A Date with Death

Chapter 37 Grim

“Can I… help you?” asked the boy as he dug an earbud out of one ear.

“Hunter,” his name tag read.

I’d stood there, at the end of the aisle between the tall shelves, scowling at him for longer than I should have without saying anything. It was just that…

“She didn’t tell me you were a kid,” I said.

Now he dug out the other earbud. “Excuse you? I’m eighteen. And ‘she’ who? Who are you even talking about—and who are you for that matter?”

Eighteen? Technically, that wasn’t a kid. But… it also kind of was.

Flora took the eighteen-year-olds. That was her cutoff age. Which was why he looked especially young to me since my pickup age started at nineteen.

Whatever. Not important. I wasn’t here to get him or anybody—just to talk.

“Do you remember this?” I held up the gray Grim Reaper book I’d found in Helena’s apartment.

“Where’d you get that?” the kid asked but almost like he didn’t care. He even returned to shelving the books he pulled off the huge cart that stood in the aisle between us.

“Where do you think I got it?” I asked him. “Helena gave it to me.”

“I don’t know who the hell you are,” he shot back. “What if you’re a serial killer and you murdered her and stole it or something?”

“I’m not a serial killer,” I snarled between my teeth, lowering the book.

“Well, you sure as shit look like one.”

Was he serious? Maybe I should have come earlier—let Helena handle the talking here. And maybe I would have if I’d known this “coworker friend” was practically still in diapers.

“I’m her boyfriend,” I said.

That got his attention. Slowly, he peered my way again, scowling at me in turn—narrowing that one visible eye, his other curtained behind loose black hair.

“She said she needed to pull the book for a friend,” he said.

“She did,” I snapped. “A boyfriend.”

“She’s dating you?” He gave me a skeptical once-over before sliding another book into place. “Pull the other leg. It plays ‘Jingle Bells.’ ”

This little fuckhead.

“I need to know about the weird guy you said had this before Helena came looking for it.” I held the book up again.

“Prove it,” said the kid, examining the spine of another book before sliding it onto the shelf between two others.

I frowned. “Prove what?”

“If you’re Hart’s boyfriend, prove it, and I’ll tell you who had the book.”

Prove it? “How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

“Not my problem.”

Not his…?

I cricked my neck, the fingers of one hand curling into a fist and uncurling. I could give him a soul shakedown like I had the other library asshole, but he was still a kid and technically out of my jurisdiction anyway. Also, he was Helena’s friend or whatever.

Astrally ass kicking an ex was one thing. Soul snapping a friend would probably be frowned upon.

“She’s borrowing my car,” I said.

“Oh,” said Hunter, “so that’s where she got the meathead mobile.”

I took a step toward him, and he dropped his book, skittering back. “You stop right there,” he said, pointing at me with one hand while he shoved his other into a back pocket and brought out his phone.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, spreading my arms as he started to dial. “Are you seriously calling the cops?”

“Kind of,” he said, lifting the phone to his ear.

I put my hands on my hips and waited, but then I caught a familiar voice on the other end saying, “Hello?”

Fuck. He called Helena.

“Hart, I need you in the stacks, stat. Eight hundreds. Your stalker—I mean boyfriend—is trying to bad-cop info out of me about that book you had me scare up. Speaking of scaring things up, he’s sus as hell, and I need backup yesterday. Bring security.”

“What?” came Helena’s voice in a high-pitched buzz, which had me shutting my eyes. Because I’d been trying to do this without her. “I’ll be right there. Don’t let him leave—whatever you do.”

Be right there? She wasn’t supposed to be working.

“Um, yeah, about that,” said Hunter into the phone as his eyes cut my way. “Can you just, uh, stay on the line with me? Your boy is a little too Blumhouse Productions for my comfort. Bottom line, the vibes are way off, and I really don’t feel sa—”

He blinked at me, lowering the phone before swallowing hard and stating what I’d already gathered. “She hung up.”

“She’s not supposed to be working tonight,” I said.

“You just keep saying creepy shit, don’t you?” Hunter noted.

“Just tell me who asked for the book, and I’ll leave,” I said. “It’s important.”

“What’s your problem, anyway, man?” asked Hunter, gesturing toward me. “How are you gonna wear a Dungeon Druids T-shirt same time as a Thornz on Fire shoulder patch on your jacket?”

Both were metal bands. Admittedly, I was impressed this kid knew of either of them.

The two groups had beef—a fierce and ongoing rivalry I didn’t particularly give a fuck about. I just came for the music. And, when it was time, the souls.

“Guess you could say I’m no respecter of persons,” I said.

And, as if on cue, a familiar figure popped into view between aisles.

