Dead Girl Walking (8 page)

“I don't like it.” What was there to like? Larkin, the boy she'd been sneaking out with, had an appointment with death.

“You're not supposed to,” Wynter said. “I talked with Edon. He thinks you should stay here for today.”

“The hell I am!” Leila stood up. Her hands in fists. “I'm not going to sit by and idly watch as you reap my boyfriend! Not a chance in hell!”

Wynter sighed. “I know you want to help, but the reap is assigned to me, and I really don't think you want to screw up Larkin's death. It's not going to be an easy one.”

“What do you mean?” Leila felt her stomach sink.

“He's being executed for treason and murder.”

“What?” Her eyes widened in horror. She felt like she was going to be sick. “He's innocent! He didn't kill me!” Leila had no idea who had murdered her, but it wasn't Larkin Alis. He loved her, and she him.

“You and I know that, but we can't exactly storm into the kingdom and declare he had an alibi. It's a little more complicated than that.”

“Can't you fix it?” Leila pleaded. She wasn't against begging right now.

“What's written can't be undone,” Wynter whispered. He ran a hand through her red tangles, pushing the hair out of her face. “You don't have to come with me.”

Leila closed her eyes and hung her head. “I do.” She couldn't let Larkin die all alone. Even if he wasn't physically alone, she wanted to be there beside him. “Is there any way I can take his soul?” It felt wrong to allow anyone else to do it. Watching would be painful; reaping his soul would be even more difficult, but it was her job and she owed it to him.

“We can sneak into the asylum and borrow the scythe. It can transfer the assignment from one scroll to another.”

Leila's head tilted up. “Borrow?” she asked and raised a curious eye. The words sneak and borrow didn't belong together. It sounded more like stealing.

“I told you I tend to bend the rules. You've been a reaper for a week. Give it a month, and you'll see all the crazy trouble we can get in together.”

“Let me get dressed and then let's go.” Leila shooed him out the bedroom and locked the door behind him. It was going to be a long and exhausting day.

Leila stared up at the beige and red bricks of the asylum. The shuttered windows and shaded front disturbed her. “Can't you go in, get what we need, and bring it out?”

“We're doing this because
you
want to reap Larkin's soul. You're coming in with me,” Wynter said.

Together, they walked in through the main doors and toward the back stairwell. Walking past locked wooden doors, Leila's heart skipped a beat. Were people being held hostage inside the rooms? She slowed as she passed, jumping out of her skin when a loud tapping sound came from the other side of the locked door.

“Hurry up,” Wynter said. “You don't want to be around if they get out.”

“Who are they? What's in there?” Leila walked past another door and could hear a faint whimpering inside.

Wynter gripped her arm and led her forcefully toward the back stairwell. “Come on.” Glass windows lit the path up to the third floor. “Edon’s office shouldn't be occupied. He's only in there twice a month.”

“One day a month is too much for me.” Leila followed Wynter out into the hall. The door slammed shut behind them. Leila jumped and let out a slow heavy breath. She needed to calm down.

“Come on.” Wynter walked to the end of the hall and turned the knob. It was unlocked.

Leila was surprised, but then again who would have the courage to come into this place? She was already dead, and it frightened her to no end. “What does the scythe look like?” She'd heard stories about grim reapers when she was a child; none of them were even close to true.

Wynter rummaged along the desk, pushing papers aside. He opened the drawers, digging around until he found something the size of a pen, the scythe.

“That's what you were looking for?” She'd expected it to be bigger, scarier.

“It has the power to assign reaps and reassign them. Bring me your scroll,” Wynter said.

Leila carried her scroll over to Wynter and unrolled it.

Wynter removed the scroll from his pocket and uncurled it, laying the paper out onto the desk. “Hold both open.”

Leila held the top of the scrolls with one hand and the bottom with the other. Wynter struck a line through the name
Larkin Alis
on his scroll and repeated the motion on Leila's scroll. After a minute, the words began to disappear from Wynter's scroll and reappear on Leila's.

“It worked!” Wynter exclaimed.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. I've heard stories, but never saw it put to action.” Wynter shoved the scythe back into the drawer, doing his best to make it appear untouched. Then he rolled up his scroll and shoved it into his pocket. “Let's get out of here.”

