Page 12 of In Death’s Hands (The Threads of Fate #1)

I know it’s insane. I know how crazy that makes me sound. I also know that “crazy” is not a word people use anymore.

Delusional. Coping mechanism. PTSD. Those are the preferred terms. I even got fantasy-prone personality once.

I admit that one was interesting. I know the mandated sessions were meant to help me, I know the state did its very best for me, but doctors are trained for the sensible world.

What happens when a child tells you what you believe in is wrong?

Well, it starts as a well-meaning readjustment and exercises to deal with your trauma, of which I had a bunch.

But the older you grow, the less you can get away with, and when they started me on those awful meds, I learned to keep my mouth shut and say what they wanted me to say.

It’s not hard to figure out. The more I complied, the freer I was, until they deemed me healthy enough to not require sessions every week.

Things became easier for me after that. It’s hard enough being in a group home—not orphanage, they don’t like that word either—without being forced to go see a psychologist and every kid around you knowing and avoiding you for being crazy.

So I know what Nathan is saying is insane, but it’s also the first thing since the accident that makes sense.

I remember it like it was yesterday. That’s always been the problem. My brain took that day and tattooed it in red in my mind. I cannot escape it. Cannot forget. No matter how many times I wish I could.

I remember their laughs, my cheeks hurting from smiling too much.

That part is nice, but I sometimes wish I could forget it too, if only to miss them less.

To be hurt less by the huge hole created by their absence.

And I remember him. I remember the dark robe covering his face, the down-set shoulders and the utter sadness and loneliness emanating from him.

I remember the ugly scythe he quickly hid from me.

I also remember hugging him. But mostly, what has not left my head for even a second since that day is the memory of my soul being ripped from my body, and the utter confusion of waking up in my heavy limbs and damaged skin after all I’d seen.

“You are Death’s assistant,” I say, breaking the silence.

“I know you won’t believe me, but—”

“I do.”

Two sets of eyes settle on me, displaying the shock and disbelief I’m sure they were expecting from me. If he’s Death’s assistant, who is Turan? How does she fit in all this? “You do?” she asks, as if wondering the same about me.

I simply nod.

“Why?” Nathan whispers.

“Because I remember.” I want to keep going, to explain, but my throat is too tight. The words too heavy on my tongue.

While Turan throws me a questioning look, it’s Nathan’s reaction that puzzles me. His eyes widen and his skin blanches. “You remember?” The voice is not his own, not the one I’ve become accustomed to. Instead of being deep and vibrant, it is now a shadow of what it used to be. Shaky. Trembling.

The light suddenly dims in the room, as if the shadows are reacting to the heaviness of the conversation.

“You—” I pause when I notice his step backwards.

“Your boss. He was there. He… helped me.” I’ve been back and forth on that fact all my life.

But lately I chose to see his intervention as something good rather than a curse that left me all alone in a world that was as close-minded as a sixteenth-century priest.

“What do you mean he helped you?” There’s enough bite in Turan’s voice that I turn to her, only to find her staring intensely at Nathan. “Helped you how?” she asks while maintaining her death glare.

“I— Well—” Taking a shaky breath, I will my thoughts to organise themselves. To stop sounding so lost and out of my depth. “I think I died.” Turan turns slowly towards me, eyes wide. “Then was brought back to life.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see Nathan flinch, but when I turn to him, his face is strangely blank.

“What do you have to say about that , brother?”

I jolt. “Brother?” Didn’t they say they were only distantly related?

“Of sorts,” he tells me, waving his hand in dismissal. “I have nothing to say, Turan. I guess you’ll have to take it up with my… boss.”

“Oh, you c—”

“So he’s real?” My whispered question is somehow enough to interrupt Turan before she launches further into what was sure to be a venomous rant.

“He is.” She sighs gently, as if aware of the years of doubts and trauma that one belief caused me.

“And you’re mad because I should be dead?” I hate how weak my voice is.

“Oh, honey! No! I’m glad you’re alive. I’m just worried about the natural order of things.”

Nathan scoffs beside me. “What natural order? The Tapestry has been lost. Her living didn’t alter anything; she was just a child.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

I need to sit down.

I am sitting down. I get up and walk to the windows, looking out at the bustling cityscape below.

What tapestry are they talking about? How could my life alter anything?

I’m just a blip of human flesh and awareness lost in the vast universe.

I’m just a temporary spot of life that is doing its very best to enjoy what little time it has here.

To figure out why I was spared and they weren’t.

I hear their voices in the background but cannot focus on the words they throw at each other. Even if I could, I’m not sure I would understand much of it. But is there anything to understand in this life?

I was right. I can’t believe that after all this time, I finally have people around me that believe me.

Maybe I should be sceptical, maybe I should fear their motives and ask myself if they are trying to manipulate me.

But I saw a man disappear. I saw Nathan commanding people made of shadows.

And all those years ago, I saw Death. I felt the tears in my soul as it was ripped from my too-young body.

Despite everything, despite all the confusion and fear, cool relief is overwhelming as I whisper to myself, tasting salt on my lips, “I was right. I’m not crazy. ”

“No, you’re not,” Nathan says quietly beside me. I didn’t hear him move. “I’m sorry you ever thought you were.”

“Now what?” asks Turan, strangely echoing my own thoughts.

Nathan turns fully to me, the weight of his full attention creating a buzzing feeling under my skin. “Now we figure out what happened when Death saved you. Why the world seems to want you dead.”

“What do you mean, wants me dead?”

His eyebrows rise comically on his perfect face. “Liv, this isn’t just poor luck. Something, some one , is actively trying to kill you.”

“She was already supposed to be dead,” says Turan, throwing an apologetic wince my way, and I have the sudden urge to laugh. “Maybe this is just the Fates trying to fix the Tapestry.”

