Page 32 of Grim Tidings

I smile serenely. A perfectly laid trap.

“Yes, Gabriel. We have a deal.”

Chapter Eight

Gabriel

I have no intention of helping her.

Why would I? I don’t know who she thought she was convincing with her little sob story, but it certainly wasn’t me.

A list.

Bumper cars. Swim at sunset. Change a tire. Adopt a pet. I find it hard to believe that a Reaper would risk eternal damnation and the wrath of a department full of immortals to … change a tire.

But I’ll play the game. We’ll do her list. I’ll keep her close, and hopefully I’ll be able to put a stop to whatever it is she’s truly here to do. I don’t believe for a second she has any intention of saving that soul. I think she came here expecting a quick collection but ran into an unexpected complication when she discovered me.

I think she wants me distracted.

It’s the only explanation as to why she’s sitting at the end of my bar looking like that.

“Stop it,” I snap as I walk past her for the fifth time, a can of Natty Boh in each hand.

“Stop what?” she hisses.

I slide the beers to the fishermen watching the game on the TV above the bar, then lean over and grab the straw out her mouth. I toss it in the bin behind me.

“Stop chewing on the straw.”

“You’re the one who gave me the straw.”

“To drink with.”

Her pupils blow out, only a thin ring of light brown at the outer edges. Her hands press against the bar top and black smudges appear. She covertly lifts her middle finger, a tiny flame where her nail should be.

“Very mature.” My magic rises to meet hers, a fury in my blood and in my chest. Cold metal presses against my palm as it sings through the ink that lines my forearm. “No death magic in my bar.”

“Then stop acting like such an asshole,” she grinds out. Her hands curl back into fists, and the flame disappears. She rolls her shoulders back, and her eyes return to a soft amber. She glares at me. “It was your idea to have me here, remember?”

I release the hilt of my sword and it sinks back into my skin.

Our partnership is off to a rocky start.

“Yeah,” I bite out, feeling nothing but regret. Because her hair is down tonight, undone from the braid she seems to prefer. Long, heavy waves of brown spill over her shoulders. I am distracted at best. Bewitched, at worst. I clear my throat. “We need to talk about what you want to do off your list. And I wanted to see if you recognize anyone who comes into the bar.”

Her eyes narrow in suspicion. “Are you trying to find a way around our agreement?”

“No.” Yes.

“Because I hate to break it to you, but a confetti cannon doesn’t explode once I find my assignment.” She presses up on the bottom rung of her stool and reaches over me, grabbing another straw from the container. She slides it into her mouth with a sharp look. “And I can’t look around when you’re constantly stopping to talk to me.”

“I’m not—”

“You’ve been over here four times. Go bother someone else.”

“Fine.”

“Great.”