Chapter Fourteen
Nolan
She’s not here?”
Betty straightens the phone on her desk, then picks up a monstrous cupcake. She plucks the fondant snowflake off the top and takes a dainty bite. “Unfortunately, Isabella is out of the office with a departmental emergency.” She gives me a sunny smile. “You’re welcome to leave a message.”
I exhale a harsh breath. I don’t want to wait. I don’t want to leave a message. I want to talk to Isabella and figure out why I’m suddenly visiting my past instead of Harriet’s.
“It’s urgent,” I try again.
“So you’ve mentioned,” Betty says, patient as always. Behind me, the massive yew tree stretches, branches rustling in a nonexistent breeze. A warning to behave myself.
I’ve been vibrating since I landed on that beach with Harriet, her hand in mine and my—my father on the sand in front of us.
I don’t remember that day. I barely remember that beach. The only memories I have of my father are faded at best, worn down like a river stone.
My parents loved me with everything they had, and I couldn’t even honor them by remembering.
What other things have I forgotten? What else has time taken from me?
And why in the hell am I visiting these memories now?
“Please, Betty. If she has any availability today, I need you to slot me in.”
She sets down her cupcake.
“As I’ve said, Isabella isn’t here today,” Betty offers, her face apologetic.
I guess I’ve displayed enough desperation to warrant concern from the afterlife receptionist. “She won’t have any availability for the remainder of the week.
There’s been an incident with a Reaper. It’s all hands on deck. ”
I frown. Reapers are notoriously solitary spirits with powerful magic. They’re ruthless and unpredictable. Calculated and cold. Coincidentally, they also demolish the competition at the annual departmental bocce ball tournament.
“What’s happened?” Death magic is ancient magic, older than the Earth itself. It was here before we came and will remain long after we’ve gone.
It’s eternal. Unmoving.
Unforgiving.
The day I died, a man in a black robe with a scythe across his back grabbed me by the collar of my sweater and pulled me from the water with a low for fuck’s sake.
Then he flicked his wrist and his magic was coiling around us.
It felt like tar on my skin, heavy and thick, sliding up my arms before I found myself in Isabella’s office, dripping on her carpet.
The Reaper deposited me in a chair, complained about water in his Italian loafers, then promptly disappeared.
I haven’t talked to a Reaper since.
Betty peeks over her shoulder at the door behind her, then leans forward, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Rumor has it that one of the Reapers failed to report for her shift. She’s gone missing.”
“Missing?”
Betty nods. “No one can find her. And as I’m sure you’re aware, we can’t have that sort of magic out in the world without the proper precautions in place. Isabella and the rest of the department heads are trying to locate her.”
I scratch at my jaw, agitated. That’s all well and good, but I have a problem, too. A problem that needs sorting sooner rather than later. Reapers don’t have holiday countdowns to contend with.
“I suppose I’ll leave a message then,” I say, frustrated. “Wonderful!” A pen instantly appears in Betty’s hand, hot pink with a sparkly poof ball on top. “Ready when you are.”
“Let her know there are additional complications with my assignment and I wish to discuss it with her in person.” There. That’s reasonable. And better than What in the hell is going on?
Betty scribbles against her sparkly notepad, head bent in concentration. “What sort of complications?”
“Harriet’s memories haven’t revealed anything.” I swallow. “They’re mundane, at best. And our last trip to the past was … complicated.”
“How so?”
“Well. It wasn’t her past.”
Betty’s pen stops scratching. “Whose past was it?”
“It was mine.”
The pen snaps in two. Ink explodes from the top of it. Betty lifts her head and stares at me with her mouth open, blue ink splattered across her cheek.
“What did you just say?”
“We went to my past instead of hers. It was—it was one of my memories.”
Betty stares at me, flabbergasted. Her brows furrow. “Are you sure?”
I nod. My father. Me. The beach in our small fishing village. The lighthouse on the hill.
All of it aches like a newly set bone. The most important person in my life, and I’d forgotten him.
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Betty says. I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. She taps the pieces of her pen against her mouth. “Maybe we should have you talk to someone. Get you reassigned. Another ghost can take on Harriet while we figure this out.”
“No.” My response is visceral, without conscious thought, coming from somewhere deep in my chest. The tree at my back shudders, a low groan as the branches sway back and forth.
