Eli enjoyed the second ride better. She could feel the sun on her shoulders, the warm leather on her thighs. She watched Tav’s body moving with the rhythm of their breathing. The wind in her face was warm, tossing up dirt and gravel and dead insects.
Tav stopped at a hill just past the city limits. It was a rocky outcropping looking over the river. Eli had never come here. It was too far away from the heart of the town, where ghosts stalked prey and assassins stalked ghosts.
Tav clambered over the rocks carelessly and Eli followed, trying to remember to scuff her feet or kick stray pebbles. She didn’t need to show off.
(She wanted to show off.)
The sky was beginning to darken. Eli had never figured out how time worked between the worlds. But it was late afternoon at least — she could see the sun thinning like a worn-out blouse, and night coming into view behind it.
“This way.” Tav’s hand grabbed hers. Eli was grateful for the leather gloves that kept their skin from touching. She wanted to feel Tav’s skin against hers. She knew these thoughts were dangerous.
They led Eli over the jumbled rocks until they arrived at a large slab of granite. Eli felt a sense of camaraderie with the rock. When her feet scraped the stone, it rang out with a tone that resonated deep in her bones. Granite.
Tav sat down, cross-legged, and pulled their gloves off, stretching their fingers. Eli followed more cautiously, slowly lowering herself onto the surface.
All of Eli’s blades began vibrating, sending tremors of energy down both of her femurs. Eli wondered what they wanted. To cut.
“This is the most magical view in the city.” Tav’s breath tickled Eli’s ear. Eli closed her eyes and felt warmth radiating off the human body beside her. Breathed in the scent of leather and oil. Shivered.
“Eli. Open your eyes.”
Eli did. She looked out over the simple human world. A thin grey stripe of river twisted below their feet. Iron-black trees, bark peeling off like old skin, stabbed angrily at the horizon. And behind the veil of day, the moon was coming home. It glowed, ghostly and fantastical, a giant white orb that seemed to take up most of the sky.
It was breathtaking.
“How did you find this place?” Eli asked. Even after all her years coming to the City of Ghosts, there were many places she had never seen.
Tav chewed their lip for a second before answering. “I was looking for someone. Something, maybe.” They glanced furtively at Eli, who kept her face impassive. “I stole my mom’s bike and took it for a joyride. After that, she told me to get my damn licence.” Tav laughed. Fondness had spilled into their tone like nutmeg.
“Where is she now?” asked Eli.
“Home.” Their voice slammed shut like a window. “I moved out.”
The granite block caught the light and reflected it back to the sky. Eli looked into Tav’s eyes and saw her own reflection in them. Heavy bangs, dirty glasses —
“They’re not contacts, are they?”
“What?” Eli drew back. Her glamour was still in place. Tav should not be able to see her true form. Narrow reptilian eyes that never blinked bore into Tav, daring them to run.
What would she do if they ran? Could she let them live?
“Your eyes.” Tav’s voice was low. It hummed through Eli’s body and she knew in that moment she could not kill them, not now, not here. She couldn’t leave Tav an orange smear on this rock.
“It’s okay. I’m not scared.” Tav leaned closer. Eli felt her heart racing at their proximity. She could see the gold flecks in their dark eyes and the brown roots of their hair.
Her blades hungered for death.
“No!” In a flash, Eli pushed Tav away from her. Snatching the keys from Tav’s pocket, Eli jumped up and ran. Heart pounding, adrenalin pumping, thinking, What did I do? What just happened?
“Eli! Wait! Where are you going?! Eli!”
Tav’s shouts chased Eli over the rocky plateau. She was going to be unmade. She had let herself be discovered by a human. If Circinae found out —
She wouldn’t find out. Eli would do as she was told. Stop asking questions. Stop getting into trouble. You are a weapon, she thought. You have value. Glory. Honour.
