Page 13 of Wednesday
"I'm sorry," I managed, fighting the urge to shrink away. "I just..."
"Just what?" Morrow was close enough that I could smell the grave soil and copper scent that clung to him. His eyes bored into mine. "What do you want?"
The truth spilled out before I could stop it. "The memories. What you shared with me. Helena's life."
Morrow went still. Utterly, unnaturally still. Then, between one blink and the next, he was right in front of me, teeth inches from my face.
"You want more?"
"Yes," I whispered.
His head tilted, studying me as if I were some new species he had never seen before. "How... unexpected." He reached out with one long-fingered hand, stopping just short of touching my face. "The living usually flee what I am. They don't seek it."
My pulse gradually slowed as it became clear he was not going to attack me.
Morrow circled me slowly. "You came hunting for me," he observed, one blackened nail trailing over my shoulder. He completed his circle, coming to stand in front of me again. "What are you asking, Carmen Ruiz?"
The question hung between us. I could feel the abyss in front of me. The gulf between who I was and who I would be.
"I want to feel it again," I blurted.
Something flashed in his eyes. "Even knowing what it is," he said softly. "What I am." It was not a question.
"Yes,” I breathed.
Morrow stepped back slightly, staring down at me. "Such sharing is not without consequences, Carmen Ruiz."
"What consequences?"
"Among my kind, memory-sharing is considered... intimate." His lipless mouth formed that unsettling approximation of a smile. "It creates bonds that are not easily broken.”
"Bonds?" I echoed.
"When I share the memories I've consumed, something of me enters you. And something of you," his blackened nails lightly trailed from my temple to my jaw, "enters me."
I shivered at his touch, my skin prickling with equal parts fear and something far hotter. I swallowed hard. "What happens with repeated sharing?"
"Change," Morrow replied simply.
"Is that why I can't stop thinking about you? About it, I mean."
Morrow's smile widened slightly. "Or perhaps you were already inclined toward darkness, Carmen Ruiz. You simply needed someone to show you the way."
He gestured to the notebook still lying on the stone floor. "Frank Tillman sought me too, but with different intent." Morrow's head tilted again, studying me. "But you... you have desire."
Something tightened in my belly. "Can you reverse it? Whatever's happening to me?"
"Do you wish me to?" Morrow countered.
I opened my mouth to say yes, but the words got caught in my throat. "I don't know," I admitted instead.
Morrow nodded as if this confirmed something. "You stand at a threshold, Carmen Ruiz. You can walk away now. Resume your duties as cemetery guardian, maintaining our arrangement from a safe distance." His voice dropped lower. "Or you can step across. But understand that each crossing makes the return journey more difficult."
I did not let myself think. "Whose memories?"
"A man buried this afternoon. Andrew Coleson, aged forty-two." Shadows moved in Morrow’s eyes. "A complex life. Pain and pleasure in equal measure."
I moved closer. "Show me."
