Chapter 38 Grim
Usually, in any given situation, I was almost always the scariest person in the room.
Not so when I returned to the Basins.
Scythe clutched in one hand, my full-to-bursting hourglass in the other, I entered the chamber with a purposeful stride. But the moment I spotted him, I halted.
Sir White…
The foreman of The Few.
No one knew what they really were.
Johann speculated they were angels—some faction of them. Flora believed them to be a type of elemental or djinn. Cedric was certain they were Nephilim.
I didn’t know what to think—and I tried not to, either.
Whatever they were, my MO had always been to stay the fuck out of their way.
Hard to do on those rare occasions when one happened to stop by.
“Grim,” said Johann, his voice tense as he looked up from his writing, a Wolseley pith, safari-style hat strapped to his head, “welcome back. As you can see… we have a guest.”
“Guess who, one of The Few,” said Pluto, who sat perched on Johann’s shoulder.
Garbed from head to foot in hooded white robes, that “guest” sat in a gold-trimmed white throne-like chair near the White Basin. Like all The Few, Sir White wore a full-faced metal mask.
Silver like the embroidered embellishments on his robe, the mask had the impression of a nose, though it lacked a mouth. While long and silken silvery-white hair poured out of the hood and down his shoulders, a pair of glowing red lights peered out at me through the eyeholes of that mask.
Gauntlet-style gloves, metal as well, concealed his hands, the fingertips fitted with sharp silver claws.
Since I’d shed my human form on my way here in favor of my own black robes, I didn’t have the equipment to gulp—but a trepidation close to what that Hunter kid must have felt when I’d shown up in his aisle swept through me.
“Greetings, Grim,” said Sir White, his voice gravelly and grated—but in a different way than mine. His register was more tenor than baritone, and the “filter” of his cadence hit somehow alien, like Morgan Freeman talking into a fan but… scarier. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I clenched my jaw, taking in the short table at his side, which, like the chair, he must have conjured. Someone had laid out a small silver tea set and tray, but no one held any of the teacups—including Sir White, who didn’t have a mouth to drink with anyway. At least, not one readily accessible.
“Waiting for me,” I echoed while my thoughts raced, going to all the worst-case scenarios first. The very worst being that he knew not only that I’d saved the missing Fated Soul multiple times but that I’d illegally transported her to and from the Netherworld.
Kissed her.
Slept with her…
The oath that came with this role included a vow—made to The Few—not to interfere in any way with the lives of the living.
I had sure as fuck done some flagrant interfering as of late.
But.
I wasn’t stupid enough not to act stupid.
“There a problem?” I asked, scanning the room in search of Flora—who wasn’t here. Hopefully she was stashing Cedric’s body somewhere less conspicuous than his desk. I hoped even more that she’d done so before any potential tour Sir White might have taken of the premises.
“No problem,” said Sir White, who tilted his masked head at me, an odd click accompanying the motion. Something that chilled my bones. “At least… none other than that of the still-missing Fated. Which is partially the reason for this… follow-up visit.”
“Partially,” I again echoed, glancing to Johann, who had returned to his scribbling, though he peeked up at me between jotting down names and notes, his stare a pointed one of both fear and warning.
God help us all if he hadn’t debriefed that loudmouthed bird of his on the fine art of keeping his beak shut.
“There is another Fated due tonight,” said Sir White. “Which is why I have been waiting for you.”
And there went my damn plan to get Flora to help me separate out the soul from the others and try shoving him into Cedric just long enough to get answers.
“Johann insists that the issue must be on my end,” said Sir White.
“And, at this point, I must agree. For a Fated left to this world would surely have met their end and been delivered by now. I thought, however, if I oversaw your delivery of this Fated, I could observe its entry into the Basin and, from there, detect any abnormalities in its path. Perhaps, for instance, this Fated might go on a similar detour and, thus, lead me to the missing soul.”
I wasn’t going to get to talk to Idaho. Not if I wanted to keep my ass covered and out of the Black Basin.
Which I needed to do. At least until I could figure out who was trying to get to me through Helena.
Who else…
“Makes sense,” I remarked as I left my scythe freestanding in the middle of the room to march toward him and the White Basin, feigning nonchalance, pretending to be completely unbothered and unfazed.
Pretending as well that I wasn’t pissed to my limits I wasn’t going to find out how and why another Fated had left that note to Helena.
What he knew about Helena’s status, and if Cedric had somehow enlisted him.
“I got it right here,” I said, holding up the hourglass.
Sir White said nothing. Instead, with more unsettling-as-fuck clicking, and an underlying hiss, like the far-off sizzle of the burning flesh of the damned, he lifted one of those metal-encased hands, unfurling silver claws toward the Basins—an invitation for me to do my job.
And I had to—unanswered questions be damned.
When I reached the White Basin, I unscrewed the lid of the hourglass with one skeletal hand.
The souls meant for the White Basin danced in a frenzy as I stood over the vat. Forcing myself to move, to do what I couldn’t avoid, I tipped out the contents, and the top layer of souls went flowing out, the pastel orbs leaping into the swirling mixture.
Cielo’s pale pastel-blue soul came out, and the old man’s spirit splashed into the pearlescent waters.
He swirled away. My last hope for understanding gone.
“Something the matter, Grim?” asked Sir White, another low hiss and a barrage of clicks sounding as he rose.
“Nothing,” I said. Even if the answer was the opposite.
“The Fated,” said Sir White. “I must follow. Rest assured, I will report back.”
“Of course,” I managed.
“Perhaps Cedric will be about when I return,” said Sir White. “A shame I missed him this time. He nearly always has something amusing to say.”
With that, Sir White collapsed into a ball of pale white light—which then zipped into the White Basin with a soundless splash, his throne and table evaporating to mist.
I collapsed, bone knees hitting the marble floor as I hung my head.
Behind me, the scythe toppled as well, clattering loudly through the chamber of the Basins.
“Grim’s hurt!” cried Pluto, taking wing. “Red alert.”
“Grim!” called Johann, who hurried over to me. “What is it, Grim? What has happened? Are you all right? Speak to me.”
“I… should have told him everything,” I said. “But… I can’t.”
“No matter what happens, Grim,” said Johann, “I will not let them send you to the Black Basin.”
Spoken like he really could stop them…
“It’s not the Black Basin anymore,” I murmured. “Fuck the Black Basin.”
Johann’s bird fluttered to land on the marble floor in front of me, beady eyes blinking up into my hood. “Grim Grim. Someone help him.”
“It’s her, isn’t it?” came a quiet, Scottish-accented voice from beside me as a pair of small bare feet stepped into view. Right before Flora laid a small hand on the jutting vertebrae of my spine. “Your wee lass.”
Releasing my hold on the hourglass, I brought a shaking hand to the face I didn’t have, covering the sockets in my skull because I couldn’t currently close my eyes.
“I can’t do this,” I told them. “I can’t let her die.”
“Because you’ve come to care for the girl…” Johann said, his voice inflecting downward, both like he knew it to be true and, even worse… like he understood.
“Because,” I corrected, the truth hitting me full-on in the same moment I spoke the words aloud, “I’m in love with her.”