Page 39 of Grim

Rue takes another pensive sip of her cocktail with similar results before she switches to water. Then she makes a show of putting her earbuds back in while pulling out her phone.

“Should probably call my mom,” she murmurs while pretending to push a contact on her screen.

“Probably wise,” I muse. “I’m sure she’ll have plenty to say about your alcohol-induced hauntings.”

Rue rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Grim.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mayday.” I smirk before resting back against my seat and surveying the restaurant while we wait for her meal.

The inside of Simone’s feels less like a restaurant and more like a relic.

Candle sconces flicker against old brick walls, their flames casting soft gold light over velvet-backed chairs and dark wood floors that creak like they remember every footstep. The air is thick with garlic, bay leaves, and the weight of stories no one bothers to tell anymore.

Above us, iron chandeliers drip with fractured light while portraits of the long dead watch from the walls with eyes gone soft from age. No music plays. Just the gentle hum of voices and the low hiss of something sacred happening in the kitchen.

The scent of roux mingles with something sweeter—bourbon maybe. Even the quiet here feels intentional, like the building is listening.

And Rue—alive, luminous, entirely unaware—sits at the center of it like a flame at the heart of a candelabra.

“This place is so warm and inviting,” Rue says, glancing around with a soft smile.

“Timeless, I would say.”

“Yes!” she exclaims, and a couple at another table glance over. She grins sheepishly and buries her face back in her phone. “ Timeless is a great word for it. I feel transported.”

“And now you see why the Sisters are so protective of their domains.”

She looks a touch confused. “Why?”

“Because time is a construct in many ways. A human invention to demarcate a type of travel we cannot always see. Oh, sure, we notice it in the wrinkles on our skin, the leaves on a tree, or the setting of the sun. But what is that? Movement, surely. But is it linear? Forward or backward only? Trees grow new leaves. The sun rises again the next day. Here anyway,” I add, thinking about the constantly waxing and waning OtherWorld moon.

She stares out the window, her voice soft as she speaks. “Well, I’m about to die, so I’d say time seems to be marching pretty far forward. A line that goes right off the end of a cliff.”

“Look around you again. The candles in the wall sconces, the lace in the curtains, the soft browns and dusty veneer. We are here now. In a place that exists in multiple times at once. Kinda takes the sting out of capital-T Time’s punch, wouldn’t you say?”

Rue’s eyes dance in the reflected light coming through the window. She answers with a beautiful smile.

“But shh,” I say while bringing my finger to my mouth. “Don’t tell the older sister. She gets very upset when holes are poked in her symphony. She likes her sheet music to be read in order.”

The double doors to the kitchen swing open, drawing our attention to a boisterous Charles bringing over a steaming bowl of red stew.

“ Bon appétit, ma chère ,” Charles says, setting the dish in front of Rue.

“Hey, that’s my line. And I thought I liked you, Charles,” I state to the man who cannot hear me.

He waddles off, and I turn my attention to Rue, who’s absorbing the steam and rich, salty aroma of her lunch.

She lifts her fork and scoops a mound of amber-colored rice and broth, then spears a succulent piece of shrimp onto the end before lifting it to her delectable mouth.

I watch her, enrapt, as the bite disappears into her mouth, and she moans.

Her eyelids flutter closed as she chews softly, and her face morphs into a portrait of pleasure.

“Good?” I ask dryly.

“Sweet fuck, Kane. I feel like I’ve snorted a line directly from the heart of the ocean.”

“Disturbing metaphor, but based on the sounds escaping you, I’d venture to say it’s delicious.”

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Ever. Not even close.” Rue purrs again as she scoops another forkful and devours it.

“Careful there, Mayday. Keep making those noises with that look in your eyes, and I’m liable to get insanely jealous of a stew.”

Before Rue can answer, we both look over to find a woman in a white dress and matching hat hovering next to the table. “How is everything?” she asks, her French-accented lilt warm and gentle as she smiles fondly at Rue. “You enjoying that étouffée? ”

“I am. Thank you, ma’am,” Rue says, smiling at the middle-aged woman.

