Chapter Seven
Darcy
Another townsperson joins the small crowd we’ve attracted on the street, so we decide to continue our conversation elsewhere.
Gabriel insists on going back to the bar, but I have no desire to return to the scene of the crime, so to speak.
I’d much rather we discuss this at a neutral location.
A place where he can’t hurl an alcohol bottle at my head when he doesn’t like what I have to say.
“I wouldn’t waste good liquor,” he says with a roll of his eyes. At my sharp look, he relents. “I’m also not going to hurt you, Darcy. Have a little faith.”
“You held a sword to my throat less than twenty-four hours ago.”
“It wasn’t at your throat. It was in your general direction.”
I stare at him.
“Yeah, okay. Fair point.” He shifts, squinting down the street while he rubs the heel of his hand against the scruff on his jaw. He nods toward a striped awning halfway down the road, an ancient sign advertising milkshakes rotating slowly above it. “How do you feel about burgers?”
“I feel fine about them.”
I actually love a greasy burger, but over my undead body am I going to admit anything favorable to this man.
“Great.”
He keeps my hand in his for the short walk to the restaurant.
I’m not sure if it’s because he’s still trying to playact some sort of cover story for the town busybodies or if he’s worried I’m a flight risk.
His fingers stay slotted through mine as he tugs me behind him on the narrow sidewalk and Tater Tot keeps pace, his leash looped around my opposite wrist, watching Gabriel like he’s waiting for a reason to gnaw on his kneecaps.
I entertain myself with that mental image while Gabriel jerks me around a trash can sitting toppled over in the middle of the sidewalk. He bends down and lifts it with one hand, his other still clasped around mine.
“So, you’re always like this, then.”
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Like what?”
“Angelic. Virtuous. An exemplary citizen.”
“I can’t help what I am any more than you can.”
We slow to a stop in front of the restaurant and Gabriel nods at a small metal table under a yellow-striped umbrella. “Grab that table, and I’ll put our order in.”
I tug my hand out of his. “Stop bossing me around.”
He exhales a short, impatient sound. “No.”
Tater Tot growls and butts his forehead against Gabriel’s thigh. Gabriel flinches, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing in his face. The big, bad Guardian. Afraid of a dog.
“Please go sit at that table so you can keep an eye on your demon dog, yeah? I’m going to order.” He arches an eyebrow. “Better?”
I lift my chin. “I want a strawberry milkshake.”
“Fine.”
“With whipped cream. And a cherry. Two cherries!”
“Fine,” he says again. “Go sit down.”
He swings open the door hard enough to slam it back against a sign advertising the burger of the day, sending it crashing to the ground. I have to physically turn away and bury my laugh in my arm when he immediately bends down to fix it.
Tater Tot and I pick the table opposite of the one he pointed to, just because.
He emerges five minutes later with a plastic number card held between his teeth and a to-go cup in each hand. He gives me one, drops our order number on the table, then collapses into the empty seat across from me.
I take a dainty sip from my milkshake and try not to immediately flinch at the rancid taste.
“What is this?” I rasp. This drink belongs in the bottommost pit of hell. In a science lab, with a hazmat label.
Gabriel smirks. “It’s your drink.”
“This is not a strawberry milkshake.” I’m pretty sure it’s sewage water. Did he walk into the kitchen and ask them to empty the dish-washer into a to-go cup?
He smiles at me, his cherry-red straw caught between his teeth. “I got you a daily green super blend.” His cheeks hollow as he slurps noisily. “Very healthy.”
My eyes narrow. “And yours?”
“A strawberry milkshake,” he answers. He drags his tongue along a sharp incisor, an angled incongruity in his otherwise pretty boy smile. “With whipped cream,” he adds.
Magic pulses in my hands, looking for an outlet. I dig my finger-nails into my palms. “Are you aware that you’re an asshole?”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Just for you, sweetheart.”
I believe it. As far as I can tell, Gabriel is nice to everyone but me. I got to bask in the glow of that version of him for exactly one evening before my designation robbed me of it.
This was a mistake. I don’t know why I thought I could convince him to help me.
I liked the idea of having someone on my side, but we’re working with two separate sets of rules and an ironclad evaluation of my character.
If he’s not willing to get me a milkshake, I sincerely doubt he’s going to help me defy the department and save a soul.
It’s the first foolish misstep in an otherwise careful plan.
