A scream of heartbreaking pain forced Agathe to stop on her tracks, her eyes to go up. And as they did, a body fell down the stairs, a bundle of limbs and groans of pain. It took a second to recognize Arvid Bendtner. Agathe covered her sister’s mouth, trying to avoid grabbing any attention. But her heart was galloping in her chest with the force of her fear.
A man stepped next to her father, someone with no presence at all, someone Agathe had not felt in the house. How could someone be so empty? Fritha’s words jumped to mind. That was him, the man with no soul, the man that walked with the dead.
He walked smoothly, as though the air parted for him, arms immobile at his sides. But he wasn’t a man. He was just a kid, maybe fourteen. Agathe couldn’t breathe.
Another scream came from upstai