“What Fates? We haven’t seen—”

“Yes, what Fates?” I ask, interrupting Nathan. “You guys talk about them as people. And what’s this Tapestry?” Even I could hear the capital they put on the word. Reverence entered their tone, and perhaps fear as well.

They both look at me, doubts reflecting in their gazes. “Dear me, this is all kinds of wrong.” Turan closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Turan…” sighs Nathan.

“No! No, we’ve managed to avoid this for a long, long time, Nathan. And now look at us! First you—She’s alive! Now the Novensiles are after her? She knows more than any others of her kind ever did. It’s not right.”

I want to be hurt by her words, I want to rage at her excluding me, but really, I’m used to it.

I never seem to fit in. First because of my grief and lack of family, then because I was deemed nuts for my beliefs, and finally, because once I aged out of the system, I was utterly on my own while other people my age were already settled in their groups of friends and packed schedules.

The Muddied Waters was the first place where I didn’t feel like I was floating in an ocean of silence.

The only place. I have colleagues I consider to be friends there.

Granted, they don’t know my story and only see me as a co-worker, but I’d do anything for Isaiah and Joana.

For the sense of normalcy they bring into my life.

Which is why I say, “I have to go to work.” Who cares if my billions of questions are still unanswered?

As I said, I’m used to it. Right now, I’d rather go back to the one place that hasn’t failed me yet.

“What?” Nathan jolts.

“I have a shift soon and I can’t be late.” I seem to have wasted most of the morning sleeping, but my phone tells me it’s almost time for the lunch rush and I will not let Isaiah face the decaffeinated Londoners alone.

“Liv, let’s not start this nonsense again.”

That’s it. I’ve had enough. “What nonsense? My life? You think this is funny? You swoop in and everything is in shambles! And you won’t even answer basic questions!”

“It’s complicated,” interjects Turan.

“You don’t think I know that?” I snap at her. “I can’t go back to my place! I’ve almost died three times in almost as many days. So, excuse me for caring about the one tiny thing that is still normal in my life while you people talk in riddles like I don’t exist!”

I move towards the bedroom to gather my things, but Nathan slides in front me, hands up in a placating gesture. “Please stay. We will answer your questions.” He throws a dark look behind me at Turan’s groan and tells her, “She is in the middle of this mess; she deserves our help and consideration.”

“And who put her in the middle of this, huh?”

He ignores her, instead focusing back on me to say with a gentleness that soothes my burning temper, “We will tell you what we can, what we know. Please stay.”

I don’t give up on work but see this as an opportunity to get some answers.

Although I don’t even know what to ask first. So many questions swirl in my mind, like a tidal wave threatening to take me under and never let me breathe again.

I close my eyes and let my mouth form the words “Should I be dead?” Surprise jolts through me and my shoulders curl up to my ears.

I keep my eyes closed, refusing to see pity in his eyes.

I wanted to ask about the shadows, but I guess my mind has more pressing issues.

I feel pathetic. Weak. I hate everything that’s ever happened to me, maybe hate myself a little bit too for the vulnerability I’ve let slip out.

Silence is my only answer, prying my lids open with its oppressive hands. But I don’t see the dreaded pity on Nathan’s face. Instead, compassion greets me as well as truth. “I don’t know.”

I almost wish he’d lie to me. But at this truth my muscles relax and my lungs gulp down fresh air.

His mouth is downcast, his eyebrows drawn up together, and his jaw is so tight I’m afraid it’s going to snap.

He’s staring at me too, and I wonder what he sees.

I am stuck in his dark eyes, and the sudden gasp that turns into a badly disguised cough is what finally sets me free.

We both turn towards a red-cheeked Turan.

“Why don’t you sit down, dear?” She gestures to the couch.

“It looks like we’ll be here a while, and I’m tired. ”

Nathan shakes his head as I make my way back down onto the comfortable furniture. “Where have you been all night to be this tired already?”

A devious grin settles on the beautiful woman’s face. “Oh, a lady never tells.”

Despite everything, I have the urge to laugh.

But Turan turns my way and she’s all business again.

“So, let’s gain some time, shall we? You’re human, we are…

not.” She points one finger up in a mighty checklist. “We don’t know why you seem to be in so many accidents, and from what my brother has told me, you’ve been a Death magnet your whole life.

” An odd expression crosses her face, but it disappears as she brings up a second finger.

“Yet you seem to be quite alive still, so, no, you cannot go back home before we figure out why the Novensiles are after you.”

I cut her off as she’s about to bring yet another finger up. “What do you mean you’re not human?”

She frowns at my interruption. “You accept that he’s Death’s assistant, yet the non-human part gives you pause?”

“I haven’t accepted shit. I just know what I saw years ago.”

“What did you see, exactly?” she demands.

I feel Nathan stiffen where he stands close to us. “I saw a hooded figure.”

“That’s it?” Nathan asks quietly.

“That’s what I saw.” That’s the truth, if not all of it. “So, what are you if you’re not human?”

Down what rabbit hole have I fallen to be having this sort of conversation?

How did the heroines in the books I love so much handle it?

I can’t remember. Why is this not feeling as crazy as it sounds?

Why is the sound of the city beyond the huge windows more foreign to me than what they are saying?

I keep waiting to freak out, keep waiting for the shock Nathan mentioned so elegantly to appear or maybe fade enough for me to start feeling something other than careful acceptance.

Am I so broken as to also feel relief at what is clearly my life blowing apart into millions of incredible, unthinkable pieces?

That is a line of thinking I would rather ignore.

“We don’t know,” answers Nathan.

It takes me a minute to get free of my spiralling thoughts and remember the question I asked. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”