EIGHTEEN

S IGNA

Sylas reminded Signa of a scolded dog as he trudged along beside her, head ducked toward the snow and looking every bit like a hound with its tail tucked between his legs. Even the shadows that trailed him seemed heavier, as if he were dragging them across the ground.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she asked eventually, despising the growing silence that loomed between them. Sylas glanced up, dark gray eyes watching her.

"I wasn't sure you'd want me to."

Signa snorted. "Letting you stay quiet would be like letting you get away with something."

His sigh, gentle though it was, caused a rustle in the trees around them, and blast it if Signa wasn't drawn to that.

She watched Sylas from the corner of her eye as they made their way to town, smitten even in her annoyance by the power he carried.

By the strength of his shoulders and the broadness of his chest. By hair so white it rivaled the moon itself…

"I want to know whether you guided your brother to these spirits on purpose," she said, collecting herself. "Was it a prank? Were you having a go at him?"

"It had nothing to do with that," he insisted. "I did know they were there, but Aris and Blythe both liked the property, and the spirits seemed harmless enough—"

"Harmless?" she demanded. "No spirit is ever harmless . You and I know that better than anyone." It wasn't like Sylas to be so foolhardy. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that your mind has been bored lately, Signa." He raked his fingers through his hair, tugging gently at the ends.

"I admit I did not consider all angles as well as I should have, but I've watched you puttering around the manor, starting one book only to toss it aside for another.

You seemed in need of something to occupy your time, and I sought to give that to you. "

She stopped walking, turning to face him with her cheeks flushed. Signa hadn't expected that he'd notice such a thing. "You guided us to these spirits on purpose?"

"I lined up all the pieces for you," he whispered. "This town had all the clues you needed to figure out what happened. I knew you'd manage to solve it and help those spirits."

Her mind raced as she picked apart the last several days at Wisteria. "I expected to spend days waiting for someone to show up to the mausoleum, but Jules came so quickly…" Signa looked at the reaper, trying to claim his stare. "Was that your doing?"

He watched his boots as he walked, scuffing them along the snow.

"I didn't want you waiting that long when it was so cold out.

All of this was meant to be my gift to you.

A mystery that only you could solve, with people who needed your help.

But I realize it was foolish to put Aris and Blythe at risk. "

Signa nodded, but kept silent as she contemplated.

It surprised her to realize just how well Sylas knew her.

The timing was horrendously off, yes, but he was right that she'd been bored, feeling that something was missing from her life.

She realized now how perfectly this new mystery had been occupying that once-empty space.

And so Signa laughed, her head falling back against the morning sky as the sound poured out of her. Tears of laughter swelled in her eyes, and she brushed them hurriedly away.

Sylas's head jerked to her, but he had no chance to question Signa before she stretched onto her toes and kissed him.

"You are a fool," she noted between his lips, though even then she laughed again. "Just like your brother. Never, ever do this again. Do you understand me? If we're ever to solve another mystery, we must do it together."

The reaper's shadows wound instinctively around her, one arm resting on Signa's waist and the other on the back of her neck, cradling her to him. "I've learned my lesson. It was a regretful decision, especially while I was off traveling."

"What have you been doing, anyway?" she pressed. "Just where have you been if not at Wisteria? Was that part of your ploy, as well?"

"It wouldn't have been as rewarding for you if I simply handed you a solved mystery," he noted. "But no, at least not entirely. Blythe sent me on another task."

Signa cocked a brow. "What task, exactly?"

"You'll find out tomorrow… though try not to be too upset with me if our home is worse for wear because of this. It's currently locked away in my study while I'm gone."

" It? You really chose to complicate Christmas, didn't you?" It was alarming the things that his smile did to her, even after all these years. It pulsed through her, striking Signa to her core until her knees felt weak and her belly hot.

She was glad to have him with her and said as much with a lingering kiss that Sylas had no hesitation returning.

