s neck. For a moment, it was as though the creature was looking back at her. As though he, too, knew that he had been revealed.
A gunshot sounded to her right, snapping Elswyth out of her stupor. The bullet struck the Reaper in the side, producing a small squirt of black blood. The moment between them vanished, the Reaper’s head turning to search for his attacker.
Elswyth turned to see Mrs. Rose standing there, legs spread wide, shakily holding a revolver. Her hat had fallen over her eyes, and she scrambled to put it back in position. A shocked expression trembled on her face.
“Mrs. Rose?” Elswyth asked.
Mrs. Rose didn’t respond. She fumbled with the revolver, trying to cock it again. She fired it once, twice, three times, flinching each time. The bullets hit the Reaper’s chest and shoulder, more black blood pooling on his suit.
Vines swept down at Mrs. Rose, thick tendrils wrapping around her waist and wrenching her into the sky.
“Mrs. Rose!” Elswyth screamed. The Reaper crawled over the street, vines latching onto the roofs of nearby buildings, Mrs. Rose dangling beneath him. The woman screamed, thrashing againstthe ivy that wrapped around her waist. Her revolver dropped, clattering on the cobblestones.
Then Percival was up, limping toward his gun. He reached it, pushed his sweat-soaked hair from his eyes, and aimed. The gunshot struck the Reaper in the back as he passed into the next alley, sending a spray of black blood over the stone street. Percival cracked the gun open, reloaded, and then aimed again…
The Reaper lifted Mrs. Rose behind him, guarding his own body with hers. Elswyth pushed Percival’s rifle away at the last moment, and his shot went wide, hitting a nearby building. Stone shards exploded into the alley, kicking up a cloud of dust.
“Stop! You’ll hit Mrs. Rose!”
Percival shouted, throwing down his gun. Then he ran to Kehinde, who crawled from the ruined carriage on shaking limbs.
Elswyth watched the Reaper hover above the street. All around them, people had come out into the open, watching the commotion. A crowd of them pointed at the creature, screaming at the sight of it.
The Reaper lowered himself slowly. Beneath him, two vines found a manhole cover and pulled it off, tossing it to the side as though it were nothing. Silently, like an octopus returning to its den, the Reaper lowered himself into the sewer, his vines keeping him steady, and then following him inside. Elswyth watched his body disappear, and then his monstrous head. Last to go was Mrs. Rose, still screaming and thrashing against the ivy wrapped around her. She disappeared into the sewer after him, reaching out for Elswyth. A straggling vine grabbed the manhole cover and pulled it back into place. It slid into position with a metallicshink, and then even the echoes of Mrs. Rose’s screams were gone.
Elswyth stood, panting, in her ruined wedding dress. Percival took Kehinde by the shoulder, and the two limped over to her. Kehinde cradled his arm close to his chest, and Elswyth could see shards of his Ebony armor jutting at odd angles, tipped with blood.
“What was that monster?” Percival said.
Elswyth swallowed. When she spoke, her voice shook. “That,” she said, “was Silas Blackthorn.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
In Greek mythology, Cyparissus—the namesake of the cypress tree—was a famous hunter and a lover of Apollo. One day, by accident, he killed the tamed stag that Apollo had gifted him. His grief was so great that he transformed into the first cypress. The tree’s dripping sap is said to be his tears, falling to this day. In floriography, cypress meansmourning.
We need to go after Mrs. Rose,” Elswyth said. They burst into the drawing room of Devereux Place, Percival and Elswyth supporting the injured Kehinde between them. They lowered him onto the couch slowly. The blow from the Reaper had cracked his Ebony armor, splintering the wood and breaking the bones beneath. His leg, too, was shattered.Strong enough to stop bullets,Elswyth thought,and Silas snapped it like kindling.She crossed the room, fetched her botany kit, and began tending to Kehinde’s wounds.
“We need to regroup, Elswyth,” Percival said. “We threw everything we had at him, and he barely flinched.”
“He has Mrs. Rose,” Elswyth said. Her voice shook.
“And he has gravely injured Kehinde. If we follow him, we will surely be defeated again. We need a plan,” Percival said.
Kehinde tried to sit up. “We must find Vivian,” he said, wincing. “I can fight.”
Percival gently lowered him back down onto the couch. “I know you can, my love. But for my sake, please. No.”
“What else are we to do?” Elswyth said. “We cannot trust the constabulary. We are on our own.”
Percival thought for a moment. “Elswyth… do you really think that was Blackthorn?”
She hesitated. “The necklace that the Reaper wore is a powerful artifact, one that confers vast amounts of vitæ. And the last time I saw it, it was in Silas’s possession.”
Percival and Kehinde shared a curious look, but neither seemed overly surprised at the existence of the amberheart.
“But certainly that does not mean thatheis the Reaper,” Percival said. He whispered something to Kehinde, who nodded, biting down on a strap of leather. Percival counted to three and then jerked Kehinde’s broken arm back into place. He screamed, an agonizing sound. Slowly, the Ebony armor retreated from Kehinde’s skin. Beneath it, he was slick with sweat, his face a faded brown-gray. Bruises crisscrossed his bare chest and stomach beneath the patterns of scars there. Elswyth reached into her kit for the alcohol and began to disinfect.
