Chapter Ten
Gabriel
I only have to drive around town for fifteen minutes before I find her, walking with determination down one of the crooked side streets with her arms wrapped around a massive pumpkin.
She looks like an ad for one of those discount Halloween stores that appear with the changing of the leaves every autumn, haunting old strip malls and the ghost of Best Buys past.
She’s in all black again, her hair tied back in a long, dark braid.
I slow my truck down to a crawl, reaching over to crank the window.
“Where the hell did you find that?”
She jumps, sending the pumpkin flying. It drops to the ground with a wet-sound thump, cracking straight down the middle. She stares at it mournfully, then slowly lifts her eyes to mine.
“What happened to Hello, Darcy. How are you?”
“Hello, Darcy. How are you?” I lean across the seats, staring at her pumpkin scattered on the street. “Are pumpkins on your list?”
“It wouldn’t matter if they were, would it?” She kicks at one of the bigger pieces. “Since you’ve destroyed mine.”
“Hardly. I said hello, and you tried to launch it on the roof of the hardware store.” I shake my head. “On edge, Darcy?”
“With you? Always.” She bends down to collect the two broken halves, then deposits it in the closest trash can. Some of the seeds stick to her black sweater.
“Were you looking for me, or is this a happy accident?”
“Happy?” I ask.
She shoots me a look. “You know what I mean.”
“I was looking for you.” I shift in my cracked leather seat, not liking how much that sounds like a confession. “C’mon. Get in the truck.”
She hesitates, suspicious. “Why?”
“I want to take you somewhere.”
“Where?”
“To a remote location where no one can hear you scream.”
Another unimpressed frown.
“I’m joking, Darcy. Get in the truck.”
I watch her deliberate her options, then slowly step off the curb.
I half expect her to take off at a dead sprint down the street.
But then the passenger door opens with an angry-sounding creak, and she slips into the cab.
I wait until she’s settled with her seat belt buckled before I inch us forward, tires rumbling over cobblestone.
I spent last night thinking almost entirely of Darcy.
Specifically, the tears on her cheeks and the tremble in her bottom lip when I accused her of being a soul-sucking monster.
I was jittery with discomfort, a feeling that only abated when I focused on trying to remember the items on her little list. I do well when I’m distracted with a plan, and Darcy’s is straightforward enough.
I might not understand her need to complete basic, seemingly mundane tasks, but I’ll play the game if it gets me what I want.
I can’t lose another life.
“You’re being weird,” she says, fiddling with the strap of her bag. “Nice,” she explains.
“I can be nice.”
“Not to me.” She finds a pumpkin seed on her skirt and flicks it away. “Have you been possessed by the guy who works over at the inn?”
“What guy?”
“There’s a Poltergeist at the bed-and-breakfast. The one on the circle.”
“Huh.” I hit my signal. “Didn’t know that.”
She nods with a hum, peering out her window. “Lots of spirits drifting around this town.”
Of that, I am aware. Annapolis is a hotbed of paranormal activity. Something about its location on the Eastern Seaboard and its bloody history. I don’t know. As an ancient being myself, I try not to concern myself with the specifics.
I came to this tiny portside town a decade ago, and I’ll likely leave before the next decade is up.
If I stay too long in one place, people start having questions about the bartender who never ages.
Guardians are assigned regions, not people.
We’re supposed to watch over our flocks like good little shepherds, making sure no sheep strays.
I glance at Darcy from the corner of my eye. Or gets eaten by the wolves.
She was right when she said death comes for us all, but I don’t have to like it. I don’t have to help. In all my many years of existence, I’ve never witnessed a death that felt necessary. Or fair. Or even decent.
I died alone with my face in the dirt. I don’t want that for anyone else.
“Where are we going?” Darcy asks.
“To cross an item off your list.” Now that we’re just outside of downtown, the roads smooth out. “The sooner I know what you know, the better.”
“It’s not much,” she warns.
“In that case, why don’t you just tell me?” It’s an effort to keep my voice light and not immediately sink into a demand. But I promised myself in the hallway last night that I’m not going to let my frustration mangle me into someone unrecognizable.
Darcy scoffs. “Yeah, okay. If I told you what I know, would you still let me help?”
I’m not sure I would. It’s too important to trust to someone else. Too much of my future hangs in the balance.
Darcy crosses her arms over her chest. “That’s what I thought.”
We drive the rest of the way in silence, bumping along in the truck.
I want to turn on the radio to fill the quiet, but I also don’t want her to think I’m irritated by the quiet, so I don’t do anything.
