Chapter 22
W alking into the quiet of his quarters, Benedict heard a scuffle behind the archway entrance to his room.
“Greko! No climbing the curtains,” he warned the lizard automatically, only to spot his scaly best friend sitting on his favourite cushion beneath his desk. A thud stilled him. There was someone in his room. He rounded the corner, quickly trapping the intruder against the bookshelf so they wouldn’t be able to escape.
“Ow!” the intruder cried as a book fell from above and hit them on the head.
“Lucinda?” Benedict asked, relaxing his grip on her shoulders. What the hell is she doing creeping around my bedroom?
She leaned away from the bookshelf. “Thankfully that wasn’t a hardback,” she joked, rubbing her head.
“You could’ve used the door. Or knocked. Or called!” he said, wondering if appearing in his room was becoming a habit for her.
“Nice to see you too,” she said, putting the fallen book back on the shelf. “I thought teleporting would be better, so no one would see me coming and going. I tried to call you when I was on my way over, but you didn’t answer.”
Benedict recalled that he’d turned his phone off when he’d left the reception desk. His need for some peace had won out.
“Sorry for shoving you, and I don’t care about people seeing you come and go,” he told her, loving how her big green eyes locked on his. The way she looked at him had changed, softened, though it was still full of questions. “We’ve nothing to hide or be ashamed of.”
“It’s fine – you didn’t hurt me,” she said, looking away. “Gwendoline asked me to pick up the binding cloaks. When I arrived, you weren’t here, so I was going to grab them and go.”
“I might not have hurt you, but that book did.” Benedict ran his fingers through her hair, feeling a bump forming.
“It’s nothing, really. A small bump isn’t going to kill me.”
“I didn’t know my books looked like binding cloaks,” he said, sitting her down on the edge of his bed.
“Curiosity got the better of me,” Lucinda admitted. “I wanted to see what you were reading.” Her eyes went to the gaps in the shelves.
“I donated some to the second-hand book stall for the festival,” he said, telling a half-truth. He’d already moved the books he suspected she was looking for to the cottage he was renovating, though it wasn’t time to tell her about his little passion project yet.
“Speaking of the festival, Mrs Crawford managed to get the fireworks from Willow Valley at a discount, since we’re ordering double this year.” Lucinda picked at her nails, exposing her lifelong distaste for fireworks. “We discussed the matter at that meeting you missed, after the potion failed. Maybe you should tell me why you missed it, so I don’t get our stories mixed up?”
She knows. There was no point in hiding it any longer.
“Peter brought me to see a crone not far from Willow Valley. I should’ve told you, but there wasn’t time.” He wouldn’t tell her the whole story. She didn’t need to know the crone had tried to kill them.
Lucinda rubbed the side of her head, and he took the opportunity to change the subject. “I’ll get you some ice for your head,” he said gruffly.
“Was the crone able to help? Offer any advice?” she asked as he disappeared into the kitchen. She didn’t sound angry or even upset about his meddling, which was a healthy change.
On the small kitchen island, Benedict noticed an ivory pastry box. Faye must have told Lucy about giving him and Peter the lift – not that he blamed her. The woman had enough of her own secrets to keep as it was.
“Sadly, no,” he said, untying the ribbon. The smell of pumpkin pie made his mouth water. “Did you bring this?” he called, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer.
“Faye was putting out a fresh one in the window, and I wanted to thank you for the other night,” Lucinda said when he returned. “And for this.” She held up her ring finger. It was a nice change from the other finger she usually showed him. The thought made him smile almost as much as the pie.
“Faye was working out front?” he asked, surprised. It seemed like a step in the right direction.
Pressing the ice pack to the side of her head, Lucy nodded. “She didn’t mean to tell me about you and Peter being stranded on the side of the road, but she got caught up when she mentioned you helped her with Ian.”
“I didn’t do enough,” he disagreed. Lucy didn’t say anything, and she wished he could read her mind. “Convincing Marianne to give him a job as the night porter at the bar was surprisingly easy. Figured it would keep him out of trouble at night and asleep during the day.” He didn’t want anyone to know Peter had been involved.
“That was very sensible of you. I would’ve expected you to threaten to dismember him and use his decaying carcass to fertilise the gardens,” Lucinda said. The look in her eye told him she wished he had.
“I like your imagination, but vampires don’t make the best fertiliser.” If only he had been so original with his threat. “I told him if he put hands on Faye again, I’d report him to the Order for smuggling dangerous creatures and objects.”
“Ian wouldn’t be smart enough to pull that off.”
“No, he wouldn’t. However, I’m smart enough to frame him and make sure he sees sunlight again.” Benedict winked.
“If you need some cursed objects, I have plenty,” Lucinda offered.
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
They shook hands.
“I didn’t mean to startle you by appearing,” Lucinda said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here.”
“No need to apologise. I’m not normally so jumpy. I’m still on edge from visiting that crone.”
“What happened exactly?” Lucinda snapped her fingers, lighting the fire in the corner of the room. Seeing her master his element filled him with a possessive pride.
