“I would’ve come to the studio. You didn’t have to drag it uptown.”
“I couldn’t wait. The dress was like fire in my blood; I had to get it out.” Adam unwrapped the garment, holding it up to the sunshine, the light sparkling on the clear beads that trimmed the waist. I hadn’t seen anything like it before. “Will you try it on?” he asked.
“I’d love to.” For modesty’s sake, I retreated into my room, stripping down to my thin chemise and drawers and wrapping myself in a robe. Was this ridiculous? I’d met him only a week ago, yet here I was, down to my undergarments. I felt completely safe, having discerned that Adam had no romantic interest in me—in fact, none of that interest in women of any kind.
He dutifully turned around as I slipped the dress on. He laced up the back, pulling on the built-in corset. He was not distracted by my robe at all. His focus was solely on the dress and its fit.
The dress was a vision, the color complementing my skin tone. The white silk rippled from my waist, gathering in a full skirt with emerald-green trim and ruffles. He stood back to assess every detail critically. “All you need are the gloves and a few tweaks here and there.”
I pressed a hand to my chest. I’d worn beautiful garments before. Some from the greatest French couture houses, but nothing quite compared to what he’d made for me. “I must say, Adam, you are, in fact, the most wonderful tailor in New York.”
“In theworld, but we’ll leave it there for now.” He smiled, bending to pin the hem, his touch professional and efficient. It was refreshing that he wanted nothing from me but to be beautiful.
A knock interrupted us, but he kept working.
I opened the door, and Willa clapped her hands over her mouth in giddy surprise. “Tessa! You look amazing!”
“Thank you.” I warmed under her admiration. The dress hugged my every curve, making me feel powerful—strong.
“It is like nothing I’ve ever seen! It’s divine,” she gushed, circling to look at it. “It’s—oh!” she said, turning bashful when she noticed Adam. “I didn’t see you there.”
The tailor waved cheerfully. “Glad you approve of my work.”
“This is your dress?” Her eyes bulged, glancing between the dress and Adam. “Youweren’tjoking the other night, were you?”
“Nope. Happy you can appreciate it.” His eyes twinkled. “This dress deserves a night on the town. I know a happening spot; they play it all—jazz and blues—and we’ll have a time. You can meet my friend Pierre.”
Perhaps it was Adam’s innocent, radiant hope. Perhaps it was the dress. But it was so lovely to say yes. It was so lovely to have the desire to want to go out.
“Well then,” Adam said, “let’s hurry and adjust the length of this skirt so I can introduce you to the crew.”
I marveled as he labored. Maybe this could work. Maybe with his help, I could be ready for Death and give him something brand new.
A Visit From Death
Death sat nestled into a high-back velvet chair in the private section of the dining room, swirling a brandy snifter. The chandelier winked overhead, each crystal a blazing star, casting sparkles throughout the room.
An odd mood descended upon him as he waited for Nella. He drained the brandy snifter and motioned for another one. The waiter topped it off and he downed that one too. The liquid burned inside his body, making it hot.
He’d almost done it, wiping the world clean, all bets aside. It’s what they deserved after the horror of World War I: millions more souls for him to collect, leaving blasted bodies strewn across Europe, men cut down like marionettes, and for what?
So he had allowed influenza to creep forward, leaping from port to port, town to town, house to house, and bed to bed, with entire families gone in mere days. The young soldiers stacked up like driftwood in the barracks, small children languishing in their government schools, their elders dying in their villages, all victims of the purple fever, their faces bluish black as their bodies starved for oxygen, red, wet lungs so engorged with liquid that the people drowned, struggling to draw air.
He could have let it rage on, claiming every soul ... when he’d stopped.
It had been a small thing as he gathered people in Vienna, collecting the soul of a young mother as her young daughter clung to her body. Wonderful pots had lined the room, created by the mother’s deft hand.
She was no one famous. Her name was of no importance.
She was just a woman with a talent.
And still he lamented that no more of her art would ever be made. A shame. It was the first time such a thought had flittered into his mind. He’d shaken it off, leaving the daughter weeping over the body, knowing he’d be back for her soon, but the thought crept in still, catching him unaware.
Death had been having the oddest sensations of late as he collected the souls. Some were business as usual, while other deaths lingered. The faces of the dead came to him, burdening him. It wasn’t just the moments of their passing, but other memories as well. Births. Loves. Dreams fulfilled. Happiness. Bits of goodness had attached themselves to him and stuck. He could feel them now, see them for what they were—the sensation.
It unsettled him.
He’d stopped the influenza because, after all, he’d made a deal with Nella not to take themallbefore he officially won. He’d known he’d cheated, and there was something unacceptable about that.
