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“When trading for a life, the price is always the same.”

“Time,” he concluded. It didn’t surprise him. He’d visited enough Crossroads to know what to expect. A person’s life was made up of precisely what the spider was asking for: time. Everything a person did, every accomplishment, every failure, every experience, no matter how small, was only made possible because they had time. Tonight, Darien was bargaining for a life—a dog’s life, yes. But it made no difference. It was still a life, and therefore it would still cost him time.

“Time, yes,” the spider mused. She dragged out the word, as if savoring it. Tasting it like fine wine. “Such a fickle beast, time. Uncontrollable. Unreliable. Cruel, yet kind. Constantly changing, forever moving forward. Difficult to predict. Mortals mourn its swift passing and long for more. Lamiae and lycanthropes have fought wars and sold their souls to attain it. Even your kind, the one they callhellseher,stems from greed. Time is what everyone covets most, and yet you…you, DarienCassel, do not balk at the idea of parting with yours. I find that curious. Might it have something to do with the mortal woman on whose behalf you bargain?”

“It has everything to do with her. But you already knew that,” he accused, narrowing his eyes. “Does toying with your visitors amuse you?”

“It intrigues more than it amuses. And you do intrigue me, slayer. I’ve met many an immortal being, but none quite like you…”

A hush fell over the Crossroads. Darien could feel the creature studying him like a specimen in the dark.

“I will trade you the dog in the form of a spirit, and what I ask for in return is a portion of your time. The dog will live the remainder of his days in the girl’s shadow, and he shall only pass when she does. A fair trade, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Depends,” he countered. He knew better than to agree before hearing the full terms of the bargain. “How many years am I paying you?”

“Ten should suffice.”

“To be taken at the end of my life, when death arrives by natural cause, and no sooner,” he clarified.

“To be taken at the end of your life, when death arrives by natural cause, and no sooner,” she vowed.

“So it shall occur to no one that the years are gone,” he added.

“So it shall occur to no one that the years are gone,” the spider repeated. “The decade will leave you peacefully, the day Obitus comes to lead you home. And you shall know no different.”

The thought of this—not just death, but meeting it ten years sooner—should frighten him, he knew. But it didn’t scare him at all. There was little that did.

He took the knife out of his pocket?—

“You have fallen for her,” the spider observed.

Darien froze.

“If you hadn’t, you would not be here.”

Darien kept his mouth shut. He owed this gluttonous creature nothing more than what he was offering.

But the Widow wasn’t finished. “I wonder…,” she began, leaning forward in her webs, her front legs clicking together, “what you might say…if I were to tell you when Death shall come knocking atherdoor.”

A wave of cold dread coursed through Darien. “You know?” He squeezed the knife handle. “You know when she’s going to die?”

Nameless creatures had an uncanny ability to predict the future, but not all of them chose to dabble in that area. The Pale Man was one of the few who specialized in predictions; foresight was his strength that had driven thousands of morbidly curious visitors to his chalk door. Countless souls had walked willingly into his den to learn the hour of their death, and few had come back out, meeting that hour far sooner than they’d planned.

But the Widow hadn’t lied when she’d said that time was difficult to predict. A person’s life was made up of nothing more than a series of decisions; one event led to another, followed by another…and so on and so forth. The Widow may claim to know the hour of Loren’s death, but until it found her, nothing was set in stone.

“Her days are numbered,” the spider said. “Perhaps more than you realize.”

“Explain,” he barked.

“Lily is one of a kind. There is no one like her. It is true what the one named Calanthe tells you: She possesses a very special magic you will learn more of soon. But I must stress…and I told Lily the same: If she uses her magic, she will die.”

If she uses her magic…Darien’s head spun. There were always loopholes.

“You just said you know when Death will come knocking at her door,” he began. “Will this happen only if she uses her magic? If she resists, will she live a full life?”

“If she uses her magic, it will merely happen sooner. But I regret to inform you that a full life is not in the cards for Lily. Due to mistakes made by others, she is doomed to die by the age of twenty-one.”

Darien almost lost his balance and fell into the fountain. He barely righted himself in time. “She’s what—? Doomed? By mistakes made by others? What does that mean?”