Page 50 of Grim Tidings

I like that idea. I like it a lot.

“I just need time,” I say quietly. “I need time to figure out what I’m doing.”

Aelia measures the weight of my words, her frown fierce. The expression on her face is such a contrast to the bright and sparkly outfit she’s wearing. Not for the first time, I wonder if maybe Aelia uses her clothes to hold on to some of the things she lost, too.

She turns back toward the window. Tater Tot has the curtain around his face like a bonnet now, his nose pressed up against the glass.

Aelia sighs. “This is such a bad idea.”

“I’m not asking you to help.”

“I know that, but I’m going to do it anyway.”

I blink. “Okay?”

“If you insist on going rogue, then the least I can do is throw a couple distractions behind you.” She runs her hands along the folds of her sequin skirt, making colors dance across my black jacket. “I can hold them off for a little bit, Darcy. But not forever. Whatever you intend to do, you need to do it quickly.”

“I can manage that.”

She fixes me with a heavy look. “They will come for you eventually. I followed your magic. That means someone else can, too.”

Easy enough. I’ll just stop using my magic. It’s never been reliable for me anyway.

“And whatever it is you’re doing here,” Aelia continues. “You’ll need a plan for when it ends.”

“I know,” I whisper.

“Okay,” she says. Then she sighs and looks at the pumpkin. “What were you doing with that thing?”

“The pumpkin.”

“Yes.”

“I was going to carve it.”

“Why?”

“It’s a … tradition. Have you never been around the mortals for Halloween?”

“I suppose I haven’t.” Aelia’s face brightens. “Oh! Is this the trick-or-treating? I’ve heard there’s candy involved.”

“There is.”

She rubs her hands together. “Very good. I think I’ll partake.”

I try to picture it. Aelia traipsing down the street with her cloak and her scythe. “I don’t think trick-or-treating is for immortal beings.”

“Luckily for me, I don’t look like an immortal being. I look like a child.”

“You look like a menace, bound within the body of an eight-year-old.”

“Exactly.” She grins. “A child. A child who can collect chocolate from unsuspecting mortals.”

She bounces her way to the front door of my borrowed townhome, her light-up shoes alternating pink and then blue and then pink again. “I suppose I should meet the beast, yes?”

I roll my lips against my smile. “Might as well.”

Chapter Twelve