The Candles Are Burning (Into Shadow, #6)

by Veronica G. Henry

The world splintered and fell away. All of existence swallowed whole by Maggie’s relentless screams. She was hunched over her husband, rocking his lifeless body, when something inside her snapped. It was as if starting at the top of her head, an unseen hand began to pull back her skin, peeling her like an orange. When she lay open and exposed, a great tug drew her up and away like a wall had sprung up to shield her soul from the boundless grief.

An eternity of yesterdays, amounting to three months and six days ago, Francis had died.

The only people who were truly dead were those who had been forgotten.

“I’ll think on it,” Maggie said. She didn’t want to dash her hopes outright. Having a dream was no small matter for a girl child.

There is no greater terror than hearing the scream of someone you love.

“What he means to say is that death is not yours to see or foretell. I am the keeper of the candles.”

Maggie’s scream was buried someplace deep inside her. Inaccessible and ineffectual. She hurtled through space and time. Her movements constrained as if groping through the blackest, thickest tar, blotting out breath and sight.

When Reaper leaned down and blew out a breath, her remains floated upward and scattered. And the finality of it all hit Maggie like she had been cleaved in half.

He didn’t want them to leave, and not because of some duty. Reaper, Death—it was lonely, just like her. Like the widower Jackson Stone.

The gruesome bargain she was making wasn’t lost on Maggie. Inviting Death into her life, a seat at her table whenever it saw fit. But there was no other way.