Chapter Thirty-One
Darcy
Frank blinks in the sudden fluorescent lighting, squinting up at the file cabinets that reach all the way to a ceiling I can’t see. Silver on one side, bronze on the other.
His mouth pulls down in a frown and I furiously try to wipe the tears off my cheeks. I feel especially exposed here. Gideon was right about the lighting.
“What’s inside those cabinets?” Frank asks.
“Ledgers,” Gideon offers, striding toward Maverick’s abandoned desk to sift through the neatly stacked files. I’ve never seen anyone court Maverick’s wrath so boldly before, but I guess being head of the Reapers has its privileges.
I drag the sleeve of my sweater over my wet cheeks. I can still feel the press of Gabriel’s fingertips, still hear his ragged breath. I’m starting to think the afterlife has it out for me, handing me something beautiful only to rip it away.
“Here.” Frank reaches in the front pocket of his coveralls and fishes out a small, worn handkerchief. It has flowers embroidered on the edges.
I curl my fingers around it. I try to say thank you, but the words crumble to dust in my mouth. Frank smiles gently, like he knows.
His eyes slant back to Gideon.
“What sort of ledgers?” he asks.
“The ones that categorize all of humanity,” Gideon replies with a weary sigh.
He gestures above his head like he’s referencing the daily soup special and not the scales that balance the universe.
“Who is here and who is there. Who is going somewhere. Maverick maintains the system, so I can’t speak to specifics. ”
Frank’s mouth pinches. “Why do you need a system?”
“So that souls can be categorized appropriately.”
“And why do souls need to be—”
“No more questions,” Gideon interrupts. He scrubs his palm against his forehead. A rare show of frustration. “I can’t find what I’m looking for anyway.”
And what, I think dazedly, are you looking for?
There are a lot of loose ends dangling around Gideon’s behavior. He said one human soul can’t be sacrificed for another, yet he let me take Frank. He said there would be ramifications for my behavior, yet here I stand.
None of it makes any sense.
Frank nudges me with his elbow. “Is that the door?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I assure him. “That’s the door.”
It’s unassuming. Simple oak with unadorned casing. A gold knob, worn down to a dull matte on the top and bottom. Certainly not what you’d expect a door to eternal rest or damnation to look like.
Frank fidgets from foot to foot, nervous. I let myself grab for his hand, squeezing tight.
“It’s going to be okay.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “But—”
“But?”
“What if they’re not there?” he whispers.
“They’re there, Frank.”
He brings a trembling hand to his chin. “What if they don’t want to see me?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.
I think of that little girl asking for her daddy. How she looked over her shoulder. Over and over. “They want to see you.”
“What if I don’t—” He exhales a short, shaky breath. “What if I end up somewhere else?”
I squeeze his hand again and make sure he’s looking at me. “Frank,” I say quietly. “Where else would you go?”
His shoulders drop, and a soft smile lightens the lines of his face. He passes his hand over his hair. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just—it’s been a long time. I’ve been waiting for this.”
“I know you have,” I assure him. “It won’t be much longer now.”
“Yes, we’ve dallied quite enough,” Gideon agrees. He reaches for the knob I’ve only ever seen Maverick touch and pulls.
The door sticks—like it’s weighing the measure of the man attempting to open it—then gives with a light squeak of its hinges. The sound of the surf immediately fills the antechamber. Seagulls and rolling waves.
Next to me, Frank sucks in a sharp breath.
I smile.
“Go on,” I whisper. “Go be with your girls.”
He doesn’t let go of my hand. “I know I was angry with you, and I won’t apologize for that, but I will thank you for this.” He squeezes my fingers so tight, they ache. I don’t let go. “Thank you for bringing me back to them.”
I laugh. It’s a wet, garbled sound. “I’m pretty sure I’m responsible for your death, Frank.”
On the other side of the door, a little girl’s giggle rises above the sound of the surf. Frank closes his eyes with a ragged exhale, a single tear glancing down his cheek. When his eyes open again, they’re luminous.
He lifts my hand and presses a kiss against the back of it. “Try to keep your promises from now on, okay? And take care of my flowers.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Okay, Frank.”
He steps toward the door. He hesitates at the threshold, wiping roughly at his cheeks, firming his shoulders.
The effects of the door’s magic are already tugging at his features.
They smooth the lines of his face. His posture slowly straightens.
The white cloud of hair on the top of his head darkens.
Time turns back until Frank looks like the man he was on the day he lost everything.
He steps through the doorway, his boot-clad feet sinking into the sand. Gideon curls his hand around the door, and begins to close it behind him.
