River of Shadows (Underworld Gods, #1)

by Karina Halle

In other words, dance was everything to me, and especially to my mother. But the extremes I went to so I could remain lithe and airy and light eventually took their toll on my body and mind. “But then I discovered martial arts. Capoeira. It’s from Brazil. Combines dancing and fighting.”

“You smell vile,” I tell him. “Good,” he says simply. “I take a bath every day but when you fill the tub with bat’s blood, the smell is bound to rub off on you.” I still. Oh my god. I can’t tell if he’s joking. “Now,” he goes on, reaching into a pocket inside his hood, “that we’ve made an agreement, struck a bargain, we still have to get you back to my home at Shadow’s End.” “Is this the place you bathe in bat’s blood?” “Where I what?”

I don’t move as he places the cold iron collar around my neck, fastening it with a loud click that sounds like a jail door closing. “There,” he says, sounding proud, and I can feel the intensity in his gaze as he looks me over, even though I can’t see it. “I must say, it looks rather good on you. Like you’re some wild fairy who’s been finally caught and tamed.”

He will do anything to stop you from making this trade, but it’s already done. You can call me Death. And I will call you mine.”

“I never gave much thought to what I deserve. I was just living without appreciating it, without recognizing it. Maybe this is what I deserve, for twenty-four years of just floating along the surface, not grabbing onto life while I had it.”

This life-long incessant need to be complimented, validated, to feel I’m special in regards to something.

Right now I see you as an insignificant twenty-four-year-old, but I can’t know the person you might become, the one waiting in your own shadows to finally find the light to grow.”

“Second of all, he’s Death. I don’t think Death can fall in love.” “Why not? There’s no curse that says he can’t. He probably loved Louhi at some time before she went full-on evil.” “Well then, they should have been a match made in heaven.” “Death isn’t evil,” she says.

“I take it you’re impressed by my mask of the day.” “I was more impressed by the French press you got from Ikea,”

“And I have to admit, I find it fascinating that in all that you’ve seen so far, it’s my coffee-making device that has you asking questions.” “I have more questions,” I say. “You have a mask of the day. Why? You ugly or something?”

She had to give up her crown of crimson.

Besides, you’re gorgeous and you’re mortal and you’re the daughter of a shaman. All the things that fascinate him.” She pauses, bringing out a yellow dress now, and frowns. “Actually, he hates all mortals. And all shamans. But still.

Time as you know it is only an idea. You mortals put far too much control and thought over it.”

I see both human and animal skulls in the macabre structure. Now that he definitely didn’t get at Ikea.

“I felt the same way when I first went to the Upper World, seeing all those babies and children everywhere.” I gasp. “My god. You saw dead babies and children in my world?” She laughs, throwing her head back. “No, silly. If they were dead that would be no problem. I meant babies and children. In general. Your world is just full of them. They give me the creeps.” She shakes her arms out in an exaggerated manner, her bracelets jangling. “Remind me to never ask you to babysit,” I say under my breath.

“The fairy girl, the little bird, the mortal daughter of Shaman Torben. Hanna Heikkinen.”

“My father loves movies. Old ones though. I mean, figuratively speaking. He likes what you would call the classics. I think because he hates color and loves black and white.” “It’s because movies these days don’t know how to tell a real story,” Death says, pointing at her with his fork. “The movies you watch have no heart, no intelligence. All violence and action, not character.”

“I wanted to see if you’d run. You didn’t even try to fly, little bird,” he adds in a whisper.

Was I just sleepwalking in my life before? Just aimlessly checking off the boxes, making sure I had everything that life expected of me without any real thought of what I truly wanted? I had spent my teenage years trying to be beautiful, trying to be the best, trying to win over the attention of my mother, for whom I was never good enough, and even though I left that behind and started anew in LA, even though I found the power I craved in capoeira, was it really enough?

Dear lord. Death is a dirty-talker.

“Fly away with me.”