The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue - V. E. Schwab Page 0,169

warm, folded around her in the dark, and it would be easy to believe that he is real, that he is human, that he is home.

But then the world cracks wide, and the shadows swallow them whole.

The prison gives way to nothingness, to blackness, to the wild dark. And when it parts, she is back in Boston, the sun just beginning to set, and she could kiss the ground in sheer relief. Addie pulls the jacket close around her, and sinks onto the curb, legs shaking, the wooden band still wrapped around her finger. She called, and he came. She asked, and he answered. And she knows he will hold it over her, and but right now, she does not care.

She does not want to be alone.

But by the time Addie looks up to thank him, he is gone.

New York City

July 30, 2014

VIII

Henry trails her through the apartment as she gets ready.

“Why would you agree to this?” he asks.

Because she knows the darkness better than anyone, knows his mind if not his heart.

“Because I don’t want to lose you,” says Addie, pulling up her hair.

Henry looks tired, hollowed out. “It’s too late,” he says.

But it’s not too late.

Not yet.

Addie reaches into her pocket and feels the ring where it always is, waiting, the wood warm from being pressed against her body. She draws it out, but Henry catches her hand.

“Don’t do this,” he pleads.

“Do you want to die?” she asks, the words cutting through the room.

He pulls back a little at the words. “No. But I made a choice, Addie.”

“You made a mistake.”

“I made a deal,” he says. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t ask for more time. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth sooner. But it is what it is.”

Addie shakes her head. “You may have made peace with this, Henry, but I haven’t.”

“This won’t work,” he warns. “You can’t reason with him.”

Addie tugs free of his grip. “I’m willing to try,” she says, slipping the ring over her finger.

There is no flood of darkness.

Only a stillness, a vacant quiet, and then—

A knock.

And she is grateful that at least he didn’t invite himself in. But Henry stands between her and the door, his hands braced across the narrow hall. He doesn’t move, his eyes pleading. Addie reaches up and cups his face.

“I need you to trust me,” she says.

Something cracks in him. One hand drops from the frame.

She kisses him, and then she slides by, and opens the door for the dark.

“Adeline.”

Luc should look out of place in the building’s hall, but he never does.

The lights on the walls have dimmed a little, softened to a yellow haze that haloes the black curls around his face, and catches slivers of gold in his green eyes.

He is dressed in all black, tailored slacks and a button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbows, an emerald pin driven through the silk tie at his throat.

It is far too hot for such an outfit, but Luc doesn’t seem to mind. The heat, like the rain, like the world itself, seems to have no hold on him.

He does not tell her she looks beautiful.

He does not tell her anything.

He simply turns, expecting her to follow.

And as she steps into the hall, he looks to Henry. And winks.

Addie should have stopped right there.

She should have turned around, let Henry pull her back inside. They should have shut the door, and bolted it against the dark.

But they didn’t.

They don’t.

Addie glances back over her shoulder at Henry, who lingers in the doorway, a cloud shadowing his face. She wills him to close the door, but he doesn’t, and she has no choice but to step away, and follow Luc as Henry watches.

Downstairs, he holds open the building’s door, but Addie stops. Looks down at the threshold. Darkness coils in the frame, shimmers between them and the steps down to the street.

She doesn’t trust the shadows, she can’t see where they lead, and the last thing she needs is for Luc to strand her in some far-off land if and when the night goes bad.

“There are rules tonight,” she says.

“Oh?”

“I won’t leave the city,” she says, nodding at the door. “And I won’t go that way.”

“Through a door?”

“Through the dark.”

Luc’s brows draw up. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I never have,” she says. “There’s no use starting now.”

Luc laughs, soft and soundless, and steps outside to hail a car. Seconds later, a sleek black sedan pulls up to the curb. He holds out his hand to