Chapter Twelve #2
“Just grab it from my bag.” I nod toward the front counter where I dropped my satchel when I walked in this morning. Gabriel dutifully stalks over to it, slipping his hand in the front flap. I turn away, focusing on the flowers, and try not to let my anxieties spin out of control.
But that list has been a precious guarded secret for decades, and having Gabriel hold it—read it, judge it—feels like scraping back my skin and showing him my bones.
It’s just a list, I reassure myself. Why do you care what he thinks?
Gabriel snorts a laugh, then coughs to try and cover it up. My chest pulls tight.
“Which one?” I ask.
He hesitates. “Bake a pie.”
“Because you don’t think I’ll be good at it, or because you think it’s stupid?”
“Because there’s an asterisk that says, ‘bake a good pie.’”
I nod and tuck my chin to my chest, trying to disassociate. I had an assignment in Amsterdam once. Her next-door neighbor was always baking pies with her daughter. They seemed happy.
The day I reaped her soul, there was an apple pie on her windowsill.
“Bold of you to make a comment about my list when you have a bumblebee tattooed on your wrist,” I murmur.
Gabriel laughs. The feeling in my palm pulses. An itchy, tight pull and then a release. I close my eyes and inhale slowly. Exhale even slower.
When I open my eyes again, my stomach drops.
What was a colorful, gorgeous arrangement a couple of minutes ago is now a cluster of dead flowers. The thistle is dried and curling, sharp spindly branches of brittle green. The baby’s breath is a dull gray, and the lavender has completely shriveled up.
I flex my hands. Smudges of black stain the tips of my fingers. “Shit.”
“What?” Paper rustles and then Gabriel is there, staring down at what I’ve done. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose.
“I don’t—I didn’t do that on purpose,” I explain quickly.
My magic needs to be coaxed. I have to dig for it, encourage it. And since my visit with Aelia, I’ve been careful to not acknowledge it at all. A metaphorical chair wedged beneath the handle.
But it seems my magic has a mind of its own.
My hands won’t stop shaking.
“Darcy,” Gabriel warns.
I shake my head. “I can fix it,” I breathe. “I just need a second—” I touch the edge of a dried bloom, and it crumbles to ash. A sob catches and my eyes burn. “I can fix it,” I say again.
Gabriel’s massive hand covers both of mine, and he squeezes tight, holding me still. Almost immediately, my shaking eases. I look up at him. He’s moved around the table so he’s standing at my side, his chest pressed to my shoulder.
“It was an accident,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
His face is inscrutable. A stone mask. “Your magic?” he asks.
I nod.
His fingers flex over mine. “Hold on to it,” he tells me.
I nod, my teeth sinking against my bottom lip. “Okay.”
I wrestle for control, a ribbon dancing just out of reach. But how do I hold on to something I never grasped in the first place?
“Do you have it now?”
I stare at him. The shape of his eyes. The faint scar above his left eyebrow.
“Darcy,” he repeats, his voice stern and focused. Just sharp enough to guide me out of the haze I’m buried in. “Do you have it now?”
“I think so.”
Footsteps sound on the stairs. I try to pull my hands out of Gabriel’s grip, but he holds me steady.
He ducks his head and his scruff catches against my braid. “Good?” he asks, his breath a warm puff against my ear.
I nod, more frantic than I’d like. “The flowers. Frank can’t see that I’ve killed the flowers.”
Gabriel’s brows knit together. With one quick movement he lets go of my hands, then swipes his arm across the table. The mason jar goes tumbling off the edge and shatters against the floor, sending dried flower petals and broken glass every which way. Water creeps out beneath like spilled blood.
Another swipe of his arm and some of Frank’s fresh flowers fall over top, masking the dead ones.
“What the hell are you doing?” Frank asks, edging his way out from the cellar door with a massive bundle of mums in his arms. He drops them on a table, then hurries over. He studies the mess, then turns an accusatory look at Gabriel. “You ruined her flowers!”
“It was an accident,” Gabriel says. “I bumped into the table.”
“An accident,” Frank repeats with a huff. Color blooms high on his cheeks and along his neck. “Tell the truth.”
Gabriel holds up his hands. “That is the truth.”
“She’s been working hard on them all morning, then you bulldoze in here and disrupt us.” Frank digs a bony finger in the middle of Gabriel’s chest. “I don’t tolerate bullies, and there will be no reindeer games in my shop. Do you understand?”
Something warm blooms to life in the middle of my chest, spreading out, out, out. While I know, logically, the mess is my fault and
Gabriel did it because I needed his help, it’s nice to have someone defend me without hesitation.
Gabriel’s expression turns bewildered. “What’s a reindeer game?”
“Tomfoolery,” Frank explains. “Shenanigans.”
Gabriel grins, turning his body slightly to protect himself as Frank starts to smack him with the back of his hand. “Stop hitting me, old man. I wasn’t engaging in any tomfoolery.” His bright blue eyes lift to mine, crinkling at the corners. “Tell him, Darcy.”
I’m still trying to catch my breath, floating in a fog of fear. I wanted to create something beautiful, and it crumbled to dust beneath my touch instead.
“It’s true,” I manage, my voice weak. “It was an accident.”
Gabriel’s smile falters. I pretend not to notice. Instead, I go to my knees and start to collect the flowers strewn across the floor with broad sweeps of my hands.
Gabriel bends to help, his fingertips brushing against mine as he picks up the largest pieces of broken glass.
“Be careful,” he says. “Sharp edges.”
It’s almost enough to make me laugh. Yeah, I agree. There are sharp edges everywhere.
I clean up the flowers and try to reassure myself that it was an accident, and not a sign.