“No,” I say again, softer. “Isabella said she’s my assignment for a reason. I can—I can figure this out. I had merely hoped for a little guidance.”
“But if you’re visiting your past, Nolan—” Betty sets her broken pen to the side.
“That’s a serious wrinkle. It’s not something that happens.
” It’s a good thing I didn’t mention my dream, then, or how I was able to taste the fig jam Harriet brought with her from the past. Or that since my last trip to this office, I’ve been able to feel things.
Heat from the fireplace at the skating rink and the scratch of ice against the palms of my hands.
Standing in this office, my socks are still wet from standing in the surf of my memory. I’ve never brought the past back with me before.
Betty would probably toss me in the back and throw away the key if she knew. Harriet would be alone, and I—
I’d be alone, too. Even more so than I already am.
“It’s possible I’m exaggerating things,” I try to backtrack. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here. I panicked and acted rashly. “I’m sure it was just a blip.”
“A blip,” Betty repeats, her mouth settling in a firm line. “Visiting your past is more than a blip, Nolan.”
“I wasn’t completely in control of my magic during the last trip. I was distracted.” Only half of that statement is true. I was distracted, but not enough to end up somewhere completely different, in a time I shouldn’t have access to.
But I don’t want to be taken away from Harriet.
I back toward the door. The branches above my head rustle again, like the ancient tree can sense my dishonesty.
Some of the thin, delicate leaves break free, fluttering to the ground at my feet.
“I’m sure Isabella will have an explanation when she returns.
No rush. I’ll just be—I’ll be with Harriet until then.
” I force a smile. “In fact, I bet this assignment will be wrapped with a bow by the time Isabella returns. No need to worry.”
Betty tilts her head to the side and picks up her cupcake. She peels off some of the wrapper and flicks the crumbs toward a small wastebasket at the side of her desk.
“This can sometimes happen to ghosts under stress. Anomalies. Ending up in places you shouldn’t be. Did I ever tell you about the time a Poltergeist ended up with the Guardian Angels?” She laughs. “Can you imagine? It was pandemonium for weeks.”
She takes a massive bite, thinking while she chews. “When’s the last time you had a rest? I can give you the contact information for the Malevolent Spirits’ book club. I think you could really benefit from some interaction with—”
Betty continues rambling on about book clubs and potlucks and socializing with my coworkers while I tune her out.
Rest. I don’t need rest. My job requires one month of the year, and other than that, I sit at my condemned home on the water and knit half-assed mittens and adopt wayward cats that break into my kitchen and steal my pot holders.
All I do is rest.
I rest and I wait.
I wait.
I wait for something to change and from the very moment I stepped out from behind her Christmas tree and spotted Harriet on her couch, things have been changing. It’s like I’ve been shoved awake, feeling returning to my limbs after lying too long in one position.
I drag my hand over my mouth, awareness lighting me up like a firecracker. Perhaps Harriet is right. Maybe she is the key to moving me forward. It could be possible that she has something in her possession that once belonged to me, but perhaps—
Perhaps she’s the hopeful, optimistic antithesis to the dark cloud I’ve become, meant to hold up a mirror to my life and my actions.
“Hell,” I whisper, dragging a hand through my hair. She could be the key to everything, and I let my emotions get the best of me.
I’ve gotten this all wrong.
Betty stops short in the middle of her impassioned speech about the importance of sun exposure.
“You’re leaving?” she asks. “So soon?” She stares at her desk and the cupcake she’s somehow managed to already demolish. She snaps her fingers and another appears. “Want a cupcake?”
“No, thank you.” I clear my throat. “I should get back to Harriet. Close out the assignment.” I shove both hands in my jacket pockets. “Time is ticking and … all that.”
“It’s true you are under a tight deadline. It’s already December tenth. Can you believe how time flies?” She laughs while I try not to scream, wiping a bit of frosting from the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know if it’s ever taken you this long to hand off an assignment.”
I usually have my assignments wrapped in a week before I return to my otherwise tedious existence at the water’s edge. But Harriet has set us on a different path and I only have fourteen days left before my hard deadline of Christmas Eve. Fourteen days left to figure out why.
And if Harriet is indeed the key to moving me forward … if she’s meant to help me discover my unfinished business …
I plan to run that time down to the wire.