When he didn’t respond, not wanting to trouble her with his near-death experience, she merely sighed. “Well, it hardly matters. Since I still have your element, she wasn’t much help. Why do you have all these?” Lucinda pointed to the shelves made up of her favourite books. Judging from her smile, she’d noticed. Benedict cringed at himself for not removing them all fast enough.
“Curiosity. You’ve always had your nose in a book. Walking to school, coffee shops, in the park, by the town fountain– the world could crumble around you when you’re reading, and you wouldn’t even notice,” he admitted.
“But why buy them?” She walked past him to the shelf.
“I wanted to know what inspired your undivided attention.”
“I never knew you paid such close attention. You didn’t read all of them, did you?” She blushed a little, the red hue highlighting the freckles he loved.
“Of course. Even the smutty ones,” he whispered over her shoulder.
“I wish I could’ve seen your reactions,” she said, running her hand along the spines. The ring he’d given her, gleaming in the candlelight, reminded him that she would be his soon. He swallowed his desire to reach out and take her hand in his own to make sure the moment was real.
“You aren’t as innocent as I thought.”
“No one ever is,” Lucinda muttered, lowering the ice pack. She turned around, staring up at him through her long lashes.
Benedict watched her chew her lower lip and found that he couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about. He slipped his fingers into her hair. Thankfully, the bump had gone down. “Better?”
“Much.”
He let his fingertips graze the back of her neck, afraid she’d bolt at any moment.
“Don’t leave town again without telling me?” Lucinda spoke in a whisper, but the words pierced him more than any insult could have. She placed a hand on his chest, no doubt able to feel his pounding heart. In return, he rested his forehead against hers, as though some force was pulling them together.
“Never,” he promised.
She nodded, her eyes focused on his lips. His lips brushed her cheek– a test, a question– and her sharp intake of breath was music to his ears. She closed her eyes; he ran his thumb down the side of her neck, tipping her jaw up towards him. The scent of her strawberry lipgloss held him in a vice grip. He could almost taste her sweetness.
“If it isn’t my favourite couple.”
The two of them jumped apart to find Peter sitting on the trunk by the bed.
“I’m not interrupting, am I?” he teased, crunching loudly into an apple. “Juicy.”
Benedict glared at his brother, who obviously wasn’t talking about the apple. If he wasn’t already dead, I’d strangle him.
“No – I was just collecting the cloaks for our binding ritual,” Lucinda babbled.
“Binding cloaks! How official. Have you sent out your invitations yet? I don’t exactly have a postage address.”
Benedict watched Lucinda roll her eyes. “Don’t worry, you’re invited to the reception, but the ritual itself is for coven members only.”
Hearing her talk about the ritual as though it was something they’d decided for themselves did nothing to settle Benedict’s heart rate, nor did her smile at his brother. That she accepted Peter without question meant more to him than he could ever admit.
“Pity– I never made it that far,” Peter said, getting up to wrap an arm around her shoulder. “Who could love a Grim such as me?”
Benedict clenched his jaw, noticing how she didn’t shy away from his brother’s touch.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone to annoy for eternity,” she said. “I bet there’s someone at the Grim office dying for you to make a move.”
“Pardon the pun,” Peter said, nudging her. Lucy shoved him away playfully. “I’d be lucky to find someone, like you two have found each other.” He gave Benedict a knowing look.
Time to put an end to this interaction. Benedict went to the trunk and lifted out suit bags containing the cloaks. They were a little on the dusty side, but he’d done his best to brush off any cobwebs. He could barely hold back a smile as he held them out to Lucinda. During the vampire wedding, he’d been struck with sudden inspiration and texted Lucinda’s mum to ask if she would mind him wearing the Hawthorne cloak instead of the traditional Matherson one. Lucinda was more important to him than any archaic tradition, and he wanted the exchange of cloaks to be a sign of their equal partnership. He was joining the Hawthorne family as much as she was joining his. No rule stated he couldn’t wear hers – it just hadn’t been done before, which tended to make people nervous. But he had the High Priestess’s permission, and that was all he needed.
He couldn’t wait to see her in the Matherson navy, or her reaction to him in the Hawthorne cloak. Wilhelmina had already dropped by and taken his measurements. He wondered if the High Priestess had told Gwendoline about his plan and that was why she’d sent Lucinda over.
“Great, thank you. I’ll get going; I’m sure you two have some catching up to do.” Lucinda threw the suit bags over her arm.
“You don’t have to go,” Peter said, following her to the door. Benedict pulled at his arm to stop him.“Did you tell her about the crone with the pickled fingers in a—?”
“Ignore him,” Benedict snapped.
“Already do,” Lucinda said as he opened the door for her. She hesitated, and he could see she wanted to say something, but when her eyes darted to Peter, he knew she wouldn’t.
He rested his hand on the door, making sure she was gone before he turned on his brother.
“Are you insane?! She might be my wife, but she’s a Hawthorne, and you only just got promoted. Let’s not tempt fate by confessing what happened in that gods-forsaken hovel!” he hissed.
“Your wife ? Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?” Peter said smugly.
Benedict ran his hands through his hair. Was this day ever going to end? Of course his brother had only heard the least important part of what he’d said.
