Excerpt from Simon’s Journal – August 29, 4-1893

  Keeping an eye on Dahlia is becoming a chore. I’m learning all her annoying little habits now—like how she paints her nails as soon as they are chipped and reads terrible romance novels while she eats breakfast. I loathe how she leaves her dirty dishes in the sink until the end of the day or how she throws clothes about her bedroom without any semblance of order. With some work and a little pain, I could teach her to be tidier—though perhaps she’s too stubborn.

  I’m not the only one watching her now. When I sleep, I send Elaine in my stead, but Hawthorne and Bennett are around too. Hawthorne is becoming increasingly obsessed with her. Even Elaine has taken note of this and spoken to him about his interest in Dahlia. In fact, she’s taken to advising him on how to win her heart—something Hawthorne would never consider, but Elaine doesn’t understand the man.

  Still. He’s starting to see Dahlia as something more than just another woman. He may even suspect she’s more than human. And when that happens, I will be forced to take her far away from here, where he will never find her.

  Dahlia

  “What do you know about the Mirnen families?” Elaine asked one morning as I made my way back from breakfast with Mathy’s family.

  Elaine claimed she had simply run into me by coincidence, but I knew better. She was following me—likely at Simon’s request. I didn’t miss the shadows following me, night and day. Sometimes, I caught Bennett watching from down the street. Other times, I saw Simon far behind me in the crowd as I navigated the narrow city streets. More unnerving was Hawthorne. I’d caught glimpses of him through my kitchen window at night.

  And when those three weren’t around, Elaine kept an eye on me.

  I hadn't yet complained about my group of stalkers because I'd been lucky to get away with my drunken disobedience the night I'd refused to cooperate with their search for the Reaper. I still couldn't figure out why they hadn't punished me for it. Following me was nothing compared to what they could have done to me.

  “Nothing, really,” I responded to Elaine's seemingly random question as I turned my eyes to the overcast, morning sky.

  The weather was calm, but the night had been stormy—winds raged, and rain had inundated the city with water. Even now, mud lined the streets and caked onto our boots as we trudged along. Around the city, people busied themselves with repairing their homes and shops from the effects of the storms. Along the streets, people even hung lines to dry linens and clothes left wet from leaking roofs and flooding.

  “But you’re a Reed!” Elaine protested—throwing her hands in the air.

  “Meaning what, exactly?” I asked without much interest.

  I knew my father was an important Imm—that his family was important. He sometimes spoke of the Reed family as being involved in the governance of the Imms—not that I understood what he meant by that. I didn’t exactly understand Imm politics. They had a King—that’s where my understanding of their government ended.

  What I did know about the Reeds was that they were identifiable by their white hair. According to my father, white hair wasn’t common amongst Imms. Besides the Reeds, only one other family had the trait. He’d mentioned, more than once, that the two families were considered blessed by God because of their beautiful hair.

  Good for them, I guess.

  “Meaning you’re a member of one of the original families!” Elaine sounded exasperated now.

  I knew a little about what she meant by that. There were several original families, such as the Calos and the Reeds, who looked after the human worlds. Each family oversaw at least one human world. The Calos watched over us here in the Red, and my father, a Reed, watched over the Imm world where the King lived—the Circle. They also made laws and settled disputes that crossed over the boundaries of the worlds and affected the whole Kingdom, through some sort of voting council.

  But what they did that the King didn’t do himself, I wasn’t sure.

  “I don’t care, Elaine,” I sighed, “None of that means anything to—”

  “It should,” she hmphed and stepped in front of me to get my attention—walking backwards as she explained, “As a member of an original family, you have certain rights that the other Mirnen don’t have—like the authority to travel through the Seams, request an audience with the King, and even attend his parties.”

  I leveled a glare at Elaine, noting again how beautiful she was with her Calo features, and lowered my voice, “None of that means anything to me, Elaine. I’m not an Imm, remember? Besides, attending Imm parties sounds like a nightmare—not a reward.”

  “As long as your father accepts you as his heir by blood, you have the same rights as the rest of the Reeds,” She glared back stubbornly.

  Sure. If no one killed me for being a Red Halfling first.