Eli threw herself clumsily onto the bike. Shaking hands jammed the keys into place. She had to get out of here. She had a job to do. Thinking she could be free of magic by taking a joyride? Pretending she could throw off her origins and play human forever? She was still a foolish child who believed in happy endings. There was no way to avoid her fate.
But she still had human weakness in her, and so she looked back. Just once. She could see the silhouette of a person holding a motorcycle helmet in one hand. They were facing her. Not running, not shouting. Just standing, staring straight at her. And the last thing she saw before she gunned the engine was the look of hurt and accusation in Tav’s eyes as they met Eli’s.
They’ll get over it, thought Eli.
She almost believed it.
Then she was gone, driving recklessly into the night, trying to find her way back to something that made sense. Something familiar. Something that would remind her who she was.
She had to kill someone.
Eight
The first time Eli killed a ghost, she had been welcomed back into the Children’s Lair with dollar-store balloons and wildfire and the insistent claws of other children.
They were proud of her.
Like human children in the City of Ghosts, witch children in the City of Eyes were not innocent creatures to be kept pure and unstained like a silk pillowcase. They were grubby, dirty, bloodthirsty animals, vicious and feral. From the bullies on the playground that drew blood with their words to the magic girls who vivisected animals and stole power from the dead — they really weren’t all that different.
You didn’t earn adulthood by killing. You earned your place in the world as an assassin. You had value.
“Eli!”
“Eli’s back!”
“The Stick Girl returns!”
Eli played in the mud with the other children, her hair coated with pungent wet earth.
“Ghost slayer!”
“Sister hero!”
Hands captured her wrists and spun her around. Other hands shoved berries into her face. Happily, she’d opened her mouth and swallowed. The juice was sticky and sour and made all the colours around her brighten, as if the lights had been turned up. The children had worn bright reds and blues and violets, and Christmas lights had been strung across the stone sanctuary.
Eli found herself flung outside the circle of fiercely dancing bodies. She was caught by damp arms and heard a familiar voice in her ear.
“You have returned to us, little sister,” the purr echoed in Eli’s head. She turned, still encircled by Kite’s arms. Daringly, she pressed her forehead against Kite’s. Surprisingly, the witch child’s skin was warm. “The Warlord must have been watching over you.”
The Warlord: a myth, a legend, a god. An invisible friend to keep you company when you were lonely, a guardian angel to watch over you, a monster under the bed.
“Of course I came back. You need me.”
Kite laughed. “To keep me out of trouble?”
“To help you get into it.” Her yellow eyes glittered dangerously.
“You are our champion now, ghost killer, toy assassin. The children were afraid you would die in the human world.”
“Sticks can’t die,” Eli retorted.
“But they can break.” Kite’s hair floated around her head as if she was submerged in water. Strands brushed against Eli’s face. She closed her eyes and let them pet her gently, insistently.
“You are stained with death now. You are one of us.”
The pure joy Eli felt at that pronouncement was unimaginable, dissolving on her tongue like sugar. Sweet and potent. One of us.
She opened her eyes. Kite’s pupil-less gaze stared back. Kite smiled widely and leaned closer. Eli’s breath caught. She found herself staring at Ki
te’s lips, blue like frostbitten leaves.
Kite’s tongue darted out and licked the corner of Eli’s mouth.
Eli gasped at the sensation. She closed her eyes and leaned in further, her mouth opening.
Kite’s teeth closed around Eli’s lower lip. She bit down. Eli cried out. Kite pulled back, a blush spreading across her cheeks. Blood mixed with the berry juice on both of their mouths, dripping over their chins.
“Blood keeps us together,” whispered Kite. Eli nodded.
Kite had pushed her back into the revelry and vanished. The lights and sound and touch swallowed Eli into a whirlwind of chaos and life.
Where had Kite gone when she’d disappeared from the children’s celebrations? When she could not be found for weeks and weeks, and Eli had missed her so desperately it hurt? Why was Kite always at the edges of the play?
Eli would not have the answers to these questions for some time.
