Free Shades of Gray: A Jude Magdalyn Novel by L. M. Pruitt Page A

fact one of them had twice my body mass. Eventually, I pushed to the front to stand next to the one who had opened the door. He caught me before I fell to my knees.
    Izzy was laid out on the narrow stoop, as peacefully as if she were sleeping. She was eerily reminiscent of a corpse, lacking only the pine box. Someone, in a sick attempt at humor, had wound her rosary through Izzy’s hands, clasping them over her heart.
    I wasn’t aware of holding my breath until my lungs begun to burn. I let it out on a sob, clamping a hand over my mouth in an effort to contain the sound. I felt the shifting of bodies behind me, and let Williams pull me back into the house, my knees giving way completely. I pressed a fist to my heart, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down my face.
    The hall was utterly silent except for the sounds I made. Eventually they fell away to whimpers. When Williams knelt in front of me, I lifted my head, locking eyes with him. My voice was low and quivered with fury when I spoke.
    “When Hart dies, I want my face to be the last thing he sees.”
     

Chapter Seven
     
    The sun’s first rays colored the horizon when I laid my head on the pillow and closed my eyes. I would have traded damn near anything for an hour of absolute quiet and solitude. Not everything - but I would have traded quite a bit, for an hour without someone hovering over me.
    Under the direction of Williams and Gillian, Izzy’s body had been checked to make sure she was truly dead and not just in the first stages of turning. The only good piece of news - that her neck was snapped - meant there was no way she had been turned. One of the guards advised she most likely hadn’t felt anything more than a brief snap of pain.
    My eyes watered for a moment before I rubbed them with my palms. Izzy hated any kind of pain. If she broke a nail she’d whine for a half hour, minimum. If she had to die for no reason, at least she hadn’t suffered.
    There had been a brief argument over what to do with her body. We couldn’t leave it on the front steps. Gillian wanted to burn the remains to make absolutely certain she wasn’t going to rise. Apparently a snapped neck wasn’t enough proof for her. I knew Izzy’s mom enough to say that if Izzy disappeared without a trace, she’d have the city in an uproar looking for her.
    In the end we staged an elaborate, painstakingly detailed accident in her apartment bathroom. My guards did most of the work, with Gillian and Williams once again doing the directing. If they were looking for some sign of the leader of the Covenant, or whatever I was, to move to the forefront they were disappointed. I stood, watched without lifting a finger, or offering comment. I wasn’t hollowed out, empty, or any of those things they say are normal when you experience death. I just couldn’t seem to connect what was going on with reality.
    God, I was so tired. Every part of me ached, in a way that reminded me of winter nights when none of us had been able to score enough cash for a hotel room and the shelter was full. The cold chilled right down to the bones, sucked you dry, no matter how hard you fought to stay warm. That’s how tired I felt - achy and dry.
    The closer it got to sunrise, the more nervous everyone got. I could barely tell the difference, but the others seemed able to discern we were running out of time without being told in any way. We left Izzy’s apartment an hour before sunrise, and the ride back to the Crossroads - the proper name for my new home - was only slightly less terrifying than being in a professional race car. We made it in one piece and I decided to save the complaining for a time when it was a bigger deal.
    The guards scattered through the house again, and before you could say the word “chaperone”, Gillian gripped my arm and frog-marched me up the stairs, leaving Williams to stand at the bottom. I managed to turn my head at the top for a quick look and caught the half smile he was fond of