  “And I happen to enjoy our parties.” Elaine crossed her arms stubbornly before adding, “So do your siblings.”

  I was tempted to ask about those siblings, but only for a moment.

  Instead, I rounded the corner onto my street and said, “I don’t want to be a Reed, Elaine. I don’t even know my siblings, and I can tell you I’m not like them.”

  She scoffed, “You are more like them than you know. For one, you’re just as stubborn as they are.”

  I muttered, “Must be hereditary.”

  She stopped following but called after me as I stepped onto my porch.

  “It doesn’t matter what you want, Dahlia!”

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  I laughed. Now that was a statement I agreed with. No one cared about what I wanted.

  ***

  Days passed with no sign of the Reaper, and I had no doubt it had something to do with my personal Imm security detail.

  The Reaper was smart. He wouldn’t risk coming anywhere near me while the Imms were around. But still, I sometimes imagined he was walking the streets of Firen. Without a mask, maybe he could blend into the crowds just like me. Maybe he watched me from those crowds as I went about my day with my Imm stalkers.

  The end of August came and went, and when the oppressive heat of mid-September settled over Firen, I was no closer to stopping the Predictors from murdering their own people. In truth, I didn’t even know if they’d continued their efforts to kill anyone they deemed a threat to their secrets. My inability to check on them frustrated me to no end.

  I hoped Hastings was spooked enough by our encounter to cease the killing—and that the rest of the Council felt the same way. I didn’t think they would risk exposure. The people of Firen would be disgusted to learn that the Predictors were killing their own. I wasn’t sure my people could recover from such a gruesome revelation. If the people turned against the Predictors, what would be left of our government?

  Nothing.

  All I could do was take comfort in the fact that Carmen was safe—confirmed each Saturday when I went to seek her out. Even if I didn’t see her, the guards—guards who now worked for Portia—confirmed that they had spoken to her and she was unharmed.

  And for now, that was enough for me.

  As the weeks passed, I almost let myself forget about the Imms and the threat Hastings posed to me until one Saturday afternoon, when I was on my way home from the Redmond Compound, a figure stepped into my path—stopping me in my tracks.

  I glared up at the familiar Imm man towering over me and bit my tongue to stop from swearing at him. Instead, I calmly asked, “Hawthorne. What do you want?”

  He looked over my shoulder, making me turn to see the usual crowd of people on the street. But as I watched, I noticed two hooded figures turn onto a side street—figures in the green robes I often saw the Predictors wearing. Without the Sight, I probably would’ve missed them.

  “You were being followed by two men,” Hawthorne explained, thinking I hadn’t seen the figures.

  “What men?” I feigned confusion and turned back to him. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “They’re gone.” He was watching me, now. “I don’t think they meant you any harm, but let’s go. I’ll walk you home.”

  “I can take care of myself.” I moved to pass him. “I’ve never needed your help before, and I certainly don’t need your help now.”

  But Hawthorne didn’t listen and instead fell into step beside me—making me groan in frustration.

  “You’re wasting your time.” I reminded him. “Besides, what do you care if they harm me? You don’t even like me—remember? I told you—I’m not helping you with the Reaper anymore. You have no reason to be here.”

  He didn’t respond, but I sensed him watching me from the corner of his eye as we continued to my home. I managed to ignore him for a time, but finally, when I’d had enough of his silence, I asked, “This connection between us—what do you make of it? Is that why you insist on following me?”

  His jaw clenched, and his shoulders tensed at the unexpected question. He remained silent for a long time, and I almost thought he would continue ignoring me until his low voice filled the silence.

  “I don’t know, but it’s infuriating,” Hawthorne admitted, his jaw still clenched, “I don’t like having such a useless distraction in my life—disrupting me from even the simplest of tasks.”

  “So, you think of me when we’re apart?” I asked with a sly grin on my face.

  I understood his frustration. Some days, I felt insane with how often my thoughts wandered to Hawthorne and the Reaper.

  “Unfortunately,” Hawthorne growled, “I don’t understand God’s reason for punishing me like this—testing me.”

  I sensed Hawthorne’s internal conflict and likened it to my own. While he was intrigued by me and the connection between us, he also didn’t have any interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with a human—much like how I didn’t want such a relationship with an Imm.

