Page 20 of Grim Tidings

“I found him,” I explain, then bite the inside of my cheek. “I couldn’t leave him bleeding out alone.”

“Perhaps you should have.” He waves his hand, and the mud and the grime disappear. “My carpets would be better for it.”

“I’m sure your routines will recover, Maverick.”

He gives me a reproachful look. “There is an order to things. You know this. You cannot claim lives you haven’t been assigned.”

“I understand.”

“Clearly, you don’t.”

“I understand now. Isn’t there a section in the rule book about the lives of animals? Aren’t they held to different operational policies?”

Maverick studies me and I fight the urge to fidget. Quoting the rule book at the man who wrote it is a bold move.

“You’ve done your homework,” he says quietly, shrewd eyes appraising from behind his glasses. “Very well.” He pulls the file from beneath his arm and flattens the bent corner. “But unfortunately for you both, I’m late for a meeting. You’ll have to process him another time.”

I blink at him. The Eric Clapton in the corner drifts to its conclusion and then starts up again, the same song on repeat. I honestly don’t know how Maverick gets anything done in this insanity-inducing room.

“What do you mean?”

Maverick extends his arm and glances at his watch. “I’m late for a meeting. I cannot admit your”—he makes another disgruntled face in the direction of the dog—“ friend right now. Make an appointment in the ledger and come back then.”

“I’m sorry. You want me to come back?”

“That is what I said, yes.”

“What am I supposed to do with him until then?”

Maverick starts striding down the length of the room, away from me. “You could take him to the lounge on the fifth floor. The one we used in the Crusades.”

That’s right. When there were so many souls to admit, they had to take a number. A little white tab, like the ones you get at the deli.

“That lounge smells like fried onions and armpits.”

“I daresay your companion might like that,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Maverick,” I call. “Be serious.”

“I’m always serious.” It doesn’t matter how far away he moves. I can still hear his voice as if he’s standing right next to me. The acoustics in this place are bizarre. “You may permit him to another area of this building to await his appointment. That is the best I can offer.” He waves his hand, and a door appears within the empty wall. He swings it open, another unassuming hallway just over his shoulder. No labels. No frills. Just corporate white walls and fluorescent lighting. “But I suggest you deposit your wayward soul quickly and get back to what you’re supposed to be doing. Management doesn’t take kindly to side quests.”

“This isn’t a side quest, it’s—”

He swings the door shut behind him, uninterested in my explanation. The outline fades back into the wall. I sigh and stare down at the dog.

I could take him to the waiting room. I should take him to the waiting room. Maverick is right. This dog isn’t my assignment. The tree gave me someone else, and … that’s my job. To collect that soul.

But I don’t want to.

I want something different. And if the universe doesn’t see fit to give me a break, well …

I’ll just take it instead.

Chapter Six

Gabriel

I don’t need your help,” Frank gripes at me from the back entrance of his flower shop, bony hands on his bony hips, his apron stained with soil. “I am capable of moving my own deliveries through the door.”