Page 26 of Grim Tidings

“Fine.”

“With whipped cream. And a cherry. Two cherries!”

“Fine,” he says again. “Go sit down.”

He swings open the door hard enough to slam it back against a sign advertising the burger of the day, sending it crashing to the ground. I have to physically turn away and bury my laugh in my arm when he immediately bends down to fix it.

Tater Tot and I pick the table opposite of the one he pointed to, just because.

He emerges five minutes later with a plastic number card held between his teeth and a to-go cup in each hand. He gives me one, drops our order number on the table, then collapses into the empty seat across from me.

I take a dainty sip from my milkshake and try not to immediately flinch at the rancid taste.

“What is this?” I rasp. This drink belongs in the bottommost pit of hell. In a science lab, with a hazmat label.

Gabriel smirks. “It’s your drink.”

“This is not a strawberry milkshake.” I’m pretty sure it’s sewage water. Did he walk into the kitchen and ask them to empty the dish-washer into a to-go cup?

He smiles at me, his cherry-red straw caught between his teeth. “I got you a daily green super blend.” His cheeks hollow as he slurps noisily. “Very healthy.”

My eyes narrow. “And yours?”

“A strawberry milkshake,” he answers. He drags his tongue along a sharp incisor, an angled incongruity in his otherwise pretty boy smile. “With whipped cream,” he adds.

Magic pulses in my hands, looking for an outlet. I dig my finger-nails into my palms. “Are you aware that you’re an asshole?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Just for you, sweetheart.”

I believe it. As far as I can tell, Gabriel is nice to everyone but me. I got to bask in the glow of that version of him for exactly one evening before my designation robbed me of it.

This was a mistake. I don’t know why I thought I could convince him to help me. I liked the idea of having someone on my side, but we’re working with two separate sets of rules and an ironclad evaluation of my character. If he’s not willing to get me a milkshake, I sincerely doubt he’s going to help me defy the department and save a soul.

It’s the first foolish misstep in an otherwise careful plan. As soon as I decided I would take Tater Tot instead of processing him, I put precautions in place. I filled out the appropriate paperwork. I formally added him to the holding room log. Then I bundled him with an oversize quilt I found in a utility closet and hauled him through the street entrance of the department. It took us some time to find our way back to town, but we managed.

Honestly, I didn’t know I could take a lost soul out of the department. I thought there would be something holding them in place. But there wasn’t, and I did, and I intend to exploit that loophole. The paper trail I left should buy me a week or two, especially with how slow things move with processing. I’m counting on Maverick operating at his usual snail’s pace.

But now Gabriel knows. And he could end everything with a snap of his tattooed fingers.

He’s silent on the other side of the table, and I busy myself with a straw wrapper. The burger shop has pumpkins in the window. A half-hearted string of autumn garland beneath the faded awning.

“Is it Halloween soon?”

“Why? Do your powers magnify under the light of a full moon?” He slurps from the milkshake again and my eye starts to twitch. “Do you go full wraith, drifting about in your robe?”

Maybe I should. Maybe he wouldn’t be so smug if I leaned into the full magnitude of my powers.

Still, I try to be patient.

“I’m not trying to argue with you, Gabriel.”

“Okay. Then what is it you want, Darcy?”

He’s leaning forward with his elbows on the table, the sheepskin collar of his denim jacket turned up against the autumn chill. His neck is surprisingly bare of tattoos. The only marks he has are two faint lines of scar tissue—thick and jagged—inching out from the collar of his shirt.

Interesting.

“I want a strawberry milkshake, but all I have is this dirt water.”