Nine
Eli drove quickly, circling closer and closer to the heart of the city. She was a hawk hunting her prey.
This knowledge soothed her wicked heart.
She ditched the bike on a narrow side street. She didn’t have much time before Tav came for it — especially if they had tracking activated on their phone. Humans were so easy to steal from. Tav hadn’t even noticed Eli slip her hand in their jacket at the café. Maybe that would teach them to stop trusting strangers. Sliding off of the leather seat, Eli pulled the iPhone out of her pocket and prayed Tav had a good data plan.
Of course they did. All the kids did these days — at least, the ones who could afford motorcycles. Tav was playing bad, wearing the trappings of rebellion. Eli had seen lots of people like that, who thought ink tattoos were permanent and spiked collars made them dangerous. They’d never experienced real danger; or, if they had, they wouldn’t have recognized it. Humans couldn’t sense ghosts, which is why it was up to witches to track these traces of wild magic before they fed on every living thing and upset the delicate balance between worlds.
Tav was nothing special. Just a spoiled kid with a toy, pretending to be a soldier. That’s what Eli told herself as she pushed the image of Tav’s wounded face out of her mind’s eye. Focus on the job.
She wondered how close Tav was to catching her. The thrill of being chased heightened her senses, making her a better predator.
She typed in “Virginia White” and the internet spat out an address. Somewhere in the suburbs: unusual for a ghost to go that far from the busy downtown streets but not unheard of. Possibly this one was new and hadn’t yet migrated to the city centre.
Unless it’s old and powerful — smart enough to hide from the hunters.
She shook her head, trying to lose the thought. Her mind was a snow globe with memories and worries and desires drifting haphazardly.
She checked the glamour that Circinae had cast on her knives. Usually Eli got Kite to check it, to reinforce the enchantment when it started to tear, but she hadn’t remembered this time. She’d been too angry. Hopefully it would last long enough for her to finish the job undetected.
Kite. The echo of the last words Eli had spoken to her rang in her ears, and a twinge of guilt flicked up Eli’s spine. Go back to your people and leave me alone.
She shoved the guilt away. Kite had made her decision. She’d made it that day she hadn’t come, when she’d left Eli waiting alone on the island. When she pretended that all of their escape plans had been child’s play. A game.
Kite had left the Children’s Lair and joined the Coven. Told Eli nothing would change, but she’d lied. Everything was different now. She rarely saw Kite, and when the Heir became the Witch Lord, they would not even have those brief moments together.
Kite had a choice, and she’d chosen the witches. Chosen wrong.
No, she’d been right. They had both needed to grow up.
The scuffed loafer falling off a limp foot.
Murderer.
Eli forced her painful memories away, frustrated at her spiralling thoughts. Do the job.
She ordered an Uber to take her to the suburbs, then tossed the phone into the street. Her own face stared back at her in the cracked glass, split into pieces. Reluctantly, she said goodbye to the bike and headed to the restaurant where she’d ordered the car. Pick-ups in back alleys always looked suspicious.
The car pulled up: white, dirty, and inconspicuous. Perfect. Eli climbed in.
“How’s your night going?” asked the driver, an East Asian man with a French-villain-meets-hipster moustache. He looked to be around her age. Eli tried not to stare at his moustache.
“Not great.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Eli shrugged. “It’s fine. Just … work stuff.”
“Bad day?”
“Coworker drama.”
“That’s the worst.”
“Yeah.”
“What are you up tonight? Something more fun?”
“Not really. Visiting a colleague. A different one. It’s a work thing. Dinner.”
“Early dinner,” he commented. Eli felt a surge of anger at his inane questions, and her inability to answer them.
“Her kids have soccer practice later.”
“Ah.”
They drove in silence for a while, and Eli had to stop herself from tapping her fingernails on the window anxiously. She wanted this over with.
He pulled up outside the address Eli had given him — a few houses away from the hit. “Be careful,” he told her.
