Chapter Four
Darcy
The one time I let myself deviate from the plan, and it’s with the worst possible choice.
A Guardian Angel. Of course.
I don’t know how I didn’t recognize the feel of his magic. Their office is directly across the hall from ours. I can usually spot their self-righteousness half a mile away. If the Reapers are avoided within the department, then the Guardians are revered. Friend to all, enemy to none.
Except to the Reapers. The Guardians have always had a bone to pick with the Reapers.
I’ve heard the snide comments in the hallways.
The holier-than-thou scoffs they never bother to hide.
Something about the dark versus the light …
or two sides of the same coin. I don’t know.
I’ve never been particularly interested in navigating the tangled web of interdepartmental politics.
I want no part in ancient battles. I’d very much like to go back inside, collect my things, and bury my head in the sand until my designated soul decides to appear. I’m humiliated and I—
I desperately need a cigarette. I stare mournfully at the extinguished butt, ground into the pavement by our feet.
Couldn’t have made out with a normal mortal, I think to myself, somewhat hysterically. Couldn’t have found another perfectly fine ghost to unleash some of that pent-up sexual frustration with.
Gabriel paces back and forth in front of me, his hands on his hips and the tips of his wings dragging across the pavement. I can hear him mumbling under his breath.
“Disaster,” he says to himself. “Stupid. Such a fucking idiot.”
I stare at his wings instead of his face. They’re a deep, muted gray. Slightly crooked and frayed at the edges, like they’ve been broken and crudely set back in place a time or two.
He stops pacing and turns to face me with a frown. It looks out of place on his handsome face. Like he has to screw it on. His wings snap close to his back and disappear with a roll of his shoulders, but when he twists his hand, a massive sword with a golden hilt appears in his grip.
It’s the same sword, I realize. The one that’s tattooed on the inside of his forearm.
I blink at it. “That seems unnecessary.”
He ignores me. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted a drink,” I murmur. I wanted something different.
His jaw flexes. “I find that unlikely.”
“You’re masquerading as a bartender. It’s hard for you to believe I wanted a drink?”
He adjusts his grip on his sword, and I notice the place where the tattoo was is now smooth, bare skin.
I can’t believe I was just kissing this man. This man who is not a man at all.
“Who?” he bites out. “Whose soul are you here to collect?”
I press my fingertips to the middle of my forehead. There’s a headache forming that feels like an arctic glacier. “I don’t know.”
“When will it happen?”
“I don’t know that either.”
He huffs, angry. I’m still plastered against the wall where he left me. I’m going to need to be scraped off this brick with a spatula.
“Darcy,” he barks. “I’m not in the mood for games.”
“You seemed plenty fond of them in the bar.”
His expression is granite. “It’s different now.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” I lift my arms only to drop them again. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t have any answers.”
“Bullshit,” he spits. He lifts his sword. The blade glints in the flickering orange light above the side entrance door, making the metal look like it’s engulfed in flames.
I roll my eyes. “Do you think I descended upon this realm to suck the souls from the mortals? Do you think I—what? Corner unsuspecting men in dark corners so I can drag them to the underworld?”
His silence tells me that’s exactly what he thinks I came here to do.
“Well, if that were the case, I certainly wouldn’t have picked you,” I mumble, mulish.
His fingers are so tight around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles are white. “You’ve brought death to my doorstep.”
“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic. We do work for the same department, you know.”
“An oversight I’ve been complaining about for years.”
I kick a rogue can and it goes pitter-pattering down the alley. “Sorry the suggestion box didn’t work out for you.”
I’m getting too worked up. My magic is responding to his, whipping through my body.
Smoke unfurls in the palms of my hands and slips between my knuckles.
I’m not a fan of my magic and what it can do, but he’s in for a rude awakening if he thinks he’s the only powerful being in this narrow alleyway.
He might have a shiny blade, but I have one, too. And mine has a wicked curve.
He moves closer, pressing into my space. The sword disappears with a wave of his hand, ink crawling back onto his skin between his elbow and wrist.
“That’s a nice trick,” I whisper.
He ignores me. “I don’t want you here.”
A raw laugh sputters out of me. I don’t want to be here either. “That’s not up to you.”
He plants his hands on either side of me, caging me in against the brick wall. It’s more or less the same position we were in five minutes ago, but decidedly less exciting.
“Are you here to distract me?” he asks. “Was all of this some sort of a … seduction?”
The smile slips from my face. Something ugly lodges at the base of my throat, making it hard to swallow. It seems I can’t help but inspire dread and animosity, wherever I go.
What would it be like, I wonder, for someone to see the best in me?
“You approached me,” I remind him.
