Page 61 of Grim Tidings

Darcy’s mouth turns down at the corners.

“He was holding her hand, down on one knee to talk to her. I yelled at him to stop, to come back, but either they couldn’t hear me or chose not to. They disappeared the next moment, and then her mother was there.”

I can still hear her screams. Sometimes at night, I lie awake and I can hear all the cries of the people I didn’t get a chance to save, a dull pain across my chest seeming to throb in time with them.

I wet my lips. “I didn’t see the second soul. I saw the Reaper. I was serving meals in a community hospital, and I could feel the press of her magic when it was time. They were gone before I could find the right room. And then I was gone, too.”

The anger is as much of a wound as the ones across my chest. I had been so close, both times. Close enough to reach out and grab the mortals. If only I had been faster, paid closer attention.

“What did they do to you?” Darcy whispers. Her eyes are wet. Luminous.

I turn away and take another long drink from the bottle.

“They carved me open with my own sword,” I say, dragging the back of my hand across my mouth. “They didn’t even hold me down. They just—” I shake my head, not wanting to think about it. How slowly it happened. How I had fallen to my knees with blood running down my torso and it still didn’t feel like payment enough. “You have people you answer to. So do I.”

“And your tattoos?”

“What about them?”

She lightly touches the wings of a butterfly on the outside of my forearm. “Are they a punishment as well?”

“No, these are—” I laugh a little bit. “These are mementos, I guess. One appears whenever I move on to a new place. They’re supposed to symbolize a life I’ve touched.” I glance down at my chest. There’s a vine that curves from my rib cage up, the leaves spread wide. I spent three years working on a vineyard in San Gimignano. The vine appeared as soon as I left. “Sometimes I understand them; most of the time I don’t.”

I’ve helped thousands of people, some of them significant enough to leave a mark upon my skin. This is where I wear the proof of my pride. There’s nothing more important than that.

“All of these tattoos,” Darcy says quietly. “And two scars.”

I can hear what she’s not saying. I’ve lost two souls, yes, but I’ve saved countless others.

But a thousand good deeds don’t make up for what I’ve lost.

“Not two scars,” I gently correct her. “Two souls. Two people.”

She nods. “And what happens if you lose another?”

“If I lose another soul to a Reaper, then I’ll no longer be a Guardian.” I lift my eyes to hers. “If I lose another soul, they’ll take my wings.”

Chapter Fourteen

Darcy

The wine feels like lead in my stomach. I’m staring at the angry marks on Gabriel’s chest, and I feel like I can’t catch my breath.

“But that’s not fair,” I whisper.

Gabriel’s laugh is all sharp edges. “Yeah, well. Not much about the afterlife is based on parity, Darcy. You should know that by now.”

“But if you don’t know which souls are important—” I shake my head. “How are you supposed to protect everyone, all the time?”

“Because that’s my job.”

He lumbers to his feet, bending to pick up the wine bottle. He tips it back, but it’s empty. Only a drip or two comes out. He tosses it to the side and reaches for another.

“You’ve only lost two souls in over a thousand years,” I say. “That’s—”

Gabriel’s shoulders pull tight. “It’s unacceptable. To lose any life is unacceptable.”

My mouth snaps shut. Gabriel moves around the room, checking bottles, hell-bent on finding a distraction at the bottom of one. I know that feeling well. How many times have I tried to outrun my own ghosts?