I keep my hands on the wheel, my eyes ahead, and try not to notice the way her thigh keeps bumping into mine on every turn.
I need a bigger car. Something with a divide between the seats. A center console, at least. Or maybe a retractable wall.
“What are you thinking about?” Darcy asks as I slow down, pulling into an unmarked gravel driveway. “Your face is doing weird things.”
“I’m thinking about getting a minivan,” I tell her.
I jerk the truck into park and cut the engine.
The silence becomes oppressive. I roll my shoulders back and try to release the heavy knot beneath my wings.
They’re not exactly thrilled about staying hidden while in close proximity to dark magic. “We’re here.”
Darcy frowns through the windshield. “Which is where?”
I nod at a small wooden sign at the edge of a dense thicket.
BOAT RAMP
Except the word RAMP is missing a P, and the sign itself is listing slightly to the left.
“What’s a boat ram?”
“Boat ramp,” I clarify. I reach over her lap and wedge the door open. The truck is old, and prone to more than a few quirks. “You said you wanted to jump into a lake. There are no lakes around here, so I figured the Severn River would do.”
Darcy stares at me. “It’s the middle of October.”
“And you’re an immortal being that doesn’t feel the cold.” I shrug. “You’re the one who made the list. Let’s go.”
I climb out of the truck, slamming the door behind me hard enough to rattle the whole thing. The skies are overcast today, everything a dull, gloomy gray.
Darcy follows me with a healthy dose of hesitation. “I always pictured doing this when the sun was shining, you know? A nice peaceful meadow somewhere and …” She stares pointedly at a garbage bag with a massive tear down the middle. “Less beer cans.”
“Close enough.”
I’m calling her bluff. If she’s not serious about achieving her damn list, we can pack right back up and return to the bar.
If it’s the lie I think it is, she’ll fold before she jumps into the stagnant body of water, riddled with water striders and whirligig beetles.
She can tell me what she knows, and we can be rid of each other.
Finally.
Her eyes flare in challenge. “The dock is right through there?”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Yup.”
Darcy nods. I wait patiently for her to backtrack. This hasn’t been a functional boat ramp for years. It’s mostly abandoned. Perfect for forcing a Reaper’s hand.
I expect a demure excuse and maybe some hand-wringing. I’ll be graceful about it, of course. No hard feelings. But when we get back to town, I’ll—
“What are you doing?”
Darcy toes out of her boots, rolling her arms to wrench them free from her black wool jacket. She tosses it over the hood of the truck, then bends and neatly stacks her shoes by one of the tires.
She’s wearing pink socks. I’m pretty sure there are polka dots on them. She rolls those off too, her bare feet pale against the gray gravel of the drive.
“Well, I’m not going to jump in my clothes. I have no interest in riding back to town sopping wet.” Her hands curl around the bottom hem of her sweater and she starts to tug it up.
“Whoa. Wait a—” The sweater goes over her head. I tip my face up to the sky, but not before I get a glimpse of smooth skin and black lace.
I curl my hands into fists. “Darcy,” I bite out.
Darcy’s laugh is low and soft, like smoke over the water. More fabric rustles. “I’m sorry. Is the Guardian a prude?”
“I’m not.” I might be. “I just don’t know if this is the best idea—”
“It was your idea,” she interrupts. Her voice is closer now.
Fingertips gently touch my neck, and I exhale a choppy breath. Her skin on mine feels electric, and I have no idea why. “You didn’t think I’d do it, did you?” she asks softly.
I tip my chin down, keeping my gaze resolutely above her neck. She’s so close I can see the constellation of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
“I might have been fucking with you,” I confess.
Her eyes narrow with her smile, dangerous. “That must have been very difficult for you to admit.”
“That’s not what I find difficult right now.”
It’s a confession I had no intention of making, but I can’t seem to be anything but honest with Darcy. Her eyes soften and her fingers slip from my jaw to my neck.
“Look at you,” she hums. She drops her hand. “Being honest.”
And then she’s gone. A flash of bare skin and dark hair streaming behind her. She must have undone her braid when she was pulling off her sweater.
Her feet pound against the wooden dock and she releases some combination of a pterodactyl screech and rebel yell.
The sound echoes off the water and bounces through the trees, shaking the leaves and making my throat feel too tight.
Her launch from the dock is graceful and she tumbles into the water with a splash and a wild laugh.
I stare at the place the water ripples out, dumbfounded.
I really didn’t think she would.