Chapter Three – Grim
Chapter Three
Grim
She stood there, a fragile figure silhouetted against the clouds, her hair whipping around her face like dark flames. And for a moment, I saw her not as a client, not as a mark on Death’s to-do list, but as a woman willing to sacrifice everything for love. A fool’s errand, sure, but there was a purity to it that startled me. In all my years, I’d seen the best and worst of humanity, had witnessed their petty jealousies, their insatiable greed, the way they clung to life even as they withered and decayed. But this… This was different.
This was a love that defied logic. And in that moment, something shifted inside me. Something dark and cold and ancient, something that had been frozen solid for decades, began to thaw.
And it terrified me.
“I asked the… soul-eating creature… for an extension,” she said, her voice barely audible above the wind. “Begged her. On my knees.” She swallowed, her gaze fixed on some point beyond the horizon. “But she… she just laughed. Said Lady Mews was nothing but a ‘flea-ridden distraction.’ That I’d already failed to hold up my end of the bargain.”
A gust of wind slammed into us. The city sprawled below us, a concrete jungle teeming with the living and the dead. I wanted to fly away and lose myself in it, because listening to this woman was too much. I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Words felt useless. My hands, however, itched to reach out, to wrap themselves around her throat, to feel the life pulsing beneath her skin. To end this here and now, to spare her the torment that awaited, though that wasn’t how I reaped souls. It wasn’t in my power to take her life, even if it would’ve been a mercy at this point.
The only answer I had for her was to turn and stride towards the roof access door. “Follow me.”
She hesitated for a moment, then hurried to catch up.
We descended the stairs in silence, my boots thudding against the concrete, her footsteps light and quick behind me. We were an odd pair, I knew, the Grim Reaper and the damsel in distress. Except this damsel was trying to save her sister and her cat while fully accepting she could never save herself.
“What should I call you?” she asked, her voice small in the silence of the hallway.
“Grim,” I said, not breaking stride.
“You can call me Millie,” she said, then hesitated. “Does that mean all Grim Reapers are named… Grim?”
If I still had eyes, I would have rolled them. Humans.
We reached Norman’s office, and I pushed the door open without knocking. He looked up from his desk, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
“Grim? Ms. Aster? Did I miss something?”
I ignored him and stalked towards his desk, my scythe dragging behind me, leaving a deep gash in the plush carpet.
“Contract,” I said. “Now.”
He blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. I felt a flicker of amusement at his expense. It was a petty thing, but even a reaper had to take his pleasures where he could find them.
“Grim, I… I don’t understand,” he stammered. “You said… you said you weren’t interested.”
“Plans change, Normie. It’s called free will, something you humans pride yourselves on.”
Ms. Aster, or Millie as she wanted to be called, stepped into the office and stood behind me.
“He’ll take the job,” she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her words. She pulled out a credit card from her designer purse. “I can pay now.”
Norman just stared at her, then at me, then back at her. Finally, his gaze settled on the credit card. A slow smile spread across his face. The face of a predator.
“Excellent,” he said, his voice as smooth as butter.
He pulled out a contract from his desk drawer and handed it to me. I scanned it quickly. Standard MSA bodyguard agreement. Two weeks. Full protection. Ridiculously high fee. I signed it.
After signing and paying, and with a copy of the contract in her hand, Millie informed me, “I need to get back home now. I’ve been gone too long.”
“Then let’s go.”
She headed towards the elevators, and I hesitated for a moment. She pressed the button and turned to look at me, and I opened my mouth to tell her how I preferred to teleport or fly off the rooftop to wherever I needed, but then changed my mind and closed it. She’d probably come here in her car, and even though the thought of cramming myself into that metal box filled me with a particular brand of dread, I supposed it would have to do.
Besides, something told me Millie Aster wasn’t the type to appreciate a good teleportation.
The elevator was small and cramped, and I had to hold my scythe at an awkward angle to make it fit. The air was thick with the scent of her perfume, something floral and light, a stark contrast to the ever-present aroma of doom that clung to me.
The doors slid open, and she led me towards the parking garage.
“After you, Grim,” she said, gesturing towards a sleek black Bentley that gleamed under the fluorescent lights.