“Wait,” I beg. “Please. I need to make sure he’s okay.”
A white-blond eyebrow arches. “You’re not exactly in a position to ask for things, Darcy.”
But he doesn’t shut the door.
Frank shades his eyes against the sun as he stares down the length of the beach. Looking, looking, looking. In the distance, a massive stone formation rises from the surf. An arch that makes a perfect circle with its reflection.
“Daddy!”
A small blue blur darts across the sand, dark hair streaming behind her as she climbs the dunes. Frank immediately falls to his knees and the little girl collides with his chest. His arms snap around her.
Another figure appears over the dunes. Strawberry-blond hair and a flower dress.
Gideon closes the door before we can see anything else.
“The rest belongs to them,” he says solemnly as the door quietly clicks shut.
I sniff and nod, unfolding Frank’s handkerchief and trying to use it to mop up the mess on my face. I bet I look like a drowned raccoon. A woodland creature that’s been tortured and waterboarded for information.
Gideon crosses to the other side of the desk, frowning up at the massive file cabinets. His mouth moves wordlessly, almost as if he’s reciting something from memory. I catch the edge of a whisper, his voice a broken plea around a name.
Bella—
Isabella.
“Who are you looking for?” I ask.
He glances at me, startled. “No one,” he answers quickly. “I was, ah—it’s been some time since I’ve been in this room.”
I nod. Centuries, at least. “I suppose it’s odd for you to be back.”
He adjusts his watch, then straightens his cuff links. Every piece of his mask, carefully put back into place. “Odd is one word for it,” he murmurs.
The room quickly plunges into an awkward silence. I’ve never been in here without Maverick before, and never for more than a handful of minutes. I shift my scythe from hand to hand, Frank’s handkerchief between my palm at the wood.
“What happens now?” I finally ask as Gideon lingers, his face still angled toward Maverick’s desk.
“Now,” he answers slowly, distracted until he shakes his head and forces his attention back on me.
“Now you are formally placed on administrative leave.” He snaps his fingers and a lanyard appears around my neck.
I pluck the badge off my chest and study the picture.
It’s from my first day in the department, my eyes comically round and my cheeks drawn.
I’m still wearing the hospital gown from when I died.
Across the picture in bold red lettering is the word SUSPENDED.
I frown. “What am I being suspended from?”
“Your duties. Until I figure out what to do with you.”
“Oh.” That doesn’t sound so bad. I was expecting fire and brimstone. Maybe something with one of those medieval torture devices I found in a storage closet on the second floor. “I guess that’s fine.”
“So glad you’re in agreement. That was important to me.” Behind his glasses, I get the distinct impression that Gideon is rolling his eyes. “You’ll be assisting customer service while you await my decision.”
He strolls past me for the door on the other end of the office.
“Wait. What?” I rush to catch up. I have to take three hopping steps for each of his long strides. “For how long?”
“Until I say so.”
“What about Gabriel?” Even saying his name is a fist around my heart. “What happens to him now?”
Gideon shrugs, shaking me off like a fly. “I don’t presume to know the inner workings of the Guardians’ office.”
“I don’t want this to count as his third strike. What happened wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t involved, all he did was—”
“Fall in love with the wrong woman, as some of us are wont to do.” Gideon stops quickly, and I stumble straight into his back.
He grips my arm and hauls me upright, holding me in place.
The expression on his face is quiet, all-encompassing fury.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Darcy. You do not make demands of me.
For once, you will do as you are told. You will report to customer service.
You will sit behind that desk with a smile on your face.
You will wait for me to decide your fate, and you will not cause any more trouble. ”
I pause.
“But what if—”
Gideon releases me with a groan, turning and storming toward the door. “Leave me alone,” he snaps. “I have things to do.” He shakes his head and drags a frustrated hand over his face. “I promised her I wouldn’t be here,” he mutters to himself. “I need to not be here.”
My brow pinches. “Who did you promise?”
He pauses in front of the stretch of white wall, an outline of a door appearing in front of him. He doesn’t reach for the handle. He doesn’t so much as twitch.
“It doesn’t matter,” he finally says. But I feel like it does.
“Why have you been away from the department, Gideon?” I ask. “Who did you promise?”
Shadows creep up from the collar of his shirt. He rolls his neck to the side, his hands curled into fists. It’s the first time I’ve seen him lose even the slightest bit of control, and I wonder what type of person has such an effect on the head of all Reapers.
“Report to customer service,” he tosses over his shoulder. “I’ll find you when I have an update on your status.”
He snaps his fingers, and the scythe in my hand dissipates. Then the door slams shut, and I am alone.