Page 37 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter

“Of course, Mr. Boudreaux. I’ll take care of everything.” Soon, the carriage was loaded with cases to drop at the ship, and I stepped inside.

“See you there!” Jacques called, waving.

I fidgeted in the carriage the whole way over, trying to breathe, my stays digging into my ribs. I thought my feelings toward William might have faded with a bit of distance, but if anything, they were stronger. I noticed everything—how he had cut his hair, his new coat, how his hands held the reins, and how he smelled. I clenched my jaw, unsure if I was prepared for what the day would hold.

“You okay, Miss Noelle?” he called back.

“I’m fine. Nervous, that’s all.”

“Nervous for what? The trip?” He half turned to face me.

“I have something I need to do first. Someone I have to meet.”

“This isn’t about Silas, is it?” He turned in his seat, face serious. “I told you the Cormacks took ill and went back to the country.”

“I know. It’s not about my brother.” My shoulders tensed as the carriage rolled to a stop outside the tearoom.

He jumped from the driver’s seat and opened the door. I hadn’t been that close to him in weeks, but the heat had built between us. Sparks flying as if fueled by his forge. He cleared his throat, as if that would get rid of the tension between us.

“Noelle, about that day—”

“William. I have to get inside.”

He nodded, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes.

“After I’m done, we can talk.” If there even was an after.

“Are you going to be all right in there?”

“Of course,” I said, forcing a weak smile, then gathering myself and walking in. Two women sat at a table near the far window, primly sipping tea. I chose one nearest the door to see the wagon where William still waited, the horses pawing the ground.

I pulled the watch out of my pocket for the time.

Ten seconds to nine.

As the second hand crossed the nine, my hair stood on my neck.

Death had arrived.

A Visit From Death

Nella glanced up at Death, her amber eyes widening.

He’d taken the shape she knew from their first encounter—bronzed skin, straight back, sinewy physique. She gripped the table for support and swallowed, her throat bobbing delicately, betraying her nerves.

Death took a moment to study her. She was lovelier up close now—well fed and rosy, having gained weight since he’d seen her last. Her wardrobe had also improved, and the ice-blue silk dress complemented her skin tone, announcing her station. She’d certainly put some distance between herself and that cabin—her life dictated by the evils of enslavement.

He pushed away a strange sensation in his chest—light and fluttering—at seeing her after all this time.

He’d secreted her in the back of his mind. The thought of her had brought welcome respite as he collected souls of Sauk warriors, women, and children from the American plains, dying on the land they’d been promised was theirs, land that they could keep. On the battlefields of Wallachia, where he had just been, malaria had done more damage than any human enemy.

He knew she was busy amassing her evidence, so Death had assembled his. In his estimation, there was still little worth saving among humans. But could she possess something that would prove him wrong? The possibility was electrifying.

He settled into the seat across from her, his form solidified enough to be seen by other humans, if only vaguely. He hadn’t done itbefore—for what was the need?—but Nella shouldn’t be seen talking to herself. It could end their arrangement prematurely.

He was surprised to find it was interesting to be corporeal in the world. He wondered if he might try it again soon—engaging with the living, not just the nearly dead.

“I trust you’re well,” Death said, taking her in, attuned to every breath and gesture, knowing he’d replay this meeting in the gaps between his tedious collections.