Page 78 of Grim Tidings

Cracked glasses.

Somewhere down the road, tires squeal against the asphalt. A beat-up SUV rounds the traffic circle, barreling too fast down the narrow road. The windows are cracked, and there’s a Fleetwood Mac song on the radio.

Wet pavement, I think hazily. Cracked glasses.

Nate is wearing his glasses today, the thick frames splattered with raindrops in the storm. He can’t see.

He can’t see.

“Fuck,” I mutter, turning to stop him. To push him back with my magic. To do something. But my hands are shaking, and everything is moving too fast. The car, the storm, Nate. I’m too far away. I’m not fast enough. I’m frozen, again, and I can’t—I can’t—

Farther up the street, a black blur moves across the sidewalk. Darcy sprints through the rain, her dark hair streaming behind her. My heart lurches, and I know what she’s going to do the second before she does it.

“No,” I whisper.

She runs into the street without hesitation, her hand extended. The car banks to the left, trying to avoid her, but the back tires skid out. The car is moving too fast. The roadway is too wet. The SUV slides and Darcy, she’s right in the way—

There’s a flash of black, a high-pitched yelp, the squeal of tires, and then—

Nothing.

Chapter Eighteen

Darcy

The first time I died, there was no great white light. No gently trilling harp music. No golden gates.

There was just a corporate hallway with tacky carpet and a busted fluorescent light.

Now, though. Now there’s calloused hands against my face, holding me carefully like I’m made of spun glass. A rough voice calling my name, and a low pulse of warmth that starts in my palms and vibrates out. If I had to choose a death experience, it would be this one. Every time.

Then reality comes rushing up to bite me in the ass, and I know only pain.

“Ow,” I groan, like I’ve fallen and skinned my knee instead of tossed my body in the path of a careening vehicle. I squint open one eye, raindrops pelting my face. The storm has let up a little, but not much. It smells like burnt rubber and car exhaust and that damn song is still playing, too loud, vibrating through my bones where I’m splayed awkwardly across the road.

And Gabriel is kneeling over me, water dripping from his dark hair down his nose. There’s no trace of his curls, flattened by the rain, and his face is—

Well. His face is furious.

“You little fucking idiot,” he seethes. He can’t seem to decide where to settle his hands, moving them over me in a frenzy. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Behind him, Nate appears. He pushes his glasses up his nose, his face less furious. More concerned.

And alive.

I smile.

“I did it,” I whisper.

“Gave me a fucking heart attack? Yeah. You did. Congratulations.”

My head rocks back and forth against the asphalt. “Nate,” I whisper. “He’s okay.”

Gabriel’s hands pause. A deep, rattling sigh presses out of his chest. He’s connecting the dots and figuring out I’ve been lying to him for the better part of two weeks.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “He’s okay.”

“I saved him?”