Leila grabbed her scroll and closed it up, shoving it in her stocking. The burn had disappeared from her first reap. Hopefully, she'd never experience that horrible sensation again.

Together, they rushed down the stairs and out of the asylum toward the front lawn. Thunder clapped overhead. They mounted their horses and rode toward Leila's old home.

The storm clouds grew thick, and the sky darkened like night. Leila felt as if the whole world were mourning for what was about to occur—Larkin's death. A flash of lightening illuminated the sky. Leila coaxed the horse to keep going.

Approaching the town, Wynter slowed his horse and climbed down. “Stay here, girl.” He tied her to a post and patted her back, waiting for Leila to do the same. Once she had, he walked alongside her into town.

It wasn't hard to find where Larkin would be executed. Most of the citizens stood in the town center, watching as the executioner secured a rope around the post. Leila's skin paled. She shivered, but it wasn't from the cold. The crowd was noisy, and the sound swallowed her into a small mass. Sweat prickled her forehead, and her vision blurred. Her nerves were getting to her. Leila clenched her hands. She found it impossible to move.

Wynter reached for her and took her hand in his. “It's all you, Leila. You have to do this.”

She'd made it her responsibility when the scythe grazed her scroll. She didn't have to open the scroll to know the time or location. It was going to happen soon, just a few feet from where she stood. She stepped away from Wynter and pushed herself into the front row. She watched and waited as trumpets sounded. King Philip and Princess Mara walked out to the platform, standing above the people. She carried a candle with her to the platform.

King Philip held up his hands to silence the crowd. Princess Mara lit the candle and shielded the flame from the wind. “I am greatly saddened that my daughter, Princess Ophelia Dacre, is not here with us today. Her life was snuffed out like the flame of this candle, too short, too young, too soon.” The wind extinguished the small flame. The small evidence of smoke disappeared before the young princess. “Today we carry out Larkin Alis's sentence of treason. He stole my daughter's life. Let it be known to all of you that if you so much as look at Princess Mara in the wrong way, you will suffer the same fate.”

Soft gasps erupted throughout the crowd.

“Bring out the prisoner!” King Philip shouted into the roar of the wind.

Larkin's hands were tied behind his back. His head was down and his face coated with dried blood and bruises. He looked much worse than when Leila last saw him in the prison cell. The guards walked Larkin in front of the first row of onlookers.

She had to do this; it was her responsibility. Leila reached out, swiping her palm across his arm. No one paid any attention, except Larkin. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Leila. “I'm innocent!” he shouted, hoping the king would come to his rescue. “I loved your daughter! I never meant any harm to come upon her!”

It made no difference. The king refused to acknowledge Larkin. Princess Mara turned her back and refused to watch the hanging. It was a small act of defiance.

Leila stood in the front row, watching as Larkin trudged up four stairs onto the wooden platform. She felt the first raindrop tap her forehead.

“He’s innocent!” Leila let her voice be heard among the silent crowd. She knew she should keep her mouth shut, but it wasn’t just
anyone
getting executed, it was Larkin.

King Philip’s eyes narrowed and locked on Leila. “Detain her!” he shouted, pointing at the teenage girl.

Whispers bubbled up, and Wynter grabbed Leila’s arm. “It’s time to go,
now
!”

Two guards strode swiftly toward Leila.

Wynter pulled her back through the crowd of onlookers.

“Stop!” Princess Mara shouted to the guards. Silence once again fell on the kingdom. “Princess Ophelia wouldn’t want this!”

Taken aback, the guards stopped their pursuit glancing at King Philip to determine if their orders had changed.

King Philip’s top lip snarled. He stared at his only remaining daughter. “Silence! How dare you defy me.”

Princess Mara crossed her arms across her chest.

Wynter dragged Leila away from danger. The citizens of Casmerelda gathered closer, watching the scene unfold on the platform before them. Leila and Wynter were forgotten.

Princess Mara had bought them time, although Leila had no clue as to why.

“We have to go back,” Leila said.

