You may think I was mad for talking to a dead slipshot. But slipshots are different than other beings. They’re born of greed and murder, and often, they die the same way. They believe if they die a violent death, then their spirit will linger happily, soaking up the blood. Then, eventually, they’ll disintegrate and make their way back to the spirit of avarice and its companion murder.
Harry’s body was sinking into the sponge floor. Half his legs had disappeared. His abdomen was nearly swallowed. His left arm was flung wide, but the right rested on his chest.
“A monster.”
I swung around and narrowed my eyes on the dark tunnel. There were the legs of the figments hanging from the ceiling, the sparks of nightmares and dreams lighting the dark path, but no creature. No being.
“Harry?”
His voice was distant and barely discernable. The whooshing moan nearly swallowed his words.
“What monster?”
I strained, trying to catch his voice.
Slipshots bodies never survived after death. Usually, within an hour, their physical remains had vanished. I’d seen it countless times in Hell Gate. He was still here, though, which meant he hadn’t been dead long.
Was the monster still here?
I looked over my shoulder, shivering at the twitching figment legs and the shifting red and white walls covered in claw marks and scorch stains.
“The Smith.” Harry’s voice was hollow and barely above a whisper. All the same, I jerked at the name.
“The Smith did this? The Smith killed you?”
Finn was the monster who’d killed Harry and ravaged the tunnel walls? Had he been the shadowed figure in my dream? Was it him who had raged?
“Thief . . . Liar . . . Die . . . My hand.”
His words were growing farther apart and so distant I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right.
I shivered, then I kneeled at his side and pried open his right hand.
I let out a sharp breath. He was holding the comb of discernment and the “take in event of emergency” vial. Surprisingly, they were both whole and unbroken. The comb’s ivory was stained with Harry’s blood. I held the vial up to the red light and tilted it to the side. Half of it was gone.
I looked at Harry’s mouth and noticed a tinge of gold and glitter. So. This had been an emergency. It hadn’t saved him though. I sighed.
“I’m sorry.” I gripped the comb and the vial and then shoved them into my pocket. “You were a really good slipshot. A great thief. Not many people have ever stolen from me. Thank you, and . . .” I frowned as Harry’s body slipped fully beneath the spongy floor. The white-marrow surface gulped and gasped like hungry quicksand. “Good luck. Wherever you go.”
Harry didn’t respond. The only sound was the moan of the walls and the scratching of figment’s legs kicking and twitching. I stood and searched the surrounding tunnel for an hour, crawling on the floor, looking for my lost pebble.
Finally, I had to admit what I didn’t want to.
Finn had killed Harry. Finn was a monster. Finn had the pebble he’d once given me.
I pulled myself back into the asylum.
The stench of death lingered on my skin. I’d missed breakfast. Rou or Griff had left a plate of pancakes on my bed. I forced myself to eat. I’d need the energy.
It was time for the wedding.
63
The dress swirled around me, a gaudy concoction of tulle, satin, glitter, and lace. The skirt was shredded silver tulle that swept past my knees. The bodice was satin and lace. The entire bridesmaid’s dress was covered in red glitter, which looked like the fine sheen of blood splatter.
I’d once seen Jagger squeeze a being in his fist so tightly it had exploded. The blood had sprayed out in a rainy mist. Everyone within ten feet of him had been covered. This was the same. My dress looked like I’d been caught in blood rain.
I stared into Last’s conjured mirror. “I look like a deranged ballerina.”
