Chapter 4 Faye
FAYE
The ten-minute walk from the tarot shop to Stoker’s Café had never felt so long.
Faye was out of the habit of making small talk, but Peter seemed completely at ease by her side.
She’d never thought she’d be walking with death itself.
At least the town was quiet this early, so she didn’t have to worry about any gossip.
“You clean up well,” she blurted out, only to wince. I should have just let the silence sit.
“Sorry?” Peter asked, looking down at his long black coat and trousers, seemingly puzzled.
“I mean, you look good.” Faye wished she would shut up. “I just meant compared to the last time I saw you! You were a mess.” Now would be the perfect time for lightning to strike me down. Damn these clear skies.
“A mess?” Peter frowned, like he had no idea what she was talking about.
Surely there was no way he would’ve forgotten that day.
Maybe it was normal for him to be stranded on the side of the road.
She had no idea what Reapers got up to in their spare time.
Or was Peter pretending not to remember because he was embarrassed? He wasn’t the type to embarrass easily.
“It was a while ago now, but you were covered in mud on the side of the road in the woods with Benedict,” Faye reminded him, pulling her jacket tighter around her body as the morning chill set in. Peter didn’t seem bothered by it. Maybe it took Everest levels of cold for him to feel it.
“Oh, right! That was a fun day. We were looking for a crone in the woods and got more than we bargained for. Thank you for picking up two desperate hitchhikers,” Peter said, smiling at the memory.
“Glad I could help,” Faye said, “though I don’t know how you could search for a crone in the woods and not expect trouble.”
“I was trying to help Benedict, and the crone seemed like a good idea at the time – until she tried to kill us,” Peter said calmly, like battling crones was a regular occurrence.
“Kill you?!”
“Relax! It’s not like the crone succeeded. Then you saved us from having to walk back to town.” Peter shrugged. Whatever else had happened in the woods was clearly going to stay between him, Benedict and the crone. “And now I’m happy to repay the favour.”
“Thank you for agreeing to help me, but are you sure you aren’t breaking any rules?” Faye asked awkwardly. “I’m not clear on what Grim Reapers are allowed or not allowed to do.”
“I shouldn’t practice magic, because Reapers are only meant to watch over the living. We aren’t meant to interfere. However, drawing some protective symbols is a bit of a grey area,” he told her as they reached the café.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble. You can back out if you want.
I wouldn’t want to pressure you,” Faye said, taking the lock off the shutters and placing it in her bag.
She knew he’d been sentenced to becoming a Reaper because he’d used forbidden necromancer magic to try and bring his father back to life.
Peter had suffered enough trouble in life, and she didn’t want to cause him any more in death.
“What can they do? Kill me?” Peter laughed, helping her lift the heavy shutter. When she didn’t respond, his smile faded. “Sorry, bad joke. Helping you won’t get me into trouble,” he assured her, following her inside the dark café.
“If you’re sure…”
“I am. So, where are the stairs we need to protect?”
“Right through here,” Faye said, heading behind the counter to the kitchen.
“I love the smell of pastries first thing in the morning,” Peter sighed, sniffing the air that always smelt like croissants.
Having someone in her kitchen – her sanctuary – felt odd, but she was surprised by how much she didn’t mind him being here with her.
Reapers were said to make the living feel at ease; maybe she was sensing that.
“Perk of the job – all the pastries you can eat,” she said, turning on the bright lights.
“My apartment is right through here.” She felt him watching her unlock the door beside the pantry, revealing the stairs leading up to the apartment.
Peter stood close enough that she could smell his cologne as he examined the staircase.
Do all Reapers smell so good? Eau du death. She smirked to herself.
“You okay?” Peter asked, distracting her from her silly joke.
“Sorry, yes. I keep both doors locked at all times, but I guess I should’ve paid more attention to protective spells in class.
Then again, being a magless, I didn’t think I’d ever need them,” Faye rambled, wishing she had paid less attention to boys and parties and more to her lessons.
Despite magless having no magical abilities, the students at Foxford school still studied the ins and outs of the magical world.
“Locking doors won’t protect you from much in town. Have you got a blowtorch or a screwdriver?” Peter asked. “I’ll engrave the wards into the wood so they can’t be removed.”
