Page 44 of Grim Tidings

Her head pops up in the middle of the narrow stretch of river, her dark hair slicked back from her face. Her smile is so wide, I almost don’t recognize her.

“It’s freezing!” she shouts, her body sinking down until she’s sub-merged to her chin. “And it smells like something died in here!”

I meander down the length of the dock until I’m at the very edge, staring down at her. Her body is a slash of white beneath the dark surface, feet kicking.

“There is something dead in there,” I point out. The itch between my shoulder blades has graduated to a painful throb, my instincts roaring. I bat them away. “I’m looking right at her.”

She slips backward in the water with a quiet chuckle, closing her eyes. She lets her body float to the surface.

I don’t look away.

I’m just making sure she’s okay, I assure myself. I can’t make sure she’s okay if I’m not looking.

Her long, pale legs. The smooth dip of her belly. The flare of her hips. My eyes linger on each place like a sailor at sea, spotting shore. My gaze trails over the thin band of black lace at her hip and I dig my knuckles into my thigh. The delicate fabric clings to her body like it’s been poured over her. She looks like a painting from the sixteenth century, when men thought they could capture the gods with the strokes of a brush.

“All right. Great jump.” My voice sounds like the gravel road we just rumbled down. “You owe me some information now.”

She paddles around in a circle. “I want to jump again.”

I scowl. “Your list didn’t say anything about multiple jumps.”

“My list also didn’t say jump into a bog, but apparently we’re all doing a little bit of—”

She goes underwater mid-sentence, a stream of bubbles the only indication of her location. I wait for her to pop back up, to rib me some more about skirting semantics to cross an item off her list, but she doesn’t.

“Darcy?”

The water is still. Silent.

I inch closer, studying the green-gray surface. This part of the river is mostly still, protected by the shelter of various creeks and tributaries. But with the sun tucked behind the clouds, I can’t see beneath. Everything is shadowed and dark.

She probably can’t see below the surface either.

“Darcy?” I call again, my magic flaring hot down the length of my spine. “Darcy!”

Nothing.

I yank off my jacket, and then the flannel underneath. In just my white T-shirt and jeans, I feel the bite of the early October air, even through the protection of my magic. I grind out a string of profanity and then dive into the water, aiming for the last place I saw her. It’s cold enough to resonate but not shock, tiny razor blades slicing minuscule paper cuts against my skin.

I kick to the surface and tread water as I push my hair out of my face, turning in a circle, looking for any sign of her. It isn’t deep.

I thought it would be fine.

Water splashes behind me.

“Boo,” a voice whispers.

I turn and Darcy is floating behind me, her face low to the water and her hair spread against the surface. Her eyes crinkle in a smile. “You know I don’t need to breathe, right? I can’t drown.”

I want to haul her from the water. I want to push her back beneath the surface. This damn woman. “It looked like something grabbed you,” I defend. I’ve never sounded more petulant.

She flicks the surface of the water, sending droplets across my face. “You were worried.”

“No.”

“You were. You wanted to save the dead girl.”

“I didn’t,” I say again.