“ Mon plaisir. I will have to let my husband, Jean, know. We do so love to hear our guests are having a nice time.”

“Please pass my compliments along to the chef.”

“I will indeed.” She then turns her gaze my way. “My Jean works so hard back there. It means so much to me to be able to meet with our guests and do all I can to make you feel right at home.”

“Well, I certainly have felt very welcome. I’m sorry. Did you say your husband’s name was Jean? What a coincidence. Didn’t Charles tell us that the original owner’s name was Jean?”

The woman nods, pleased. “Isn’t Charles delightful? He’s been with us for almost forty years now. Started as a busboy when he was just a boy himself.”

“His energy is infectious,” Rue says around another mouthful of food.

“And, yes, Jean is the fourth generation of Simones to man the helm back there. And I, of course, am proud to call him my great-great-great-great-grandson too. I’m Claire. Claire Simone.”

She extends an elegant hand toward Rue, and my eyes narrow as I scan the room. No one seems to be looking at her or reacting.

“ Enchantée ,” Claire finishes as Rue awkwardly shakes her hand.

We share a silent conversation across the table. Before Rue can ask what’s on both our minds, the woman turns her attention my way.

“And what about you, young man? Why aren’t you eating? Can’t we get you anything?”

I freeze, unable to move, let alone speak.

“I am not that hungry. Thank you.” The words finally form as the color drains from Rue’s face. “Did you say your lineage has been serving patrons in this place for four generations?”

“I surely did, handsome.”

“So, that makes you the original owner then? The Claire Simone?”

“The one and only. ”

“Which would make you no longer living.”

“Oh, I am very dead, dear,” she says with such cheerful conviction that it’s nearly startling. “But I can’t leave this place. Our legacy, our passion, our family—it’s still here. The warmth and love we’ve built are here in these walls. There’s nothing for me out there.”

Rue assesses the situation and decides to have another sip of her drink as she mumbles, “Another lost soul.”

Claire snaps in Rue’s direction, “Watch your tongue, girl. I am not lost. I have a purpose that ties me to this place. My babies are here. And we’ve built a refuge from the cold, dark world out there.

Our doors are open, and our hearth is warm.

Ready to fill up any road-weary traveler who may happen by. ”

Rue smiles softly, dabbing her napkin to her lips before setting it next to her plate. “It must be nice to bear witness to all these moments, to see what a legacy of hospitality you’ve left behind.”

“It is, darlin’. I knew you would understand. I could see it in your kind eyes the moment you came in here.”

“Your family—can they see you? Charles? Any of the other staff?”

“Oh, no. I’ve been invisible for longer than I can remember now.

Sometimes, I think about the promenades through the glades Jean and I used to take.

Or the games of cards I would play with my sister Daisy in her courtyard.

But every time I try to exit the building through the windows or a door, I simply cannot get beyond.

Seems I was meant to stay here. Forever. C’est la vie , as they say.”

I scan the room again and see that Rue’s conversation has still not drawn any unwanted attention. I step into the conversation. “Forgive me, Claire, but when you died, wasn’t there a reaper? Someone to offer passage?”

“Oh, yes. When I choked on that pesky salmon bone at that table over there, a handsome gentleman in a suit not dissimilar to yours came to me and was so kind. Offered to help me ‘cross over,’ as he put it. But the restaurant, you see, and our family and the spirit of hospitality … I was scared and could not make it. Eventually, he said I missed my window and disappeared. ”

“Do you regret it?” Rue asks gently.

Claire offers her a knowing smile. “Live long enough, my dear, and you’re bound to regret something.”

“Or in your case, unlive long enough,” I mutter without malice.

Rue glares at me and returns her attention to Claire.

“It can be hard to let go. But moving on does not erase what you created. I mean, look around you, Claire. This place has left a lasting legacy. Your family’s name, your gracious hostess spirit.

The flavors and aroma of this incredible food. It lives on, so you don’t have to.”

“I wish it were that simple, my dear. Some decisions change the entire trajectory, it seems.”

“Are you settled here, Claire?” Rue asks pleadingly. “Do you wish to still be here?”