“I’ve got a small blowtorch for crème br?lée.” Faye went to one of the many drawers and handed it to him. She appreciated that he hadn’t asked her about her situation.
“This is perfect.” Peter removed his jacket and placed it on the stainless-steel counter beside the industrial fridge.
“The symbol on the first step will cause the intruder to forget why they wanted to enter.” He crouched to work, his trousers straining across his thighs.
Faye hadn’t expected a Reaper to be so fit, but she knew little about their jobs.
The symbol looked harmless – a triangle with a star off-centre.
Peter looked up at her, waiting for her to respond, and she realised she was staring at him again.
He smirked.
“Sounds great,” Faye said quickly, turning on the ovens for the morning pastries.
She heard him move up a step, and the faint smell of burning wood grew more intense.
“You aren’t going to start a fire, are you?” she asked, returning to his side to see a crescent moon with an x over it.
“Not if I can help it,” Peter chuckled, turning off the blowtorch.
“This is specifically for vampires. It’ll weaken him if he passes over it – weaken him and reduce his speed.
It should hurt him enough to give you time to get out.
” His gaze focused on the lilac door at the top of the stairs.
“Do you have another way out of the apartment?”
“There’s a fire escape outside the bedroom window,” Faye said, her apartment’s vulnerability hitting her like a ton of bricks. “I’m only now realising how easy it would be for Ian to break in.” She hadn’t meant to mention him directly; the name just slipped out. Peter didn’t even flinch.
“I’ll put a ward on the windowsill to stop him from getting in,” he said. “If you don’t mind having me in your apartment.”
“Not at all. I’ll show you the windowsill.
Please excuse the mess. I’ve been painting in my spare time, so be careful not to trip on the tarp,” she warned, unlocking the door to her apartment.
She wanted this done before customers started arriving for their morning brew.
After his help, she didn’t want to thank Peter by having him sneak out the back to avoid her customers.
If her customers saw a Matherson leaving her apartment first thing in the morning, there would be rumours of an affair by lunch.
Peter hesitated in the doorway.
“Aren’t you coming in?” Faye asked, wondering what had suddenly made him look so troubled.
“I need to warn you that these wardings are intended to harm magical creatures, and Foxford is a sanctuary village. What we’re doing is against coven law. Grams suggested you’re using them for self-defence, so I’m happy to help,” Peter started.
“But?” Faye hoped he wasn’t having second thoughts.
“But… you’ve got to be careful. No vampires can come up this staircase. It will hurt them, and the warding will weaken with each use,” Peter cautioned.
“I understand your concern, but trust me, I’m the only one who comes here, so I won’t tell anyone about the warding.
I’ve also no intention of bringing strangers back to my place, or anyone who might see them and get the wrong impression.
Anyone who does come by will understand why they’re needed,” Faye said, not wanting him to think she wasn’t taking this seriously.
Peter nodded. “I needed to say it. Not for my sake, but if some people knew about the warding, it could cause a misunderstanding.”
“Thank you, and I promise I’ll be cautious.”
“To be on the safe side, I’d suggest adding a glamour enchantment to the outside of the door to the stairs to conceal it from sight. I don’t have the magic to glamour anymore. However, you could ask Lucy, or I could ask Benedict?”
Her chest tightened at the thought of bringing others into her plan.
“Please don’t tell Lucy or your brother about this; it’s best if only you and Grams know for now.
It’s not that I don’t trust them, but I’m terrified about word getting out.
You know how Foxford is. A whisper turns into a tornado—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Peter said, resting his hand gently on her shoulders as she started to panic.
She usually flinched when someone touched her, but with him, her shoulders relaxed.
Still, she shrank away, afraid that Ian would be able to smell him on her.
She couldn’t remember when any man other than Ian had touched her.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Peter said, dropping his hands to his side.
“You didn’t,” she said, walking towards her bedroom.
It wasn’t like he was a stranger; they had gone to school together, and they had once been in the same circle of friends.
Before his death, she had thought more might be possible, but then death and Ian had come along.
Now they weren’t strangers, but… estranged friends was the best way she could put it.
“Are you sure? I can go,” Peter offered. His care for her comfort made her want to cry.