Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

would he go for the neck? Because I hear gutting is quite painful, but the neck… Well, that might not be a bad way to go.”
    “Lor was right,” I mutter. “You’re insane.”
    He grins. “Oh, darling, you don’t know the half of it.”
    “Lor,” I repeat. “What happened to him?”
    That grim smile returns. “He’s alive. We think. Well,
he
thinks.” He points to the door, where the ‘crazy vamp’ is. I have no doubt Cyrus is talking about Jackal.
    “Where?” I manage to murmur.
    “Asair took him.”
    I try to sit up, but pain rips through my chest. A choked scream escapes me, and he dabs at my forehead some more. Cyrus sighs. “I told you not to move.”
    “It hurts,” I whisper.
    He gives a short laugh. “Well, what do you expect? Knife wounds usually hurt, especially when they’re through the heart.”
    I frown, trying to understand his words. Then I remember my blade hovering over Lor, staring into his composed face, and stabbing into my own chest instead. And Asair’s promise. He’d sworn to spare one of us if the other died, and he couldn’t get out of that promise without dying himself.
    I smile. It’d worked. Lor is alive. And I’m…
    What am I?
    “It’s a miracle you’re alive,” Cyrus says, as if reading my mind. “And I mean that literally. You died when you stabbed yourself.”
    “Mmm,” I murmur, wondering why he has to state the obvious. Of course I died. That was my plan.
    My mind feels fuzzy, and something tells me I should be more interested in this conversation. But I’m too tired to focus properly.
    “But you reincarnated again,” he says brightly. Then he snaps his fingers. “That’s it! You’ve died before. So you can tell me if the gut or the neck is better, right?”
    I ignore the question and focus on his other words. Part of my plan had been to end the prophecy. I was supposed to just die, and Lor was supposed to survive, and that should have broken our curse. That was it; end of story. But it hadn’t worked that way, and Lor and I are still trapped in this never-ending cycle of murder.
    I shake away the dark thoughts and struggle to focus on our conversation. “How?” I ask.
    “How did you reincarnate so fast?” Cyrus shrugs. “We’re still trying to figure that out. Jackal says it’s because you were right next to one of the Chosen.”
    “Chosen?”
    “Lor. He’s one of the Angels from the prophecy, the Chosen.”
    I close my eyes and attempt to absorb his words. My pounding head tries to reject them, but I grit my teeth and struggle to understand him.
    “The crazy vamp thinks that since the Chosen—”
    “Lor,” I correct, the name mumbled. “His name is Lor. Don’t call him the Chosen. He’s deserves better.”
    Cyrus gives a little harrumph, but doesn’t argue. “Right. Since
Lor
was so close to you, and you hadn’t killed him yet in this life, you reincarnated more quickly. Almost immediately, actually, and into the same body.”
    My frown deepens, because that doesn’t make sense. If my heart was ruined, wouldn’t I just die again as soon as I reincarnated? I take a deep breath and say, “But my heart. I stabbed it.”
    “Believe me, darling, I know. I saw all the blood. Have I mentioned I don’t like blood? Especially human blood? Yours is such a bland color.” He frowns at me and shakes his head, like this is somehow my fault.
    I ask, “Then how am I alive? If my heart was cut open?”
    He bites his lip and stares down at me hard. “Maybe I wasn’t quite accurate when I said you’re alive.”
    My breathing stops. “What’s that mean?”
    “It means you’re alive, but your heart isn’t working.” He points to the door again. “The crazy vamp says it’s some kind of magic keeping you from dying completely.” He clears his throat and looks away. “He doesn’t know how long the magic will last.”
    I know that should scare me, but I’m exhausted and hurting, and I just can’t bring myself to panic. I didn’t expect to survive stabbing myself, and I’ve already resigned myself to death. Death is natural and expected, so unlike everything else in my life. I’d almost welcome it.
    In the back of my mind, I remember that there’s something else I should be concerned about. Something agonizing. I struggle to remember what it is, and manage to mumble, “The raid? What happened?” Maybe that’s what’s bothering me, but I don’t feel any better as I ask.
    “Irrador’s archers managed to fend off