Not Helena, but Peter the Cheater.

“Listen, Hunter,” he said, eyeing his own phone before glancing up, “I’m heading out for today but, tomorrow, do you think you could—”

He stopped dead when he saw me, his face draining of color while, same as yesterday, I stared him down. Eyes going wide, the kid, Hunter, peered between us.

At least until Peter backtracked, turned tail, and ran.

“Bruh,” said Hunter, his focus returning to me while he aimed a thumb over his shoulder. “Wha’d you do to the archivist?”

“Love tap,” I said.

Well, maybe more like a spiritual spinal tap, but… details.

“Uhhh,” said Hunter, shuffling back another step from me. “I’m not gonna lie, I low-key kind of want my mom right now.”

“To be honest,” I droned, “if things went sideways for you, even if she was here, she wouldn’t be able to do anything.”

He gave a nervous laugh and took another step back.

But the last thing I wanted him to do was bail.

“Look,” I said, blinking slowly. “Just tell me about the guy with the book and you’ll never hear from me again. Or… at least you won’t for a while. Hopefully, for your sake, a long while. But tell me quickly. Before Helena gets here.”

Just then, Helena, breathless and beautiful, darted into view at the end of the aisle.

Damnit.

“Thank God you’re here,” said Hunter, shuffling to get behind her, and he peered left and right once he got to the endcaps. “Wait… where’s security?”

“Grim,” Helena said, breaking toward me, those incredible eyes searching my face.

A surge of longing rushed through me as she neared, and it took every ounce of restraint I possessed not to grab her and pull her toward me, wrap my arms around her, crush her against me, breathe her in.

“Grim?” said Hunter, making a face.

“It’s… a nickname,” Helena threw back at him, thinking quickly even as she continued her approach, a deep blush coloring her cheeks as she neared me.

“Kinky,” said Hunter.

But he had no idea.

“So, wait,” said the kid, gesturing toward me, “does that mean this guy really is your boyfriend?”

Helena whipped her head toward Hunter and then back at me, ponytail swishing. When she arched her brows at me, I only gave her a shrug.

She hurried to close the remaining distance between us, one hand catching me by the arm, like she thought I’d dissipate to smoke right then and there. Like she thought grabbing on to me would—could—stop that even if I did.

“Yes, of course,” Helena said, tossing the response back Hunter’s way.

My throat tightened with her corroboration of my lie. With an “of course” of all things.

Claiming me as hers. Just like that.

That hurt. Like fuck.

I wasn’t her boyfriend. And couldn’t be.

“Does your My Little Pony mug collection know?” Hunter asked, incredulous.

“You… were supposed to come earlier,” said Helena, peering up at me.

“You know he scared the piss out of Winston just now,” remarked Hunter. “And all he did was look at the guy. Though, honestly, it was… kind of badass now that I think about it.”

“Why didn’t you wait to let me introduce you?” Helena asked, her voice soft, uncertain, and only faintly accusatory, to my relief.

“I was trying to figure it out on my own,” I said, going for honesty. “And I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“I… had to stay late tonight,” she said. “There was an emergency meeting. About… about the bookmobile.”

Oh. Fuck. The bookmobile. I’d forgotten all about that thing.

I glanced away, eyes shooting to one side.

“What about the bookmobile?” asked Hunter. “Wait. Did they find out who stole it and took it for a joyride on 71? Dude, it took forever to put all those books back. Whoever that freak was, he needs to go away for life.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” I muttered under my breath.

“No,” said Helena, glancing between us. “Its transmission… died.”

“Hold up,” said Hunter. “Gus the Bus is dead? Jeez. About time, too. That thing was a flipping fossil.”

When Helena peered back his way, Hunter’s eyes bugged. “I mean… sorry for your loss?”

“No,” said Helena through a short huffing laugh, “it’s… a good thing. We’re getting a new one before the New Year. Apparently, a few donors came through, and there was enough left in the budget for the rest. It’ll have heating and air and new stairs, too. The kids… they’re going to love it.”

Helena eyed me while she spoke, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

Aside from the fact that, with her standing this close, I couldn’t keep from picturing the way she’d arched, moaned, and shook beneath me less than twenty-four hours earlier, I didn’t want her to guess I’d paid the beater bus a visit between pickup jobs the other night.

Buses didn’t have souls, but like most things that ran on energy, they had a life force of sorts. And Gus had been old as shit.

She didn’t need to be driving that thing right now, and aside from that, the kids didn’t deserve to freeze this winter while trying to get books, either.

And maybe I’d gambled with the fact that they may not get her a new one, but bottom line, I’d wanted to reduce the number of potential death traps in Helena’s life—even if just by one.