  But to me, both Hawthorne and the Reaper existed on another plane entirely compared to the other men I knew. I was drawn to them like a moth to flame—unable to look away for long. I couldn’t even explain why I was so drawn to them. The connection didn’t feel sexual—not exactly. It was like a nudge—like some supernatural force was drawing my attention to them.

  I looked up at Hawthorne and tried to pretend that he could be mine despite the impossibility of any real relationship between us. I couldn’t even imagine it. If he discovered my secret, our story would end in tragedy. I trusted Simon’s instinct that Hawthorne couldn’t be trusted with my secret. My own instincts were telling me the same thing.

  “What are you looking at, human?” Hawthorne growled, startling me, and making me turn away—cheeks red with embarrassment.

  “Nothing,” I muttered under my breath—grateful that my house was within view now.

  He chuckled at my reaction, “Liar—you think I’m handsome.”

  Damn. I really hoped he couldn't read my mind.

  I shook my head but didn’t deny it—the lie didn’t feel right.

  Hawthorne stopped suddenly in the middle of the street and gestured to my home, “Go in and lock the door, human. You’ll be safe.”

  I raised an eyebrow and mumbled, “So demanding.”

  But as I stepped forward, he sighed, “Wait.”

  I turned back to him to find him holding out a small, wooden box—small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. I looked at it with confusion before meeting his eyes. “What is it?”

  “A gift,” Hawthorne explained gruffly, “Elaine said I should…give you a gift.”

  Of course she did—Elaine liked to meddle in my business. She probably thought I wanted Hawthorne’s attention. The next time I saw her, I would have to make my feelings for him explicitly clear.

  When I didn’t immediately reach for the gift, Hawthorne started to pull his hand away, but I reached out eagerly to snatch it from him and explained with a slight smile, “I adore gifts.”

  Hawthorne’s harsh expression softened as he studied my face before gesturing to the box, “Open it.”

  So, I slipped the wooden lid from the tiny box to reveal a little flower charm on a small, golden chain.

  A bracelet.

  “It’s a dahlia,” Hawthorne explained as I admired the golden flower, “Beautiful—but not quite as beautiful as you, I think.”

  My eyes flicked to his in surprise as my heart seemed to stop at the admission. Before, he’d said he wasn’t attracted to me—insulted me. Was that truly a lie?

  Or was he trying to manipulate me?

  As I stared at him, he frowned, “You’re speechless—is this a pleasant or unpleasant speechless?”

  “I’ve never even seen a dahlia,” I managed.

  It was the truth. I’d never even seen a painting of the flower that wasn’t native to Firen. In fact, it wasn’t native to the Red at all, but it bloomed freely in the far northern regions after an Imm brought it here from another world. Dahlias spread like wildfire in the warm, wet, northern climate.

  I struggled to control my emotions, and as such, I also struggled to compose myself, “This is a…”

  I thought of the term he used and swallowed hard, “…pleasant speechless—thank you, Hawthorne.”

  I placed the bracelet on my wrist, and Hawthorne stepped forward to latch the chain for me. As his fingers brushed my skin, goosebumps formed on my flesh. Noticing this, Hawthorne paused to run his fingers over the bumps on my arm. My mind wandered to all the places I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to press myself against him and take comfort in his nearness.

  But I was too stubborn—too cautious—to give in to my impulses. I spoke breathlessly, “I should probably go.”

  Hawthorne drew back as if I had burned him and shoved his hands into his pockets as I added, “Thank you, Hawthorne. Truly.”

  I heard him sigh as if in relief under his breath again as I made my way up my porch steps. Before entering, I turned to look at him again, but the Imm was gone—the street devoid of life. I knew he was nearby—watching—likely still waiting for the Reaper to make his presence known.

  I felt pain blossom in my chest at the reminder that Hawthorne wasn’t here for me—regardless of the gift. In fact, the gift was probably meant to make me take my guard down—to get me to trust him. I needed to remind myself that Hawthorne was only here because he wanted the Reaper.

  I was a means to an end—that’s all I would ever be to an Imm.