Ubel tried to move forward, but couldn’t get past the barrier of crates. Why couldn’t he get past them? He was free now.

“What have you done?” he shouted at her.

She flicked a glance at the floor, then smiled at him.

He looked down—and stared at his body, the shackles still around his wrists and ankles. He looked at the other bodies on the floor inside the barrier…and the ghosts standing beside them.

“What have you done?” he screamed. She just watched him. The face, the hair, the eyes. He knew who stood before him now. “You can’t do this!”

“It is done. My choice. My judgment. I have given you the release you have given others.” She turned and started walking away.

“You think you’re strong?” Ubel screamed. “You think you can defeat the Witch’s Hammer? He’ll crush you, bitch! You’re not strong enough to defeat the Master Inquisitor!”

She stopped walking and looked at him over her shoulder. “I’m strong enough to defeat anyone. Haven’t you realized it yet, Inquisitor? The only thing stronger than Death’s Mistress is Death itself.” She looked at the Fae Lord. “Don’t move the bodies until one of Death’s Servants gathers the spirits. That will keep the ghosts leashed to the flesh and contain them in this place.”

“As you command, Gatherer,” the Fae Lord replied.

Ubel screamed at her as she walked away. Kept screaming at her even after she left the warehouse. Kept screaming as the Fae who had guarded him and the others silently moved away from the barrier and took positions in front of the warehouse doors.

He screamed and screamed as he stared at his dead body, but no one heard him, no one saw him. Except the other ghosts.

Morag walked over to where the dark horse waited. “I should change out of these clothes. I imagine it’s one of the few outfits Ashk actually likes.”

“Keep it,” Padrick said quietly. “The skirt is designed for riding. Besides, your own clothes are already packed in the saddlebags. You’ll need them when you reach Willowsbrook.” He made an effort to smile. “If Ashk misses having that outfit, she can order another one—which will please the village seamstress and her lady’s maid.”

She rested one hand on the dark horse’s neck. “I don’t need escorts.”

“You’ll have them anyway.”

She didn’t bother to sigh. Padrick had given in when she’d insisted she didn’t have the appetite for a meal, but he wasn’t going to yield about the escorts.

“It wasn’t enough,” she said abruptly.

“What wasn’t enough, Morag?”

She turned away from him and placed her hands on the saddle as if to mount. But she stayed there, staring at leather instead of the man.