“So, what’s this all about anyway?” said Hunter. “Why did I get dragged into this episode of How Molly Met Mosh Pit? I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend, Hart. Let alone one from the set of The Lost Boys.”

“Good movie,” I said. “Even if it is about vampires. Surprised you know it.”

The boy scoffed, insulted. “I’d throw my gauntlet down over that one if, A, I had a gauntlet, and B, I had more confidence you didn’t have one to throw back.”

“Hunter,” said Helena. “Grim, um, I mean we wanted to stop by and ask you about that guy you said asked you to pull the book before I came looking for it. We might know who it was, but we’re not sure. You talked to him, right? And you said he seemed… weird?”

“Why?” asked the kid, eyeing me up and down again. “There a hit out on him or something?”

“I just want to talk to him,” I said.

“Talk,” repeated Hunter, his brows bouncing once. “You know, back in the day, they used terms like ‘ice’ and ‘whack.’ These days you hear ‘merc’ and ‘cap,’ but ‘talk’ is a new one.”

“Grim’s not going to merc anyone,” Helena stressed. “He just… is looking to get a new tattoo. Of… his namesake. The Grim Reaper. And… that guy could be the artist we’re looking for. He… specializes in… reaper tattoos.”

I scowled at Helena. Who was a terrible fucking liar.

“New tattoo,” muttered Hunter, again squinting at me. “Where the hell are you going to put it?” Quickly, he held up a hand. “You know what? Don’t answer that.”

“Please, Hunter,” said Helena, “it’s pretty important we ID this guy. Just… if you could tell us what he looked like?”

“He looked normal,” said Hunter. “Like a normal… old dude.”

“Old dude?” asked Helena, glancing back to me before returning her attention to Hunter. “I… You said he was weird.”

“Yeah,” said Hunter. “Meaning he acted weird.”

“Did he have a beard?” I asked, my mind going straight to Johann—the only “old guy” I happened to know. “A long one?”

“Like Gandalf long,” Helena added.

“Nah,” said the kid, “it was short. Like Obi-Wan Kenobi short.”

I tilted my head at him, my frown deepening. There wasn’t a soul—friend or foe—I knew that fit that description. At least… there hadn’t been until that morning. That had to be just a coincidence, though.

“Did he say anything?” I asked.

“Anything out of the ordinary?” Helena chimed in.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” said Hunter. “He gave me the Dewey and asked me if I could pull the book. He said he needed it because he was going to die in Idaho.”

“What?” I barked, an actual chill clambering up my spine.

“Hunter, that’s crazy,” said Helena. “Why didn’t you go alert security?”

“Because!” he said, spreading his arms. “In case you forgot, this is the free public library. And need I remind you it’s a bit hairier on the adult side of this book-paved hellscape.

If I grabbed security for every weird thing a patron said to me, Rick would probably assign a personal guard to me, and I’ve got enough trouble with him breathing down my neck about earbuds, hours, micromanaging my shelving technique—yes, I have a technique—and his weird hairline envy. ”

“Honestly, that’s fair,” said Helena peering up at me. But my disquietude must have been written on my face, because she scowled in concern. “Grim?”

“I have to go,” I told her, handing over the book, which she took.

“Wait,” she said, “what? Where?”

Back to the Hallowed Halls with my haul of souls—one of which I was apparently going to have to pull out and find a way to interrogate. Because this made no sense.

I’d come here certain this Hunter would verify my suspicions—that the note had been planted by Cedric.

Instead, he’d confirmed my worst fear. That there was something more at play here.

That there were forces at work beyond my control. Beyond my current understanding.

That someone other than Cedric was fucking with me. And using Helena to do it.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” called Hunter as I stalked past him and out of the aisle.

“Grim, please,” said Helena, hurrying after me. “Don’t go. Or… let me come with you.”

Halting, I turned back to her, grabbing her by the wrist. Then, spotting the door to the stairwell, I pushed through it, pulling her in after me.

There wasn’t anyone on the stairs leading either up or down. Which, good.

While she blinked up at me, I guided her backward until her spine met with the wall. Then I kissed her like I had last night. Like I never would get to again.

Helena murmured in surprise and bliss, her free hand going to cup my face.

But I grabbed it and pulled it back down before breaking the kiss and staring her dead in the eyes.

“I am never taking you with me again,” I vowed through gritted teeth.

“Grim,” she half pleaded, half cried, reaching for me.

But I stepped back from her.

And then, as she rushed after me, I dissipated—going to smoke and sweeping out of her sight and, officially, for certain this time… out of her life.

If I had anything to say about it, her long life.

Somewhere I was never meant to be in the first place.