Page 17 of Grim

NoTurningBackNow

F lipping through my notebook, contemplating how to live my final days, my reverie is broken by a discordant twang of a cello. Kane reaches into his breast pocket and removes his mobile device. It’s the first time I have noticed the design.

“Is your phone shaped like a headstone?”

“Not just any headstone, Mayday. Mine.”

“Really?”

“Indeed. All soul shepherds are issued theirs after Processing and Assignment.”

“What’s written on there?” I ask, trying to read the etchings.

Kane moves farther away from me as he scans the device. “It says I had a good run. Now, back to bed with you.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes way. My next scheduled case just came due. I still need to handle my essential workload. I won’t be long.”

“Take me with you,” I state emphatically.

“No,” he replies just as emphatically.

“You won’t even know I’m there.”

“You asked before, and the answer has not changed. Now, be a doll and tie yourself up in the bed again. I’ll be back tout suite .”

I don’t care what this six-foot-something reaper with questionable taste in poetry and an unquestionably sharp tongue says; he is not cutting me out of getting the most out of my last days on Earth.

I cross my arms defiantly and state, “I’m coming.”

“Absolutely not,” Kane snaps for the twelfth time, pacing my living room like a man desperately searching for the nearest escape hatch.

“C’mon,” I whine, stalking him like a cat preparing for attack. “How bad could it be? You just show up, escort a soul out of a body, and brood dramatically while looking all domineering in a crisp black suit—”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he says flatly. “And it’s much more complicated than that, Rue. It requires nuance, patience, and precision.”

I put my ego aside and lay it on thick. “And I’m sure you’re wonderful at it. How lucky I am to be able to learn at the feet of the master.”

He raises one eyebrow, unmoved.

“Fine, if fawning fails, there’s always bribery.” I smirk sadistically.

Kane stops pacing, finally looking at me. “With what exactly? Besides your pretty soul, which already has my name on it, you possess nothing of interest to me.”

My smile is slow and devious, causing him to shudder. “Esther.”

His entire body goes rigid. “That thing is not a bargaining chip.”

“You take me with you,” I say, my voice sickeningly sweet, “and I’ll keep my kitty at bay.

You insist on flying solo, and I can’t promise that Esther won’t ‘accidentally’ end up using your suit jacket as a bed.

Or worse, she loves curling up on chests.

Big, broad, dead ones are new for her, but I’m quite sure she’d love to nestle into that cavity and—”

“FINE.” Kane’s voice is sharp and clipped, the single syllable sounding as though it were forcibly ripped from his throat.

He glares at me with pure, undiluted venom, the kind of look that, in any other circumstance, would make me very concerned for my continued existence. But seeing as I’m on a tight timeline here with zero fucks left to give, I grin like a person with nothing to lose. Because, well … I don’t.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” I say brightly as a delighted cackle echoes from the kitchen.

I turn just in time to see the ghost child pop his head out of the wall—never mind the fact that his entire head is phasing through solid matter like this is some low-budget haunted house attraction.

I shudder, and my knees go weak. This will take some getting used to.

For years, I felt the energy of this spirit, saw and heard the effects of its petulant disturbances, but now, I can see it.

Him. This is one of the side effects of my brief dance on the other side of life’s coin, according to Kane.

“This one here’s a pushover.” The kid jerks a thumb at Kane.

The gesture is so simple yet so profound, and my mind swirls as I try to make sense of this mystical reality. While I grapple with the mysteries of lost souls, Kane rolls his eyes so hard that I fear they might never return.

“I, for one, find Esther to be a delightful companion,” the ghost adds, as though twisting the knife into Kane’s side.

The fact that my house spirit has an affinity for my house cat fascinates me enough to swallow my fear and confusion and address the child directly.

“You hang out with Esther?” I ask, more impressed than concerned.

The kid shrugs his skinny shoulders before stepping fully through the wall—a disorienting sight I don’t expect to get used to in the next week—and makes his way to my sleeping beast of a cat.

“Before you could see me, it was quite lonely around here,” he says matter-of-factly, brushing his fingers near Esther’s fur, which—judging by the violent twitching of her tail—is not appreciated.

“Especially being trapped in the confines of the house. Esther here was the first to take notice of me.”

I take in the seeming realness of this spectral entity. How many times has he been sitting like that? In this house? Next to me. Near me. Beside me. The visual reality of his presence sends chills down my spine, but I push past my anxiety and reach out to the child .

I feel drawn to him and physically raise my arm toward him as I ask, “What’s your name?”

Kane clears his throat loudly, forcefully. “This is all very fascinating, really. I haven’t been this stimulated since that summer in Barcelona.” His tone has a carnal, almost-lustful edge to it as he seems to remember something about Spain.

The sharp pang of jealousy I feel takes me by surprise. I watch as he pulls a flask from the inside of his suit jacket, takes a long, slow drink, then caps the container dramatically.