“Rue,” I interject. “Apologies, ma’am,” I say to Claire. Then I mumble to Rue across the table, “The worst thing you can give a lost soul is hope.” Then, louder, “Let’s pay our tab and head back to the house, shall we?”

Rue’s face takes on a hard edge. “We can always cling to hope, Grim. Not you or anyone else can take that from a single soul. Living or lost.”

“I do miss my Jean,” Claire says wistfully.

“There is no guarantee that you would see him, even if you could go to the OtherWorld now.” I inject some reality into this fantastical conversation.

How long do I allow this to continue? Sure, Claire seems calm enough—a peaceful lost soul. But they don’t stay that way forever. Eventually, they turn angry, vengeful. And I don’t need Rue to be what sets this soul off.

“Nothing can last forever, Claire,” Rue states, seeming to ignore me. “Do you see that now?”

“And that is perfectly okay,” Claire states warmly.

“Yes,” Rue sings back, a simple call-and-response between them.

“I do. See that now. And that even in my fear of passing to the unknown, I was not able to keep my place in this world. Not in a way that has any real meaning.”

“All you can do is observe now, huh?”

“A watcher in a doer’s world,” Claire hums forlornly .

“It must have been so hard to see all you built and all you loved be taken from you.”

“You have no idea, child.”

“I have more of an idea than you might think, Claire.”

“Mmm,” she moans, a note of wisdom. “I’ll bet you just might.”

“I know what you’ve been going through, watching the world pass you by while you’re stuck, it must be painful. You deserve some peace.”

“You think so?” Claire says softly and Rue nods.

“I do. I think Simone’s has done fantastic and will continue to do so.”

“I would love to feel some peace.” Claire trails off and I furrow my brow. What is happening? Feel peace? Her time for choosing peace is over.

A sensation I have not felt in hundreds of years overcomes me as I swear I can feel my skin warm. The aura in the room around us seems to glow.

Rue’s voice breaks the silence, calm and honest. “I hope you find the peace out there that’s waiting for you.”

My focus turns to the woman in the chiffon dress still hovering next to our table, and I notice that she seems to be going out of focus.

Claire’s form begins to blur, softening at the edges, like fog rising off a lake.

Her eyes close as her features stretch, shimmer, and dissolve.

The space around her hums and buzzes. It’s a sound and sensation I’ve never borne witness to before.

Claire releases a single sound, like the sustained final note of a mournful ballad. And then she disappears.

No portal, no reaper, no summons or rules—just gone.

My chair scrapes backward as I rise, voice trapped in my throat, disbelief rippling through every cell that remains fused to this form. I stare at the space she left behind, half expecting it to rewind. For the veil to close. For reality to reassert itself.

But it doesn’t.

She’s gone—and Rue did it.

Not a reaper. Not a Sister. Not Big D. A girl.

A mortal.

I can’t make sense of it, not even in the quiet spiral of my mind that has held truths from a thousand dying mouths. It defies everything I know—everything I am .

My fingers twitch at my sides, some deep instinct screaming to take control, to restore the order I’ve lived inside for longer than most names have lasted. But there’s no control here. There’s only her.

And Rue … Rue just picks up her drink, takes a sip, and swallows like she didn’t just rewrite the laws of what’s possible with nothing but her voice and her heart.

Rue blinks, smiles, and looks over to me.

“Well, I hope that conversation put her at ease a bit. It must be awful to feel trapped in a world you’re no longer a part of.

” She takes a deep inhale, reaching for one last pull from her drink.

This time, she makes no grimace as she swallows. “I wonder where she went.”

I can’t speak. I don’t trust what might come out if I try.

An elastic moment of silence stretches between us, broken by the tone of a message from my Tombstone Phone. I read the message to myself.

Big D: Get your ass to my office. Now. —Big D

Putain. This escalated quickly.

Rue stares at me, oblivious to the storm she just summoned, and asks with that casual grace that is becoming far more dangerous than endearing, “What is it?”

I look up from my phone and lock eyes with Rue.

I have a better question. “What are you?”