Chapter Eleven #2
“No, Darcy. You are not allowed to adopt a dog. You are especially not allowed to adopt a dead dog. One that is bound for the afterlife, and—according to paperwork you filed—is supposedly awaiting processing. Or did you forget about that?”
I stay silent.
Aelia sighs, her young face softening. “You are supposed to blend in. No connections. Nothing left behind. You know the rules.” She crosses her arms over her chest. Some of the sequins on her dress catch the light and reflect it back, making her look like a tiny, stern disco ball.
“I know you’ve been having a hard time lately, but this isn’t the answer. ”
“But what if—”
“There are no what-ifs in this situation, Darcy. This is reckless. This is messy. What’s going to happen to your zombie dog when you have to move on to another assignment? You going to bring him around with you?”
I kick a loose rock. “He’s not a zombie dog.” And yes, I was planning on bringing him with me. Of course I was.
She snorts. “Yeah, okay. What’s going to happen when Maverick finds out, then?”
He’ll immediately run it up the ladder and I’ll be in a heap of trouble. There’s no doubt about it. I know this won’t end well, but it’s not enough of a deterrent to have me abandon my plan.
I just need some time. I’ll deal with everything else later.
“Does Maverick know yet?” I ask.
Aelia pinches the bridge of her nose. Right now, she looks less like a Victorian child, and more like a fed-up housemother.
“No. He doesn’t know. I wrapped up my assignment early and came to find you.
I saw the paperwork about the dog and—” She sighs.
“You did a good job covering your trail, but someone will figure it out, Darcy. I did.”
“You’re a special case,” I mumble.
She beams, proud. “Of course I am. But the longer you linger here, the greater the risk. Have you found your soul yet?”
I don’t know how to answer that question. I don’t know how much I should tell Aelia. I trust her, but I don’t want to implicate her in my choices. She must see the indecision cracking through the lines of my expression because hers drops.
“Oh my god,” she whispers.
“What?”
“Oh my god,” she says again.
“What?” I whisper-hiss.
“You want to save them, don’t you?” She jabs her finger into my shoulder, then points aggressively at the window where Tater Tot is. The curtains flutter, and one big brown eye peers out. “You want to save that soul, just like you saved the dog.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me, Darcy. What’s the long game here? You save another soul and keep it locked in your closet? You avoid the department forever?”
I rub the back of my neck. The plan is there is no plan.
I’ve been so focused on proving to myself that I can do something different that I haven’t exactly investigated the happily ever after.
I guess I could go back to the department and forge some more paperwork.
I can hope that with all the bureaucratic nonsense, no one notices one wayward soul missing.
Or maybe I won’t return at all. Maybe Tater Tot and I will ride off into the sunset, never to be seen again.
I like that idea. I like it a lot.
“I just need time,” I say quietly. “I need time to figure out what I’m doing.”
Aelia measures the weight of my words, her frown fierce. The expression on her face is such a contrast to the bright and sparkly outfit she’s wearing. Not for the first time, I wonder if maybe Aelia uses her clothes to hold on to some of the things she lost, too.
She turns back toward the window. Tater Tot has the curtain around his face like a bonnet now, his nose pressed up against the glass.
Aelia sighs. “This is such a bad idea.”
“I’m not asking you to help.”
“I know that, but I’m going to do it anyway.”
I blink. “Okay?”
“If you insist on going rogue, then the least I can do is throw a couple distractions behind you.” She runs her hands along the folds of her sequin skirt, making colors dance across my black jacket.
“I can hold them off for a little bit, Darcy. But not forever. Whatever you intend to do, you need to do it quickly.”
“I can manage that.”
She fixes me with a heavy look. “They will come for you eventually. I followed your magic. That means someone else can, too.”
Easy enough. I’ll just stop using my magic. It’s never been reliable for me anyway.
“And whatever it is you’re doing here,” Aelia continues. “You’ll need a plan for when it ends.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Okay,” she says. Then she sighs and looks at the pumpkin. “What were you doing with that thing?”
“The pumpkin.”
“Yes.”
“I was going to carve it.”
“Why?”
“It’s a … tradition. Have you never been around the mortals for Halloween?”
“I suppose I haven’t.” Aelia’s face brightens. “Oh! Is this the trick-or-treating? I’ve heard there’s candy involved.”
“There is.”
She rubs her hands together. “Very good. I think I’ll partake.”
I try to picture it. Aelia traipsing down the street with her cloak and her scythe. “I don’t think trick-or-treating is for immortal beings.”
“Luckily for me, I don’t look like an immortal being. I look like a child.”
“You look like a menace, bound within the body of an eight-year-old.”
“Exactly.” She grins. “A child. A child who can collect chocolate from unsuspecting mortals.”
She bounces her way to the front door of my borrowed townhome, her light-up shoes alternating pink and then blue and then pink again. “I suppose I should meet the beast, yes?”
I roll my lips against my smile. “Might as well.”