“Because I felt like I had to. It was like I couldn’t—” His mouth snaps shut, and his eyes move over my face. “I know how compulsion works. What did you do to me?”
Stupidly enough, tears burn behind my eyes and across the bridge of my nose. The first time I’ve felt anything other than dread in decades, and it had to be with this pompous, self-important idiot. My luck is dismal.
“I’m here to do my job.” My voice wobbles at the edges and I stomp down ruthlessly at the self-pity creeping in the corners of my vision. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”
He doesn’t move from his place in front of me. “I want you to stay away from what’s mine,” he says.
“I’m sure I can find another bar with mediocre drinks, thanks.”
He snorts. “Please. You loved that drink.”
“It was passable.”
“You had three of them in fifteen minutes.”
“I liked the candied oranges. They go great with the spleens of the mortal men I seduced into your bathroom.”
His brows dip together.
“I’m joking, you asshole.”
“I’m not sure you are.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. I smooth down the edges of my skirt instead, pretending Gabriel’s face isn’t six inches from my own.
He occupies all the space around me, the smoke from the cigarette we just shared still clinging to the collar of his shirt.
He smells like whiskey and oranges and something dark and bitter and I hate that I like it.
I hate that I decided to follow him into this alley.
I hate that I got my hopes up. This might be the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to me, and that includes that time I had to collect the soul of a man who died while sitting on the toilet.
“Anyway,” I say with a tight smile. I tip my face up and hold his eyes with my own. Out here, I can see that they’re a deep ocean blue. Flecks of brown so light they look gold.
So much pretty, wasted.
“This has been lovely, but I’m going to go now.”
Gabriel doesn’t move.
“I want you to stay away from here, Darcy,” he says again, his voice that deep and foreboding tone of the ancient warriors. A Guardian voice.
A shiver dances up my spine, and his eyes flicker in triumph.
He leans closer. “You won’t get what you’ve come for. I’m going to make sure of it.”
I have no desire to argue with this impossible man. We can go around and around until we’re both blue in the face, but the reality of the situation will never change. I have to be here until I claim the soul I was sent for. He can’t change what is to come, and neither can I.
As much as I want to.
“Death comes for us all,” I whisper.
Gabriel grunts. “Stop with the fortune cookie bullshit.”
I drop my hands to his chest and push, frustration making my magic flare to life. Shadows lick over my palms, and the added burst sends him stumbling back, his eyes flashing in surprise.
“You want an explanation, but I don’t have one.” I follow him to the other side of the alley and push him again. I get another solid hit before he grapples for my wrists, holding them at my sides in a fierce grip.
“I didn’t choose this,” I spit, furious, burning with rage. I am angry at him, yes, but also with myself. After all these years, I know better than to hope. “I didn’t choose any of this. You think I like being the last thing they see when they realize it’s all over?”
I make a wounded sound and yank myself out of his hold. He lets me go.
“You have no idea what it’s like, watching person after person after person die.
To bear the weight of their pain and disappointment.
I can’t offer them comfort. I can’t offer them anything.
” I look away, frustrated with myself and my honesty.
But something in my chest has cracked open, and now every tender, broken thing is spilling out.
Each life I’ve collected is a stone upon my heart, weighing it down. I wanted this assignment to be different so badly. But it’s just more of the same, with a sprinkle of humiliation on top.
I can’t believe I thought I could have something for myself.
I can’t believe I thought it might be him.
“It’s just—” I want so badly for him to understand. For this ache that lingers in my bones to be seen and understood. “Haven’t you ever wanted something different for yourself?”
Something in his face fractures, and for a handful of seconds, hope flares brilliant and bright. Then his eyes harden, and my heart drops to my toes.
“No,” he bites out.
I look away, disappointed.
I’m alone, even in this.
“All I’ve ever wanted,” I manage, my voice tight, “is to feel like I’m a part of something. To belong.”
Against the wall, Gabriel has gone still and watchful. His brows pull together, his face a mask of confusion. “What is this?” he asks. He swallows, and the strong line of his throat bobs. His hands flex, like he wants to reach for his sword again. “Another trick?”
“No.” I laugh, and it croaks out of me. I brush my knuckles across my cheek. “None of this has been a trick.”
The fight leaves me in a rush, making my skin feel prickly and hot. My chest is hollowed out, carved up with all the secrets I just let tumble free. All of it, wasted. On a man who thinks the worst of me. Who thinks my most honest thoughts are a trick.
“I’ll be gone as soon as I’m able,” I tell him. “We don’t need to speak again.”
And then I walk away without another word. With his heavy stare at my back and his kisses still burning against my mouth.