Free Afterlife (Second Eden #1) by Aaron Burdett

imagination saved for sleep when he was most vulnerable. He did his best to calm the smashing of his heart against his ribs. His breaths washed over the mask, and he listened to the rhythm of his pulse. As with every night he woke, the dreams faded quickly, leaving only an echo of torture in his soul.
    The archduke would have given him a room fit for a prince had he asked, but Bone Man was no prince and he had no need for the soft luxuries of lazy souls. Instead, he slept in a simple wooden chair in a bare room. Before him, a fireplace filled with crackling, flaming logs poured heat onto his knees and warmed his knuckles. A single window hinted at the bright night beyond the palace walls.  
    Bone Man stared at the flames through the slits of his mask. The fire’s warmth burned his knuckles and seared his shins. His throat ached with each breath. Each blink was sandpaper dragging over his eyes.
    One of his crows perched on the windowsill. It flapped its wings, clacking its long, dark beak. While he slept, his birds scoured the city for clues, gliding from shadow to shadow, gathering what information they could from hidden perches and dark corners. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The bird’s memories gathered during his slumber flowed into his thoughts in brilliant, vivid color.  
    Bone Man extended his right arm, and his cane floated obediently into his waiting palm. He stood and edged toward the window. The crow cawed and took flight, wheeling into the starry night. A warm breeze whistled through the window as he stepped onto the sill. He smoothed his jacket and vaulted into the sky.  
    His leap carried him far over the Black Palace’s walls. He tucked his knees to his chest and flipped, crashing onto the avenue bordering the grand estate. His knees and legs shattered from the impact, but healed just as quickly.  
    Bone Man straightened. Not a single soul occupied the dark lane. No soul with half their wits would, for fear he waited in the shadows. He licked his lips and tasted the air, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.
    Cane twirling at his side, he wandered deeper into Afterlife. Beyond the dark confines of the palace’s shadow, city lights sparkled in the swirling dust. Stone buildings squeezed next to one another lorded over bustling avenues. Street merchants peddled their wares with shrill voices. Restaurants tried their best to lure patrons with flowery descriptions of the chef’s evening specials. Newsies shouted that day’s state-sanctioned headlines. The city thrummed with the din of an ever-growing population of souls trying to make their way through the endlessly-spinning wheel of eternity.
    A passerby here and there might catch a glimpse of his thin visage from the corner of their eye, but they would never see Bone Man directly. He existed on the edges, just out of sight but never out of mind. He was the bump in the night, the scratching on the glass, the chill breath on a bare neck. They might see him if they really wanted, but no one really wanted that. Afterlife was safer if they kept him to the shadows and hid their fear behind their smiles.
    He made his way through the lanes, striking deeper and deeper into the oldest, dustiest parts of the city, the parts that first sprouted in those days when Afterlife was as young as the souls who built it. The neon lights dulled behind him. The comforting cacophony of a city brimming with life quieted, and the shadows lengthened.
    The Crystal District appeared before him, an old, dark tangle of dilapidated homes, tawdry gaming houses, deserted bars, and fortuneteller shops that gave the district its seedy reputation. It was an odd place, unaligned to any of the major factions fighting for control of the city and home to more souls gifted with the spirit curse than any other neighborhood in Afterlife’s boundaries.  
    This district he despised almost as much as the Old City. While the archduke had smashed that decadent quarter when he took