His arms still rested firmly around her, and soon Signa was allowing herself to be backed farther into the woods, suddenly pressed against a tree as his lips sank to her jaw.

Her neck. Her collarbone, devouring her with a fervent hunger.

"Did you miss me, Little Bird?" he teased, skimming lower still.

As much as others may have complained, there were certainly merits to having Sylas unable to be seen by most people. Over the years it had enabled them to get away with a plethora of things they shouldn't have, and it seemed that Sylas was eager to add another tally to that list.

He lowered himself to his knees, shadows slipping under her skirts and brushing up the length of her legs. Signa's breath caught, and she cast a furtive look around to ensure that no one was nearby before Sylas lifted the skirts and slid beneath them entirely.

"What are you doing?" she hissed at him, though the argument was half-hearted. "We're supposed to be working."

"And we will, in just a few minutes."

She shivered at the brush of his fingertips along her inner thigh, rolling down her stockings.

If anyone did happen to come across them, it would appear like Signa was alone, simply leaning against the bark of a tree as one apparently did.

They'd have no idea that a man concealed himself beneath those skirts, kissing up the length of her thigh as his shadows glided upward to her center.

Signa bit back her gasp, cursing under her breath as those shadows began to coax her.

She covered her mouth as his tongue slid against her not a moment later, searching desperately for something to grab on to without being so obvious.

A branch, some snow… she'd take anything.

Her breath came quicker as the shadows twisted deeper, teasing and relentless.

Each brush of his tongue sent another wave of heat coursing through her, making it impossible to think of anything beyond him and the desire he pulled from her.

Signa grabbed a fistful of her skirts, knuckles whitening as she swallowed the moan threatening to escape.

You need not worry, Signa. His words caressed her mind. No one can see us here.

Heat coiled tighter within her, sharp and consuming, until every rational thought was burned away. She trembled beneath him as the pleasure reached its peak, her head tipping back against the tree and her breath catching as she came undone.

Sylas lingered, taking his time with languid kisses against her skin. Slowly, he rolled her stockings back up.

"Is the coast clear?" he teased, to which Signa offered a breathy laugh.

"It's clear."

He slipped out from beneath her skirts a moment later, sporting a smug grin as his shadows traced the line of her thigh even then, as if to tell her that there was more to come later. Signa had to force herself to away from him so that later did not become now .

"I'm very much looking forward to our return to Foxglove," he mused, taking hold of her hand.

She was still adjusting herself, incredibly aware of how breathless she was and how flushed she must be. And heavens, was that a twig in her hair? She brushed it out quickly. "No more distractions, Sylas. We've a mess to clean up."

"Of course," he agreed, still grinning. "You have my word—no more distractions."

While Elijah was out gathering an audience and Blythe and Aris were helping to prepare Wisteria for the ballet, Signa had a singular job. Unfortunately, she wasn't convinced she could accomplish it.

Sylas had transported them to a small cottage nestled in a clearing. It was a quaint and nondescript place, lacking even the barest hint of seasonal decor.

"You're sure this is the right house?" Signa asked. She stood upon the snowy stoop leading up to the door, hesitant to knock.

Sylas joined her there, far more confident as his eyes skimmed the terrain. "Positive. He should be just inside."

Signa nodded, smoothing out her dress as a means of a distraction. It was a high-collared wool gown in a shade of deep olive, covered by a coat several shades darker. She was dressed warmly enough that she could likely stand on this stoop all day. Unfortunately, they were pressed for time.

Signa's fingers curled tight in her kid gloves, and with a long sigh, she forced herself to knock on the wooden door.

She waited in silence for an excruciatingly long minute, then another, but still no one came to the door.

"You're certain he's inside?" she asked Sylas, who frowned at the cottage.

"He is, and he's alive and well."

She supposed she did hear some shuffling from the other side… Despite Signa's better judgment, she knocked again before shifting over to the window. She pushed up onto her toes, brushing the snow from the glass before pressing against it to take a look inside.

