Page 24 of Grim Tidings

“The dog’s name is … Tater Tot?”

He looks more like a Venom. Fang, maybe. Diesel. Something that inspires a vague sense of intimidation, not a … fried potato.

Darcy nods and stares down at the dog. Her whole face softens. “That’s the only thing I’ve been able to get him to eat.”

“You didn’t try—”

“If you say the internal organs of my latest victims, I will use my scythe on you.”

I have to roll my lips against my grin, and I hate that, too. How easy this feels, when I should want nothing to do with her. But I can’t stop thinking about her face when she said she didn’t want to be here. My instincts were screaming Help her, and my instincts are rarely wrong.

“I was going to suggest kibble, but please threaten me some more. Louder, this time. So, the people listening can get their testimony right.”

The tiny old woman on the corner has crossed the street, pretending to check the mailbox of a house she definitely doesn’t own. A mailman with a thick mustache is pretending to fix the strap of his bag, loitering by the streetlight.

I move closer. The dog—Tater Tot, apparently—rumbles another low growl. I extend my hand to brush between his ears—the same way Darcy did a moment ago—but he nearly takes my fingers off with a snap.

Darcy snickers.

I curl my fingers into a fist. “What are you doing, Darcy?”

“I’m walking my dog.”

“What are you doing here, Darcy? I thought I asked you to leave.”

She rolls her eyes. “Well, you see, you don’t actually dictate where I go. Just because you said something, doesn’t mean I have to—”

I grip her arm and drag her into me, forcing a smile on my face for the people watching. I keep my grip loose enough for her to twist away if she wants to, but that doesn’t stop Tater Tot from wedging his big body between our thighs, his hot breath against the back of my knee.

“My dog is about to snack on your tendons,” Darcy says through clenched teeth. “Let go of me.”

“Not until you tell me what you’re up to.”

“You really want to rehash it again?”

“Yes. But the truth this time, if you don’t mind.”

She tips her head back and studies my face. “People are staring, Gabriel.”

I forcibly soften my expression and drag my hand down her arm until our palms are pressed together. She tries to jerk out of my grip, but I tangle our fingers together, holding tight. “There. Now there’s nothing to see.”

Another low growl from Tater Tot.

“Now they’re staring harder,” she whispers.

“Let them stare, then.” Her hand flexes in mine. “I need you to take me seriously.”

It’s more than professional pride on the line. It’s my survival. The rough, scarred skin across my chest is a daily reminder of that. I don’t have the luxury of giving Darcy the benefit of the doubt.

Darcy huffs. “Consider me warned.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Want me to sign something? I could write it across your forehead if you want. I, Darcy Moore, officially listed Reaper at the Department of Hauntings and Spirits, do hereby promise to not cause any undue strife or suffering in this port town.”

“So you’ll leave.”

“I never said that.”