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your name?" he asked me.
    I scowled at him from my position by the window. I'd not yet sat down on the chair, since I hadn't changed out of my filthy clothing, and I stood with my arms crossed over my chest too.
    "They called you Charlie."
    I wished I'd gone by a name that wasn't so close to Charlotte. Fortunately, Death didn't seem to notice the similarity. Perhaps I'd been mistaken, and he wasn't looking for me—Charlotte Holloway—after all, but another girl that he thought I knew.
    "My name is Lincoln Fitzroy," he went on.
    "I thought it was Death." I didn't care if my retort got Seth and Gus into trouble. They were nothing to me.
    One corner of Fitzroy's mouth twitched in what would have been a smile on anyone else. On him, it was probably just a twitch. His face didn't lighten in any other way, but remained stern. I wondered if the man ever smiled or laughed. I doubted it.
    "Are you going to kill me, Mr. Death?"
    "That would be foolish, since I want answers from you."
    "And if I refuse to answer? Will you kill me then?"
    "Have I given any indication that I would?"
    "You nearly killed me when you kidnapped me."
    "You were not in danger."
    "I fainted from lack of air! How could you have known I wouldn't die?"
    "Ladies faint all the time and do not die."
    I recoiled. Did he suspect? I dipped my head to ensure my face remained covered by my hair. "I am not a lady."
    "Clearly." He came toward me and regarded me levelly. "I know how long a person your size can be deprived of air before death takes him."
    "How do you know? Trial and error?"
    He lifted a hand. I ducked out of his reach and put my arms up to shield my face.
    "I only want to get a better look at your face," he said.
    That was precisely why I'd darted away, but I realized my action could have been mistaken for fear that he'd hit me. "This ain't right," I told him. "You can't keep me here."
    "Who will stop me?" He shrugged one shoulder. "Nobody will look for you. Your friends gave you up for a few coins. You have no family, no one to worry about you. For all the world cares, you might as well not exist, Charlie Whoever You Are."
    Tears burned the backs of my eyes. He was right, but hearing it put so baldly stung. I was truly alone. Not a single soul cared whether I lived or died.
    Except me. Sometimes, I wasn't even sure why I did care. It wasn't as if I was adding value to society. Even the blond man whose spirit had saved me in the cell had left behind a reputation for defending the weak from bullies. The only impression I would leave behind would be my freakish way of communicating with the dead.
    "Tell me how you did it," Fitzroy said.
    "I don't know what you're on about, and I don't want to know. Let me go. I don't want to be here."
    His gaze flicked to the clothes still folded on the bed and the food I'd left largely untouched. I'd nibbled at the bread and cheese, but the butterflies fluttering in my stomach wouldn't let me eat more. "Is there something else you desire?"
    "My freedom."
    He waited, as if he expected me to add something of a material nature that he could command Seth or Gus to deliver to my room. "I will grant you your freedom when you tell me how you became a necromancer."
    Necromancer. Was that the name for me? It was quite an improvement over devil's daughter. "I don't know nothing about necromancing." I clenched my jaw, folded my arms and sat on the floor.
    After a moment, he crouched by my side. I'd not heard his approach. The man was light on his feet. Even more surprising was that he had no smell. No hint of any soap or hair oil, no body odor, nothing. It was the oddest thing, and more unnerving than his quiet step.
    "There is another who can bring the dead back to life," he said. "A young woman of eighteen. Are you related to her?"
    "I don't know no women, and I ain't related to nobody." I hugged my knees and pressed my forehead against them. "I don't know anything about bringing dead bodies back to life, neither."
    Another long pause