Page 22

seventeen

T he marble beneath my funeral heels gleamed as if it had been polished just to mock me. I felt wildly out of place standing next to Grim on the stoop of a mansion that screamed generational wealth, tucked deep into the quiet of the Hamptons.

A kaleidoscope of colors spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, bleeding across the snowflakes that had just begun to fall. Music thumped faintly from within, low and rhythmic. A heartbeat pulsing through the walls.

I hesitated. Maybe this was a terrible idea.

Grim looked agitated as he pounded on the door again. A low growl rumbled from his throat, vibrating with menace. It nearly made me laugh.

“Feodora!” he shouted, throwing me a sharp glance before seizing the tiger-shaped door knocker and slamming it again. “Feo, open up!”

We’d spent hours in the car, stopping only twice—for food and a bathroom I regretted seeing. Grim barely spoke, grunted at most, and drove far too fast for comfort.

My stomach growled, loud and theatrical, reminding me I’d made the right choice not to leave my large fry in the car. I popped one into my mouth as Grim fumed beside me. The circular drive was packed with cars I’d only seen in magazines: sleek neon sports cars and blacked-out SUVs.

The ocean roared just beyond the estate, a salty breeze laced with citrus winding through the winter air. We’d made it to the Hamptons in record time—five hours, thanks to Grim’s terrifyingly efficient driving. He hardly spoke, answering most of my questions with one-word grunts.

“If this is such a bad idea,” I said, licking salt from my thumb, “why don’t we just leave?”

He tracked the movement with laser focus, then glared. “No.”

Suddenly, the door swung wide open to reveal an older woman in a vibrant patterned kaftan, arms swirling in giant circles. A huge grin stretched across her face.

“Death, baby!”

Her voice, paired with the strobes of light behind her, screamed eccentric. I adored her immediately, if only because she’d managed to upset Grim.

He scowled past her glee, eyeing the wild party inside where there were writhing bodies in glitter and feathers, dancing without rhythm or rules.

I laughed. It was chaos. It was perfect.

“Don’t encourage her,” Death growled at me.

I raised my hands, all innocence. “I have no dogs in this fight.”

Just then, a woman approached draped in sequins, red lipstick smeared across her mouth. She ran her fingers across Death’s chest, sultry and sure. My jaw tensed involuntarily, until Death scowled and brushed her off, his upper lip curled back in disgust.

I smirked.

“You brought me a gift!” Feodora clapped her hands, a cacophony of jingling bangles. Then she pulled me into a hug that could’ve cracked my ribs. “I’ve heard so much about you, dear.”

My arms hovered awkwardly, not wanting to wipe fry grease on her gorgeous kaftan.

She pulled back to look at me, her strange, iridescent eyes locking with mine.

Behind her pupils, something moved —colors swirling like oil on water.

“Ahhh… I see,” she said, voice dropping to something softer.

Ethereal. Then her smile faded, and her expression shifted.

“Come,” she said, already turning away. “Somewhere quiet.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes from her as I followed in silence through the mansion, brushing past bodies and partygoers, rich fabrics and jeweled laughter blurring at the edges. Grim moved at my back, his body pressed close against mine.

Feodora led us into a library drifting toward a leopard print settee at the center of the room. With a flick of her wrist, the double doors slammed shut behind us.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. After over a century steeped in magic—even cursed as I was—it still stirred something in me. Awe, maybe. Or wonder.

Watching it manifest in the world never got old.

The library was stunning. Towering bookshelves paraded their colors, a rainbow around the room.

Light caught on the spines of ancient texts, making them gleam.

Random furniture was tucked into corners and on top of layered patterned rugs.

Stacks of books littered coffee tables and a large desk at the back of the room, where the shelves parted to frame a massive window.

Outside, it was black. The glass reflected my outline in the dark, but beyond that, soft movements blurred through the pane, snow flurrying, tall grasses swaying. The ocean slept beyond it all, and I couldn’t imagine a more perfect place to curl up with a book.

Feodora watched me closely. Her ebony skin gleamed in the warm light, hands clasped beneath her chin. Her beauty was otherworldly; kind eyes, sharp cheekbones, thoughtful poise.

Grim leaned against one of the shelves, arms crossed, expression carved from stone. He looked absurd among the riot of color, dressed in black from head to toe, as if he’d just been to a funeral…

Which, to be fair, he had.

“What,” he barked, glowering between me and the woman on the couch.

Feodora laughed.

