Chapter 9 Faye
FAYE
With the wardings and Lucy’s glamour protecting Faye’s new apartment, she finally felt safe to carry out her plan.
Everything went off like clockwork on Friday, regardless of the hiccup at Clover’s pub.
Ian left for the Vampire Gathering, and Faye promised to pack their things for their move to Willow Valley when he returned.
She packed, carefully separating their belongings.
She considered boxing up his things a parting gift.
When Ian returned in a few weeks, all he had to do was start the new life he wanted in Willow Valley and forget her.
She stayed at the cottage on Friday night, afraid Ian would return to check on her. Despite having closed the café for the whole day to finish up, she didn’t stay a minute longer than she had to the next morning. By mid-day, she had packed the back of her truck to the brim.
She left her key on the kitchen table and stared at the space devoid of her things.
She recalled the day, the happiness she’d felt, when they had first moved in.
Ian had carried her across the threshold of their small cottage, and she had felt so free.
Now, she couldn’t even pinpoint when that feeling had changed.
Driving away, she’d never felt more alone.
However, when she pulled into the space outside Stoker’s, she discovered Benedict, Lucy, Rosie, and Peter waiting for her, and she thought her heart would burst. After years of pushing them away, she’d never expected them to show up and help.
She hadn’t even asked. From her friends’ smiling faces, they had waited for this day as long as she had. Maybe even longer.
Faye made sure to open the windows to air out the small one-bedroom apartment, which stank of fresh paint.
The fumes didn’t deter them; the group didn’t stop for a break until after sunset.
Faye didn’t realise how much work they’d done until she felt her stomach rumble and noticed it was dark out.
She made a call to their favourite Chinese restaurant.
“Dinner is on me and on the way! As a little thank you for helping me unpack,” she called out.
“We’re happy to help, but I’d never say no to food,” Rosie said, putting a box of books in the sitting room opposite the kitchen.
“I even ordered your favourite soup dumplings.” It was handy having a werewolf help with the heavy lifting.
“I thought you might’ve forgotten,” Rosie said sadly, putting the books on the empty shelves behind the couch.
“Never,” Faye gasped playfully. They had been ordering from Elephant’s Palace since they were pre-teens. She would never forget their favourites.
Rosie smiled as she stocked the shelves.
“Benedict can come up. He doesn’t need to guard the door,” Faye said to Lucy once she finished putting up all the pale pink curtains she had thrifted.
“He wanted to ensure no one noticed us unpacking the truck. He’ll come up once we’ve cleared it,” Lucy said, busy unpacking the kitchen.
She had fully stocked the fridge with everything Faye loved – and no blood bags.
Their absence filled her with an unexpected elation.
She hadn’t anticipated the little things would affect her so much.
“I think it’s Ben’s way of getting out of having to climb those stairs over and over again.
Where do you want all the plants?” Peter grumbled, struggling to carry the potted plant crate.
Not because of the weight – both he and Rosie were gifted with superior strength – but because of the way he had haphazardly stacked the crates.
“Just put them in the bathroom for now. I put some water in the bottom of the crate to keep them hydrated until I figure out their places,” Faye said, feeling truly at home now.
“With all these, you’ll feel like you’re outside.”
“That’s exactly the point. I wanted to bring my garden with me!
” She beamed, helping him unload the crate before he dropped the plants.
At least they didn’t have to move furniture; Mrs Stoker no longer wanted what was left in the apartment.
Faye had only needed a new bed, which had arrived flat-packed and been secretly delivered to Hawthorne house during the week.
“I’ve got dinner!” Benedict announced, his arms full of bags. It didn’t take more than a second for the group to descend on him. Faye might have overordered a little, but it was better to have too much than too little, and there was nothing better than leftovers for breakfast.
After dinner, Rosie and Benedict tidied up the takeaway boxes. Lucy let out a shriek as she checked her watch.
“Sorry to eat and dash, but we’ve got to get to a coven meeting at the temple in twenty minutes. I can’t believe it’s almost ten,” she exclaimed, putting on her jacket.
“I can’t believe the time went so fast,” Benedict said, moving the paint pots in the doorway onto some tarp so they didn’t get kicked over on the way out. He wasn’t one for mess.
“Please go. I’ve kept you all long enough,” Faye said, nearly stumbling over her coffee table to hug them before they went. Ian wasn’t responsible for all her bruises.