“You know what I mean. You’ve got to be more careful,” he ground out. At least he hadn’t called Lucinda his wife to her face. He didn’t think he would’ve survived the ridicule. He hadn’t even realised he thought of her as such.
“Seeing you happy so often is quite unnerving,” Peter said, amused.
“I’d be happier if you forgot about helping me! Lucinda and I have it all under control. She found a potion in an old Hawthorne grimoire that might help us, and if not then we’ll wait it out.” As a matter of fact, he was rather proud of how they’d handled each other’s elements. So far no one had been drowned or burned alive.
“A powerful crone couldn’t help, but a potion in a dusty old Hawthorne grimoire can? I’d love to get a look at that book,” Peter mused.
“Don’t even think about it. It’s going back to the Order, and you don’t need to be anywhere near them or it.” Benedict wasn’t surprised by his desire to see the book. Peter had always been fascinated with power– the more volatile the better.
Peter raised his hands defensively. “Consider it forgotten.”
“What happened to the soul you were supposed to collect? I haven’t heard of anyone passing recently.”
“It’s turned out to be a rather complicated case.” Peter frowned, which was unusual. He’d never seemed bothered by his job before.
Benedict paled, thinking the worst. “Are you collecting someone we know?”
“I can’t reveal my orders. But rest assured it’s nobody you know. Well.”
Foxford was a small town; Benedict probably knew them in passing. To be honest, there weren’t many he wanted to know well. He liked to keep his cards close to his chest.
Trying to veil his concern, he asked, “What makes this case different from any other?”
“I don’t want to collect them,” Peter admitted, producing a small bottle of vodka from his jacket. Benedict wasn’t even sure if Grims could get drunk.
“Nobody close to Lucy?” he panicked, watching his brother wince as he took a swig.
“I can’t tell you, but not necessarily,” he repeated, clearly frustrated at not being able to name his charge.
“What happens if you refuse?” Benedict asked, not versed in Reaper procedure. Their ways were more secretive than most, because they belonged more to the next world than this.
“They’ll send another Grim. You can’t mess with fate,” Peter said, rubbing his hands over his face.
“Are you going to collect?” If Peter lost his position as a collector, he wouldn’t be able to return to the living realm. As much as Peter drove him crazy, the thought of losing him twisted his gut.
“Yes. I don’t have a choice.”
Benedict rubbed his brow. He hated to think of the death of someone his brother clearly cared about, but at least this meant he wouldn’t lose him again. “If you’re unable to distance yourself, maybe you should give it over to Gregory. He’s your mentor; you should let him help you,” he suggested.
“ I might not be able to change her fate, but she can.” Peter sounded like he was talking more to himself. “I can’t take this to Gregory – he’s already done so much for me. Refusing to collect would be an insult to his recommendation for my promotion. Can you stop looking at me like I’m going to break? It’s not Mum, and the Hawthornes are safe.”
Benedict let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t want Lucinda to have to go through losing a family member. Death was inevitable, but he wanted to spare her that pain for as long as possible.
“I can’t imagine how hard it is to do what you do. You should know how proud we are of you.”
“It was hard at the beginning, but Gregory reminded me that we get to be there for people at their most vulnerable moment. Help them find closure, and cross over.” The contentment in Peter’s voice told Benedict he truly believed it.
“What about those who don’t cross over, like…?” Benedict had never dared to ask before.
“Like me?” Peter arched an eyebrow. “I’m not ready to go yet, and even if I wanted to, I can’t. I still have my debt to pay. One thousand souls for that damned necromantic spell. It’s not easily paid off. You’ll probably cross over before me, but at least I know you’ll be waiting for me.”
“Would you warn me if something was to happen to Lucinda?”
“As in would I help you stop it?” Peter asked, getting to the root of his question.
He nodded, taking a seat on the couch in the sitting room. The pillow Lucinda had used the other night was still there.
“You must love her something awful if you want to anger Death.” Peter sat on the table across from him, pouring him a drink.
“That’s not an answer.”
“No matter how much you love someone, you can’t change their fate.”
“But you said they can,” Benedict said, wanting to know what he’d meant earlier.
“Only if a decision, or a series of decisions, alters their course – but it’s rare. Death has a habit of catching up.” It sounded like Peter had looked into it.
“Being a Grim doesn’t sound like such a terrible fate, if it keeps someone alive.”
“You’ve really got it bad,” Peter chuckled, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Don’t dwell on what ifs! You have her now, so make use of the time you have. Stop thinking about death.”
“It’s hard not to when a grim reaper is constantly darkening my door,” Benedict pointed out, grinning.
“I understand your desire to protect her. You lost Dad and me in a matter of months, but you aren’t going to lose her.” Peter said quietly.
Benedict lifted the glass of vodka to his lips. The thought of losing her troubled him far more than the thought of being bound to her. An uncomfortable tightness settled in his chest as he thought of never seeing her cycling through the town on her ridiculous pink bike, or hear her lecturing him about something mundane.
He took the pillow and clutched it to his chest, the faint smell of her perfume tugging at his heart. In that moment, Benedict realised that eternity with her might not be enough.