“But I have a tight schedule,” he continues, adjusting his sleeves with practiced indifference. “So, I need to get moving.”

“Right,” I say, trying not to sound nervous even though I absolutely am. “So, do I order a rideshare or …” I trail off as Kane walks through the kitchen, heading toward the back door like this is some casual neighborhood stroll and not an excursion into the world of literal death.

I wave to the ghost boy before jogging after Kane, my bare feet slapping against the cold floor.

“Where are you going?” I pant, struggling to keep up with his annoyingly long, supernatural strides.

“I told you,” he huffs, not even sparing me a glance, “Time waits for no one.”

I expect him to head toward the driveway or maybe even the woods, but, no, this asshole heads straight for my father’s final resting place.

I bristle immediately.

“Hey!” I snap, shoving him.

Kane stumbles slightly, more out of shock than actual force, before raising his hands in mock surrender, causing me to lose my balance and fall straight to my knees.

I scramble back to my feet, brushing the dirt off my legs with extra aggression. “Get off his grave.”

Kane rolls his eyes before adjusting his sleeves again because, apparently, being an insufferable piece of shit requires constant tailoring. “Control yourself.”

“You’re standing on my father’s grave!” I hiss, throwing my arms up. “That’s extremely disrespectful.”

Kane smirks. “I don’t think he can feel anything anymore. ”

I glare, mustering the strength to kick him square in his smug, statuesque face, but before I get the chance, he takes a deep breath, straightens his lapels, and says, “Relax, Rue. These aren’t graves.

They’re portals. We bury bodies to keep the memory alive.

That’s fleeting, of course. But the intention is in the right place.

And these places become passageways to travel in, around, and through.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to bend time and space. Be right back.”

“What about me?” I demand.

“I thought you said you were getting a car. I can text you the address.”

I fold my arms. “I’m going with you.”

Kane laughs. Not just any laugh. No, a borderline-hysterical, utterly baffled, full-bodied laugh that makes him look maniacal. Sinister.

Sexy … I admit to myself very reluctantly.

“You can’t,” he says, still chuckling. “Mortals can’t portal.”

I lift my chin. “Seems like there are a lot of things I can do that I shouldn’t be able to.”

His smirk falters.

“It’s not happening. Even if the Reaper Regulations got this wrong, which is highly unlikely, you wouldn’t want to. The trip would be too disorienting.”

“Awww, is Kane showing concern?” I raise a brow as he grimaces.

“Yeah, concern about having to rearrange your insides or scrape your innards off the floor.”

“I’ll take the chance. What have I got to lose?” I shoot him a wink.

“No, Mayday,” he states firmly. “Not happening. I’m not even sure where to begin explaining the complexities of this to you. There’s no—”

“Hold me,” I order, causing Kane’s entire body to go stiff.

“No,” he fires back.

“Yes.”

“Never.”

“Always.” I smirk, watching him visibly shudder.

“Leave.” He points toward the house like I’m some misbehaving child. “Go back inside. I command it. ”

I roll my eyes so hard that I see stars before stalking toward him. Kane backs away, retreating until he’s pressed against my father’s headstone.

“Shut up and hold me,” I say, voice low, challenging.

Kane’s green eyes narrow, and for a second, I think he might actually depart without me.

I don’t give him a chance. Before he knows what’s happening, I throw my arms around his neck and jump, wrapping my legs around his waist like a human belt.

Kane stiffens violently, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, like he’s just been doused in ice water.

My pelvis presses into his, our bodies chest to chest, and our eyes lock.

The air shifts, and I can feel Kane’s body tense tightly.

That instant of discomfort passes powerfully into a moment of pure connection.

It’s almost as though every point of contact between us sparks an electric charge.

I can feel him in a way I’ve never felt anyone before.

Pinpricks of pressure tingle along my forearms, down my chest, and unmistakably between my thighs.

His skin heats, literally warms instantly, like that first grip of a freshly poured cup of coffee.

And just before he speaks, we breathe each other in, mouths slightly parted, faces inches apart.

“Get. Off.” His voice is strained, his whole body rigid with panic.

“Maybe. Later.” I grin, squeezing tighter, the innuendo surprising me as much as it does the soul sucker in my grasp.

Kane makes a deep, guttural noise of distress, somewhere between a groan and a growl, and tilts his head toward the sky momentarily before returning his gaze to mine.

Something primal lights behind his green gaze, and I feel his entire being shift.

His legs and shoulders soften slightly. His arms, which had previously been ramrod straight, bend, and his long fingers press against my skinny back.

He confidently presses our bodies ever tighter together, his strength surprising yet reassuring.

“No turning back now, little one.”

He closes his eyes, a low rumble begins to grow from the ground, and my entire world gets flipped upside down.