“Nothing,” I said, shrugging as I sank into a worn leather armchair.

Feodora turned her attention to me, expression serene and maddeningly unreadable. Just like Death. “I have much to say, but you came here for something. Speak, dear.”

I gestured vaguely in Grim’s direction. “I don’t actually know why we’re here. Ask him.”

He stepped closer and perched on the arm of my chair, his shoulder brushing mine as he leaned in to murmur, “You asked me about Ishani. She has answers.”

Oh.

“Fate, meet the curse. Astoria, meet Fate,” he said, draping an arm behind me.

“Fate?” I asked, eyes narrowing. Fate, as in the cosmic blueprint of everything? The puppet master of my increasingly unhinged existence?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Astoria,” Feodora said, ignoring my tone. “Cursed you may be—but a curse you are not.” She shot Grim a look that said she was tired of his brooding nonsense. “Come, sit beside me. I promise I’m far better company than Death.”

Despite myself, I moved.

Sitting beside her conjured images of stepping into sunlight after years of gray. Her face, etched with deep smile lines, was the kind of beauty only time could bless. My limbs relaxed. My chest eased…

I didn’t realize how tense I’d been until suddenly, I wasn’t anymore.

She took my hands, warm and gentle. “I didn’t think we’d meet for another century,” she admitted.

A century? The word sent my mind into a spiral.

One hundred more years like this? My stomach flipped just thinking about it.

“You’re really Fate?” I asked. “Like the old crones from mythology? Snip-snipping threads of destiny?” Grim had never mentioned her.

Then again, Grim and I weren’t usually on the best of terms.

Fate laughed, the sound bright and unbothered, her jewelry clattering like my mother’s wind chimes in a storm. “Yes, yes. The very same. Though I can’t say I’m fond of how I’ve been depicted over the years.”

“You’re certainly not what I expected.” I watched her with open suspicion.

“No one ever is,” she replied with a glint in her eye. She rose, heading toward the desk with purpose. “But we’re not here for a meet and greet.”

She began rifling through stacks of precariously balanced books, pulling a pair of red jewel-crusted reading glasses from her pocket like a magician producing a rabbit. When her desk search came up empty, she moved on to a tall rolling ladder and started to climb.

I shot up instinctively, wanting to spot her (catch her, if needed), but Grim just shook his head, calmly motioning me back into my seat.

She scaled higher with ease, grabbing thick books and hurling them down with zero concern for the priceless furniture below.

Each one hit the rug with a dull, dramatic thud, coughing up little ghosts of dust.

“Found it!” she announced with a wheeze, cracking open a hefty orange tome and flipping through its final pages. “Death, be a dear and take this to Astoria while I climb down.”

She didn’t even look back. Just launched the book into the air.

Grim caught it one-handed, as though it weighed nothing, and placed it in my lap.

“Astoria,” Feodora called as she descended, “I must warn you—humans tend to ask questions they don’t want the answers to. Before you open that book, I need to know you’re prepared. Entangling yourself with another’s fate is... rarely wise.”

I ran my hand over the cracked leather cover. “I think it’s too late for me.”

She paused at the bottom of the ladder, something unreadable flickering across her face. She smiled. “Page 705, then.”

I gripped the edges of the book, hesitating. Maybe I should’ve heeded her warning and turned back now. Knowing something in your bones was one thing—but seeing it printed in gold ink? In Fate’s book?

It felt final.

My curiosity had always gotten the best of me, though. So instead of handing the book back and pretending I didn’t want to know, I looked at the one being who never kept the truth from me.

I’d asked him once if she would die, and he’d told me many, many years ago, when I first traded a life.

"Balance comes for us all. You cannot delay the inevitable… make peace with it."

I hadn’t believed him then. Not really. But when Beatrice died years later, I understood. Death might be unjust, but he never lied.

I flipped carefully through the final pages, avoiding the names that blurred by. My heart thudded louder with every turn, a metronome ticking down to truth.

Page 705.

With a silent and desperate wish, I opened it.

There it was. Ishani’s name, written in gleaming gold ink at the top. Threads spooled outward like a tangled spiderweb, beautiful and cruel. Every strand led to the same ending.

Seven years. That’s all I’d purchased with Regina’s life.

Seven years for Ishani to live. Seven measly, borrowed years.

If I could, I’d give her all of mine. Every star-strewn night, every moonrise, every burning sunset. I’d trade my endless youth just for her to see one day past seventeen.