As soon as I decided I would take Tater Tot instead of processing him, I put precautions in place.
I filled out the appropriate paperwork. I formally added him to the holding room log.
Then I bundled him with an oversize quilt I found in a utility closet and hauled him through the street entrance of the department.
It took us some time to find our way back to town, but we managed.
Honestly, I didn’t know I could take a lost soul out of the department.
I thought there would be something holding them in place.
But there wasn’t, and I did, and I intend to exploit that loophole.
The paper trail I left should buy me a week or two, especially with how slow things move with processing.
I’m counting on Maverick operating at his usual snail’s pace.
But now Gabriel knows. And he could end everything with a snap of his tattooed fingers.
He’s silent on the other side of the table, and I busy myself with a straw wrapper. The burger shop has pumpkins in the window. A half-hearted string of autumn garland beneath the faded awning.
“Is it Halloween soon?”
“Why? Do your powers magnify under the light of a full moon?” He slurps from the milkshake again and my eye starts to twitch. “Do you go full wraith, drifting about in your robe?”
Maybe I should. Maybe he wouldn’t be so smug if I leaned into the full magnitude of my powers.
Still, I try to be patient.
“I’m not trying to argue with you, Gabriel.”
“Okay. Then what is it you want, Darcy?”
He’s leaning forward with his elbows on the table, the sheepskin collar of his denim jacket turned up against the autumn chill. His neck is surprisingly bare of tattoos. The only marks he has are two faint lines of scar tissue—thick and jagged—inching out from the collar of his shirt.
Interesting.
“I want a strawberry milkshake, but all I have is this dirt water.”
“Whose soul are you here to collect?” he asks again, leaning closer. “You owe me an explanation.”
Indignation creeps up the back of my spine and tightens at my neck. My magic has never been particularly reliable, but with Gabriel, it feels like it’s on a hair trigger. “I don’t owe you anything. This conversation is a courtesy.”
It’s also a waste of my time. But I’m starting to realize I have something he needs, and a new plan begins to form in the ashes of the old one. If he doesn’t want to play nice, that’s fine.
Nothing wrong with a little light blackmail.
He thinks the worst of you, so be the worst, I tell myself. Play the game. Get what you came for.
Only I know the details from my vision. Without them, he’s flying blind. He doesn’t know who to save if I don’t share my information, and there are simply too many people in this town for him to protect them all. I don’t need his help to save this soul, but I do need him occupied and out of my way.
I need to make myself invaluable. I need him to think he needs me. Not the other way around.
I straighten my spine. I channel the version of myself he clearly thinks I am. I let my face settle into a cold mask, an act of indifference that costs me. “If you want to know who to save,” I tell him, “you’re going to have to play a little game.”
“The lives of the mortals aren’t a game.”
“Aren’t they?” I cock my head to the side, widening my eyes. “Are they not just checkers on a board, destined to move where we tell them?”
His face tightens. “No. They’re not.”
“Hm.” I glance away, trying to hold on to the lie. If he wants to make me the villain, I’ll be the damned villain. “I suppose we’ll see.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ll play your role, and I’ll play mine. Let the chips fall where they may.” I clamp my teeth around my straw and smile at him.
It’s a struggle for him to not bulldoze his way through this conversation and demand the answers he so desperately wants.
I can tell. He’s practically vibrating on his side of the table, his jaw clenched so tight it could cut through glass.
If only he believed me from the start, we wouldn’t need to bother with all this mess.
“What’s the game?” he grinds out.
Victory makes me lightheaded. Luckily, this part of the deception is easy enough. Because there is something I want. More than anything. I’ve wanted it since I was bound to a hospital bed beneath scratchy sheets, craning my neck to feel the sun from the window.
“While I’m here, I want to experience things. Life,” I say, trying hard to state it like a fact and not like it’s my most precious guarded wish. I’ve been keeping it tucked away in my chest, in the cavern where my heart used to be. “I have a list.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows jump, surprised. “A list?”
“Yes.”
“Of demands?”
“Of things I never got to do while I was alive.”
He’s still staring at me like I’ve pulled a rabbit from beneath my sweater and dropped it in the middle of the table. “Don’t you think we should focus on the more pressing item? Which is the untimely death of an innocent soul?”
“All mortals eventually die, Gabriel. Surely you don’t intend to save all of them.”
“That’s literally my job description.”