Wynter laughed. “Please, tell me you’re not serious. We barely escaped with our lives and you want to rush back into danger?” He ran a hand through his hair. “You’re crazier than your sister, and I can’t believe she just saved our lives.”

“She’ll pay for it later.” Leila knew her father wouldn’t forget what Mara had done—embarrassed him in front of his kingdom.

Leila watched as King Philip slapped Princess Mara across the face and resumed the execution as scheduled. She couldn't witness the rest. She hung her head and closed her eyes. A few stray tears mixed with rain trickled down her cheek. Her eyes flashed open, but focused on the dirt. The shouts and words of sadness for Princess Ophelia and hatred for Larkin made her sick. She stumbled backwards, knocking into Wynter.

“It's over,” Wynter said. Beside her stood the ghost of Larkin Alis.

“All for a girl.” Larkin sighed, glancing back at the podium where his body hung limp.

“Tell me about it.” Wynter nodded. “Sorry you had to go through all that. You didn't deserve it.”

By the time the execution finished, Leila and Wynter were soaked. It matched Leila's mood, the heavens crying for Larkin. Leila wiped the tears away and cleared her throat. “I think it's time for you to move on.” The three of them walked away from the townsfolk and toward the edge of the kingdom, where the horses waited. The rain refused to slow.

“I know you.” Larkin studied her face. She had a petite nose and full pale lips. Even soaked, she was familiar to him. “You came to see me. Why?” he asked. “No one else came to visit, except Princess Mara.”

“I already told you. I knew Ophelia. She would have wanted me to help you.” Even after he was dead, Leila was still lying to him. “Why did Mara come to see you?”

“Princess Mara apologized for her father's decision. She knew I didn't hurt Ophelia and pleaded her case with King Philip, but he refused to listen. She wanted me to know that she would fight for me up until the end and even after, because she knew it was what her sister would have wanted.”

Leila pushed away the wet strands of hair. “Thank you.” It was what she needed to hear. Her sister would become a great leader one day as queen.

“Will I get to see her where I'm going?” Larkin asked. The rain pelted through him, hitting the ground.

Leila exchanged a quick glance with Wynter.

“Where you go, it'll be far better than this place,” Wynter said.

A shimmer glistened through the forest that only Larkin and the reapers could see.

“Goodbye,” Leila whispered, waving as Larkin walked into the unknown and disappeared. She bit down on her bottom lip, finding it hard to keep the tears at bay. It didn't work. They fell harder and faster until she collapsed onto the ground. She didn't care about the soft wet grass or the mud edging its way out. She found it difficult to breathe. Gasping for air, pain ripped at her heart. “I hate him. I hate King Philip!” She blamed her father for Larkin's death. Thunder clapped overhead, drowning out her voice.

Wynter bent down to her level and lifted her into his arms. “We have to get you home.” She shuddered in his arms. Between the rain and her emotions, she could barely stand.

“I can't . . . go back.” She sobbed between breaths. “They hate me.”

“No one hates you,” Wynter said.

“Easy for you to say.” It wouldn't be easy going back to the cottage. Violetta and Emblyn were likely to be in an unpleasant mood, given their workload. Hopefully, it had nothing to do with Leila and they would see that and leave her alone.

He untied her horse from the fence and helped Leila climb atop. She was unsteady at best, her mind in a fog. Wynter rode alongside of her in silence, through the rain, and back to the cottage.

The Ball

Chapter 6

Since Larkin's death, Leila had kept to herself. She barely spoke two words to Violetta and Emblyn. She knew they blamed her for the Great Plague and the massive amount of reaps they'd endured. She could hear them talk through the walls about the ravaging disease. They felt dirty, coated in sickness, but were the few protected, because grim reapers couldn't get sick. It was one advantage to being undead.

Violetta and Emblyn spent their free afternoons at the bathhouse, trying to wash the stench away. It wasn't cheap, but Edon handed them money as he pinched his nose to keep the smell at bay. There was absolutely no way they could do their job with the reek of rotting flesh lingering on their skin.

The bathhouses soon closed because they too had been contaminated. The disease spread from country to country and coast to coast. There was no escaping it.