Jules was sitting alone by a small hearth, sipping from a glass of whiskey.

A bit early for that…

He'd pointedly ignored her knocking, profile turned to Signa as she sneaked a better view of his home.

It was a simple place designed with warm wood furnishings and a stone floor.

There was no decor, no proud tree or garlands strung, nor any warming scents of delicious meals wafting through the window.

It was Christmas Eve, and the man looked positively miserable.

"Jules!" Signa knocked again, this time on the window. "There's something I'd like to speak with you about! Could you please come to your door?"

He shot her a glare over his shoulder, filled his glass with more whiskey, and went back to ignoring her.

Signa lowered herself from the window, looking pointedly at Sylas for support.

"Some people are just so afraid to see what's right under their noses," she grumbled, wiping snow from her sleeves.

"So why not make him?" There was a curious gleam in Sylas's eyes as the shadows swathed around him. They looked prouder now, larger and oppressive, and Signa pressed her lips together as she watched them.

"Make him?" she echoed. "How?"

"If you want someone to see that you're special, Little Bird, you must prove it to them."

She looked again toward the window, and at the glow of the fire that shone through the frosted panels. "Very well, but I'm going to need your help."

Sylas smiled, and the next time Signa knocked, she did not wait for Jules to open the door. Instead, Sylas slipped through the walls and unlocked it from the inside.

Jules flew to his feet as Signa stormed through, likely looking every bit as terrifying as she felt with her windswept hair and skin chapped pink from the cold.

"How did you get in here?" Jules demanded, a question Signa ignored.

"I know you do not believe what I told you, but my words the other day were true." She took another step forward only for Jules to back into the wall. Signa, however, was only trying to get closer to the fire.

"There are spirits on the land where the theater once stood, and they cannot move on without your help," she told the man, figuring it wasn't the most menacing thing to be warming herself by the fire but hardly caring.

"You told me that Odette was important to you. That you loved her. But that woman is now a spirit who will be stuck in her suffering forever if you do not trust me."

"You're a witch!" Jules spat, his eyes wide and terrified, glowing in the firelight.

"I really do hate that word." She gave a discreet nod to Sylas, and a second later a powerful burst of wind gusted through the room. Jules pressed himself farther against the wall, sputtering words that Signa didn't care to decipher.

It was all very dramatic and a show that Blythe would have relished.

Signa could have used her own powers, certainly, though she didn't necessarily feel like dying today.

Not to mention she wouldn't be able to speak with Jules in her reaper form.

Having Sylas around made it easier, but he was having far too much fun with this.

He'd made a chair of shadows for himself and was lounging in it as he gusted the wind at the hearth, grinning when it flared to life stronger than before.

So strongly, in fact, that Jules fell to his knees while Signa brushed embers from her skirt.

Mind yourself, Sylas. We're trying to get him on our side, not give him a heart attack.

Apologies. I didn't care for the way he spoke to you , Sylas noted, silent for a long moment until he added, You know, it would get him to believe you faster if he were dead…

Signa made a note to get herself and Sylas out of Foxglove more often. Their humor was growing far too dark for comfort.

She stood and crossed the floor, approaching the trembling Jules as though he were a frightened animal. Crouching beside him, Signa gently offered a hand. "I haven't come to hurt you, Jules. I want only for you to believe me. I am not a witch, though I do see spirits."

"They're really there?" He stared at her hand, not yet taking it. "All my friends… They're still stuck in that place?"

"I'm afraid they are. I believe we may be on the cusp of helping most of them pass on, but Odette… I fear that only you will be able to help her, and that we'll lose our chance to save her if you don't."

His jaw trembled as his eyes settled not on Signa, but on the fire raging behind her. Voice weak, Jules whispered, "What do I have to do?"

If Signa could have crumpled in relief, she would have. But for now she set a hand on the man's shoulder and spoke the truth as she knew it. "This may sound ridiculous, but we're going to need you to dance."