“Careful, it’s glass,” Peter said, catching her arm as she clipped herself on the corner.
“I’m fine,” Faye chuckled as he held her. “It’s just a coffee table. It’s not going to kill me.”
Faye noticed his jaw clench as he let her go, then caught a smirk from Rosie and Lucy’s troubled expression as they saw the interaction. Faye resisted the urge to roll her eyes; they were friends. There was no rule that the living and Reapers couldn’t be friends, or at least none she was aware of.
“We’ll leave you to it. Try not to stay up all night,” Benedict said, guiding his wife and Rosie to the door. They waved goodbye reluctantly and reminded her about brunch on Sunday –not that she was going to forget.
With everyone but Peter gone, Faye realised the scale of the clutter.
Everything was unpacked, but she still had to organise it all.
Ian didn’t mind chaos, but Faye loved organisation.
Structure made her feel safe in her unpredictable life.
Although she wasn’t thrilled about sleeping on the couch, she had no energy to set up her bed.
There’s always tomorrow; this is my home now.
I don’t ever have to go back to that cottage, she reminded herself.
“I’m at your service. The dead don’t need sleep,” Peter said, remaining behind. This was her second time alone with him, and her first time alone in an apartment with a man who wasn’t her husband at night. Do I feel guilty? No, definitely not.
“Please don’t feel the need to stay. You’ve already done so much for me. I’m sure you have other ways you’d like to spend your evening.”
“Can’t think of anywhere else I want to be.” Peter shrugged. “If you’ll have me – I don’t want to bother you if you want some time alone to settle in.”
“No, please stay,” Faye said, a little too quickly. “I’m not great at being alone, which is strange considering I’ve spent most of my nights alone for the last few years. It’s nice to have some company.”
The pair stood awkwardly, neither knowing what to do or say now that they had established he would stay.
“How about a drink? I think I have some beer in the fridge.” Faye had never kept alcohol in the cottage, because it made Ian thirsty in other ways that repulsed her.
“Sure, thank you,” Peter said. It gave her something to do, so she wasn’t so focused on how his eyes followed her from the fridge to the couch.
“You’re having a hard time sitting still,” she commented as she brought the beer to him and sat beside him on the couch. She didn’t know why he couldn’t stop fidgeting.
“I just want to help you tidy up,” Peter said, glancing around the messy living room. She’d thought that Benedict was the neat freak – or maybe it wasn’t actually the mess making him uncomfortable.
“Don’t worry about it. Please relax before you start to make me feel like I’ve enslaved you,” she said, getting a small smile out of him.
Peter picked up the beer can and downed it. She didn’t know what she had done to make him so nervous. Was it because the others had left? It wasn’t like they hadn’t spent time alone together before.
“What’s it like in Purgatory?” Faye blurted out. Some questions might lighten him up.
Peter stared at her, clearly startled.
“Sorry, are you not allowed to talk about it with the living?”
“It’s not against the rules, but not many want to know,” Peter said, sinking back into the couch cushions. “They want to know if there’s an afterlife, but not so much about headquarters.”
“I think it’s fascinating. I’d like to hear about it, but I don’t want to pry if it makes you uncomfortable.”
“Talking about it doesn’t make me uneasy at all. It’s like a giant administration building, with different departments that handle different problems or tasks,” he explained, as if it was a boring topic.
“I thought it was meant to be like a never-ending meadow,” she said, imagining a grey building with a grey waiting room and one of those take-a-ticket clocks on the wall.
“That would be much more picturesque, but not very conducive to paperwork.”
“Where did you start? Or do you just start as a Reaper?” He knew so much about her; it was only fair to find out more about him.
“The mailroom was my first assignment after I was sentenced. It’s meant to help you adapt to the environment. Gregory Hawthorne, Lucinda’s great uncle, is my mentor,” Peter told her.
“Mailroom? Purgatory has a mailroom?” She gawked.
“Of course – where do you think your messages go when you speak to those who have passed over? We make sure they find their way to the right soul. Some souls pick reincarnation or are sentenced to reincarnate, so we archive their messages until their next cycle. Other souls don’t wish to receive messages because it’s too painful or because they haven’t been the nicest people, to put it lightly.
They prefer not to read what others say about them. ” Peter winced.