Chapter Five #2
My eyes adjust and I take in the way he’s slouched, holding himself against the wall like he needs the support.
One of his legs is at an odd angle, the fur between his ears dark and matted with blood.
He watches me with tired eyes as I let my hands hover over him.
My magic hums, but I press down against it.
“I won’t hurt you,” I reassure the dog. “I just want to see what’s wrong.”
He studies me for another minute and then his cold, wet nose tentatively brushes against my palm. Whatever he smells must reassure him because he lets his head droop, his nose digging into my knee.
“That’s right,” I whisper, scratching gently behind his ears. I avoid the spot that’s dark with blood. “You can trust me.”
I smooth my hand over his back, keeping my touch light. It’s clear he’s been on his own for a while. Burrs and knots are tangled in his coat. His big body shudders under my hand, his paw lifting briefly to press at my forearm.
“It hurts, doesn’t it?”
He makes a short, huffing sound.
“Yeah, I know. Dumb question.”
I start a light, soothing pattern with my hands over the curve of his back. There are several abrasions, some deeper than others. I hesitate, then keep stroking, a knot in my chest that grows tighter with every pained exhale from the dog in front of me.
“What happened to you?” I whisper. “How’d you end up here all alone, hm?”
His nose nudges my thigh again with a low whine.
Maybe Gabriel was right. Maybe I have brought death to this small town.
I can’t even find a place to stay without stumbling over a creature in agony.
Maybe when I stood in front of the tree and asked for a reprieve, it decided to give me the things I deserve instead.
Maybe I’m exactly what Gabriel seems to think I am.
Unwanted, I think to myself. Unwelcome.
The dog’s breathing grows more erratic, and I fold myself in half, pressing my forehead to his.
“What do you think, big guy? Want to get out of here?”
His tail thumps once against the pavement. I smile.
“Okay. Let’s see what we can do.”
I close my eyes and reach for the place within me where the deep well of ancient magic sits.
I’ve always imagined it like a key fitting into the rusted lock of an old, curved door.
I feel the metal in the palm of my hand.
I weigh it carefully before I slip it into the lock.
I wedge open the door and give myself over to the rush of it.
The magic flows out of me immediately. Up my spine and over my shoulders. It’s a relief to let go of the power. It curls around my arms like ribbons before spooling out to the dog in front of me.
He growls as the black shadows wrap around him, the curve of my scythe flashing in the muted light as I fish it out of my bag.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You don’t need to be afraid.”
I spin the scythe so the blade is facing away from us both, then tap the staff against the pavement.
Three times, just the way I was taught. My magic settles over us like a cloak, wiping all sound and sensation.
It’s like being in a bubble. Or sinking underwater and letting the current take you.
Everything from this world, sucked out of it like meat off the bone.
There is pressure, a biting wind, and then—
Green walls. Plush carpet. A gramophone in the corner that’s playing … Eric Clapton today.
The softness is an adjustment after the dark alleyway. The German shepherd at my side lifts his head from my lap, ears perked as he studies the warmly lit room. I reassure him with a hand down his newly healed back, and he turns big brown eyes up at me in question.
“Weird, huh?” I whisper. “I still haven’t gotten used to it and I’ve been doing this for a while.”
Somewhere above us, a file cabinet drawer slams shut with a clang.
“I hope you know you’re talking to an animal, Ms. Darcy.”
I aim a tight smile at the tall, thin man balanced precariously on his ladder. Maverick is usually seated behind his desk when I arrive, tapping away at his ancient typewriter. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him out of his chair.
I also don’t think I’ve ever seen the file cabinets open.
The intake room at the Department of Hauntings and Spirits is a long, narrow room.
At one end, a simple oak desk sits in front of a single, unmarked door.
At the other, a stretch of eggshell white.
It would be a simple, unassuming room if it weren’t for the file cabinets that line either wall.
The left is stacked with shiny, silver metal drawers.
The right with identical shelving colored a deep bronze, like a handful of pennies tossed in the bottom of a fountain.
I tip my head back and try to see to the very top, but as far as I’m aware, there is no top.
Just file cabinets, up and up, as far as the eye can see.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt,” I call to Maverick.
Maverick frowns at me from overtop his thin wire-framed glasses. His white-blond hair is a chaotic sweep on top of his head, a startling contrast to his dark skin. Balanced up on his ladder, he looks much smaller than his six-foot-nothing frame.
“You did, actually.” He begins to climb his way down, a file folder wedged under his arm. “You’ve been around long enough to know I operate by appointment only.”
“Hard to make an appointment when I stumble upon a soul, Mav.”
He finally gets to the bottom of the ladder, skipping the final rung for a jaunty hop instead. His eyes flick to the dog at my side, his lip curling in distaste when he sees the muddy footprints on his plush carpet. “And who is this?”
“This is a dog.”
“Yes, I can see that.” His eyes narrow behind his glasses. “I don’t believe you’ve been assigned a dog, have you?”
“I found him,” I explain, then bite the inside of my cheek. “I couldn’t leave him bleeding out alone.”
“Perhaps you should have.” He waves his hand, and the mud and the grime disappear. “My carpets would be better for it.”
“I’m sure your routines will recover, Maverick.”
He gives me a reproachful look. “There is an order to things. You know this. You cannot claim lives you haven’t been assigned.”
“I understand.”
“Clearly, you don’t.”
“I understand now. Isn’t there a section in the rule book about the lives of animals? Aren’t they held to different operational policies?”
Maverick studies me and I fight the urge to fidget. Quoting the rule book at the man who wrote it is a bold move.
“You’ve done your homework,” he says quietly, shrewd eyes appraising from behind his glasses. “Very well.” He pulls the file from beneath his arm and flattens the bent corner. “But unfortunately for you both, I’m late for a meeting. You’ll have to process him another time.”
I blink at him. The Eric Clapton in the corner drifts to its conclusion and then starts up again, the same song on repeat. I honestly don’t know how Maverick gets anything done in this insanity-inducing room.
“What do you mean?”
Maverick extends his arm and glances at his watch. “I’m late for a meeting. I cannot admit your”—he makes another disgruntled face in the direction of the dog—“ friend right now. Make an appointment in the ledger and come back then.”
“I’m sorry. You want me to come back?”
“That is what I said, yes.”
“What am I supposed to do with him until then?”
Maverick starts striding down the length of the room, away from me. “You could take him to the lounge on the fifth floor. The one we used in the Crusades.”
That’s right. When there were so many souls to admit, they had to take a number. A little white tab, like the ones you get at the deli.
“That lounge smells like fried onions and armpits.”
“I daresay your companion might like that,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Maverick,” I call. “Be serious.”
“I’m always serious.” It doesn’t matter how far away he moves.
I can still hear his voice as if he’s standing right next to me.
The acoustics in this place are bizarre.
“You may permit him to another area of this building to await his appointment. That is the best I can offer.” He waves his hand, and a door appears within the empty wall.
He swings it open, another unassuming hallway just over his shoulder.
No labels. No frills. Just corporate white walls and fluorescent lighting.
“But I suggest you deposit your wayward soul quickly and get back to what you’re supposed to be doing.
Management doesn’t take kindly to side quests. ”
“This isn’t a side quest, it’s—”
He swings the door shut behind him, uninterested in my explanation. The outline fades back into the wall. I sigh and stare down at the dog.
I could take him to the waiting room. I should take him to the waiting room. Maverick is right. This dog isn’t my assignment. The tree gave me someone else, and … that’s my job. To collect that soul.
But I don’t want to.
I want something different. And if the universe doesn’t see fit to give me a break, well …
I’ll just take it instead.