Page 133 of Grim Tidings

Then I open my eyes, and she’s not there.

Those are the hardest mornings, too.

But this Christmas ghost doesn’t need to bear witness to my heartache. I offer him a nod. “Right, so. We’ll leave you to it.”

I retreat down the hallway and try not to see Darcy in every shadow.

“Oh. Hey,” I call. Nolan glances up from his mug of tea. “Who are you here for?”

He arches an eyebrow.

“Who are you meant to haunt?” I ask. “For the holiday season.”

He digs around in the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out a slip of white paper.

“Harriet York,” he says. “Owner of the Crow’s Nest.”

“Ah. The antiques shop girl.” I readjust the box in my arms so I can grab the door handle. “She’s a nice lady.”

He snorts. “Apparently not.”

All right, well. I’ve officially reached my limit on socializing with wayward ghosts for the day. It seems Nolan has, too, as he turns toward the window above the sink, dismissing me. I slip out the front without another word and let the door shut behind me. The click of it feels final.

I try not to read too much into it.

“C’mon,” I tell Tater Tot. “Let’s go home.”

There’s a saying, somewhere. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Rafael is waiting for me on a barstool when I get back, drinking a glass of champagne and wearing another tiedye shirt. He gives me a two-fingered salute as soon as I’m through the door.

“Do you have a key I don’t know about?”

“No.” He gives me a lopsided grin. “You’re just an idiot and keep one under the mat.”

I suppose my luck had to run out at some point. I’ve been waiting for the consequences of my failure to appear for the past few weeks, and now they’re here. Sitting at my bar. Drinking my most expensive bottle of champagne.

“How’re you doing, Rafe?”

I drop the box of Darcy’s things at the base of the stairwell behind the bar and grab a bottle of scotch, pouring myself a hefty glass. The last time I had punishment carved into my skin, I couldn’t lift my left arm for weeks. If Rafe is here to collect what is due, then I intend to be pleasantly buzzed.

Rafe sets his elbows on the bar, dangling his flute of champagne between his fingers like some society wife. “You ignored your summons.”

A week ago, a rolled scroll appeared in the middle of my kitchen table. I didn’t bother reading it before I burned it to ash with one of my stove burners. I have no interest in catering to the whims of a department that took Darcy away from me.

I drain my glass and immediately pour another. “Figured you knew where to find me.”

“That I do.” He smiles with a tight press of his lips, no humor in his eyes. “I take no pleasure in this, you know. You’ve been one of my favorites. I’m going to miss having you around.”

I laugh. “You’re full of shit. You show up once every hundred or so years, drain my bar dry, then go on your way.”

This time the lines by his eyes crinkle. “I suppose I’ll miss the drinks, then.” He stands from his stool, setting his empty glass over the ledge. “It’s time, Gabriel. Hand me your sword.”

I could fight it. I could probably get in a strike or two before I’m overpowered. But I’m tired, and the fight would hardly be worth it. Rafe is older and stronger. It would be a brief struggle, and then we’d end exactly as we started. With him wielding my own blade against me, a third scar carved against my heart.

So I call my blade from my forearm and toss it on the bar. It lands there with a clatter. Both of Rafe’s eyebrows inch up his forehead. He curls his fingers around the hilt and lifts. Studies the way the light plays along the sharp edges in the almost dark of the bar.

I finish my drink. This is the worst part. The waiting. Holding myself still for the cut through flesh and bone. I deserve it. I know I do. I let Darcy take Frank without hesitation. I had no desire to stop her. I knew he was in safe hands, and I knew it was what he wanted. But I broke the code of the Guardians. I let a mortal slip through my fingers. I didn’t protect Frank. I handed him over.