“At dinner?”
He played with his moustache. “You want me to wait for you? Ubers don’t always want to come out this far. Might be hard to get a ride back.”
Eli felt a spike of worry. “What are you saying?” Her hand curled around the door handle, ready to run.
“I’m saying humans aren’t entirely useless. Some of us are hired to help, okay?”
Reeling with the implications — Who had hired him? How did he know who she was? — Eli managed to snap back, “You leave a car here and the cops will find us immediately. So, no, you’re not helping.”
“Find someone who isn’t an Uber driver? Driving a car he doesn’t own? They can try.” He smiled and tapped a thumb against the steering wheel. “You’d better get going. I guess I won’t be here to take you back then. You’re on your own from here.”
“I’m always on my own. And I don’t need your help.”
“What makes you so sure those things are true?” He raised an eyebrow, obviously pleased to have knowledge that an assassin didn’t. The arrogance of humans never failed to amaze and exasperate her.
Grunting in response, Eli pulled the handle and then kicked the door open viciously. The metal of the car groaned, threatening to come apart.
“Careful!”
“Why do you care? I thought it wasn’t your car.”
He made eye contact for the first time, and when he spoke, the confidence had drained from his voice. “I’ve never met one like you before.”
“Deadly and a great sense of humour?”
“You just seem so … human.”
Eli didn’t respond to that, just slid out of the car and closed the door silently to make up for her temper tantrum.
He rolled down the window. “Good luck.”
“I don’t need luck,” she said. “I’ll see you soon.”
He laughed like she was joking, but she wasn’t. He had answers, and she was going to hunt him down and get them.
She already had his scent and the pattern of his heartbeat. Foolish human.
Ten
The house was quiet. A gentle wind picked up the arms of the poplar tree and brushed them across the shutters lovingly. The porch light was off. Everything was shadows and whispers. Eli felt her shoulders relax. She closed her eyes. She took a deep breath in and tasted laundry detergent, instant coffee, dried blood.
The moment before the dance. This was where she belonged.
She was never more herself than when she was hunting.
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She didn’t catch the scent that most ghosts carried. But an experienced ghost, a ghost that had fed on human and witch alike — that ghost might have taken in the essence of the house and its occupants. Ghosts were a bit like sponges that way. This one was old, and clever. Eli felt her pulse quicken in anticipation. Finally, a worthy opponent. It had been so long.
In the dark, there were no lovers or enemies, no heartsick girls with seashells in their hair, no regrets or childish fantasies of freedom. There was only here and now, and the promise of death.
Eli flowed between the darkest shadows on the lawn. She skirted around the front porch with the automatic light and the peepholes and windows that could betray her presence.
She picked the attic window.
All right, she was showing off. She wanted to stand over the house and look down over the world that was always above her.
She wanted to feel like a god.
Silently, she scaled the wall. It was easy. She was strong. The attic window was round and crusted with mould. Eli took out the pearl blade. Although it was designed to separate magic from non-magic, in the human world it could be coaxed to tear apart many different materials. She pressed it against the windowpane and the blade performed its alchemy, turning glass back into sand and sodium carbonate and limestone. The window crumbled.
Eli entered the home.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she whispered, grinning at her own joke.
She thought, I am the monster under the bed. She smiled wider, the glamour struggling to keep up with her crocodile teeth. She didn’t need to conceal her true form now.
The house was silent. She padded gently across the floor. Down the stairs. She trailed her finger along the narrow railing that curved and twisted away from her like a snake. But no one escaped her blades.
Next, the bedroom: rustling sheets, a soft gasp like a baby’s cry, a crackle of old springs. This would be the sacred place of death. This is where she would fulfill her purpose and keep both worlds safe. Her shoulders straightened with the weight of this calling. Her vocation. Invisible, brutal, and unloved — but necessary. Sometimes that was enough. You have value.
The Girl of Hawthorn and Glass Page 4