She held the passenger door open for me. “In you go.” She grabbed the scythe from me before I could protest. “I’ll help you with this.” Her gesture shocked me into letting go of my scythe, something I never did.
She shoved it in the back, and I resisted the urge to ask her to be careful with it. It wasn’t as if a reaper without a scythe was useless – okay, maybe I was – but it was an extension of myself, a part of me that had been with me for longer than I cared to remember.
I folded myself into the leather seat, my cloak practically filling the entire space. The scent of leather and pine air freshener filled my nostrils, a peculiar combination that reminded me vaguely of Norman’s office.
“You drive yourself?” I asked, my voice echoing strangely in the confined space. “I thought heiresses had staff.”
She started the engine, and the car purred to life. “You’ll understand soon enough,” she said, maneuvering the car out of the parking space with practiced ease.
The Bentley was all sleek lines and enough horsepower to make me feel a jolt where my heart should’ve been. It was the kind of car that screamed, “Look at me, I have more money than sense.” Not that Ms. Aster struck me as the type to flaunt it, not like the other humans I’d had the misfortune of protecting. But still, the car felt excessive. A gilded cage on four wheels.
“It’s about a twenty-minute drive, depending on traffic,” she said, her gaze fixed on the road ahead.
“Delightful,” I muttered, sinking further into the leather seat. My cloak, as always, had a mind of its own, spreading out like a ravenous beast devouring its prey. I tried to tuck it in, keep it contained, but it was a losing battle. It was like trying to reason with a tornado.
In less than twenty-minutes – thank God! – we pulled up to a pair of wrought-iron gates that wouldn’t have looked out of place guarding a graveyard. Or maybe a palace. They were flanked by towering stone pillars topped with ornate carvings that looked like something straight out of a gothic novel.
She punched in a code, and the gates swung open, revealing a long, winding driveway lined with perfectly manicured lawns. The house itself was a sprawling Tudor mansion that seemed to stretch on forever, all gables and chimneys and lead-glass windows that shimmered in the fading light.
It was obscene.
And yet, there was a certain melancholic beauty to it, like a faded photograph from a bygone era. A time when humans still believed they were masters of their own destiny.
We entered through a set of massive oak doors, each one easily twice my size, and stepped into a grand foyer that made the MSA office look like a broom closet. A crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting shimmering rainbows across the polished marble floors. A sweeping staircase led to a balcony lined with portraits of stern-faced men and women who looked like they hadn’t cracked a smile in centuries. My kind of crowd.
I stalked across the foyer, my boots echoing against the marble, my senses on high alert. The air was thick with the scent of old money and even older magic. The kind of magic that whispered in the shadows, the kind that had teeth. This was where Millie had summoned Ma-Vasha. Such madness to bring that soul-eating beast into your home.
I ran a bony hand along the smooth surface of a nearby table. It was covered in a white linen cloth that practically screamed “don’t touch me, peasant!”
Millie was watching me, her brow furrowed. “Don’t mind him,” she said to no one in particular. Or so I thought. “He’s just... adjusting.”
“Adjusting?” The word felt strange in my mouth. An understatement, really.
My gaze swept over the obscene wealth surrounding me. A lifetime ago, I would’ve killed for just a fraction of this opulence. A roof over my head that didn’t leak when it rained. Walls that kept out the cold. A fire that didn’t come from a burning trash can in some godforsaken alley. Instead, I ended up as mangled flesh in a ditch. Then Death showed up and offered me a chance that sounded better than anything I’d been given in my mortal life – to reap for them. An eternity to experience this world from a different angle.
My bitter thoughts were interrupted by a blur of movement that caught my eye, and then I was face-to-face with...
A child.
She couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, with short hair that was just growing back after having been shaved, her eyes wide and curious as she stared up at me. She was the image of Millie, just a miniature version, and the sight of her sent a strange pang through my hollow chest.
“Millie!” she shrieked, hiding behind her sister.
In that moment, I realized something. This child – this innocent creature – was the reason for all of this. The reason Millie Aster had traded her soul. The reason she’d chased me down and begged me to protect her.