Page 30 of Grim

I take a beat after asking the question, once again giving room for my father to answer. And after the events of the past hour, I am more hopeful than I’ve ever been that he just might. But it is not Dad’s voice that breaks the silence.

“Miss me,ma chère?”

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” I scream, clawing at my chest.

He’s back again.

Leaning against my favorite tree as if it owed him rent. That insufferable smirk plastered across his too-handsome face. Green eyes glinting like mischief-made flesh.

“Boo,” he says flatly, with all the smugness of a cat who just knocked your grandmother’s urn off the mantel.

“How long have you been standing there?” I question, suddenly self-conscious.

“Long enough,” he answers cryptically.

“No.”This isn’t happening.“I-I don’t believe in you!”

“And yet here I am, Mayday. Back to ruin your fragile little reality again.” He winks while pushing himself off the tree, stalking over to me.

I continue to shake my head back and forth. This is still the dream. Or the start of a new one. It has to be.

“This isn’t real,” I snap. “You’re not real. You’re … a hallucination.”Albeit a much more pleasing one on the eyes than the sloth, but still.

He sighs dramatically. “So, we’ve only reached denial in my absence? Lovely. Let’s not linger here—it’s terribly boring. At least bargaining offers a little bit of flattery.”

“Don’t come any closer.” I hold up a hand like I’ve got divine smiting powers.Spoiler: I do not.

“Or what?” He chuckles. His voice is pure, unfiltered mockery.

Lunging forward, I try with everything I have to shove him. My hands slam into his very real, very solid chest beneath his expertly pressed suit. He tenses, his eyes going wide for a half-second, like my touch just rewrote a law of physics.

All previous cockiness is gone, replaced with something akin to shock or edginess. As someone who is perpetually nervous, I easily spot this characteristic in others. But why ishenervous? I’m the one being haunted by a lithe interloper in my family’s cemetery.

He clears his throat and steps back. “Um …” His lips press into a thin line before he regains his composure. “It would be better if, during our interactions, you could refrain from … contact.”

“Your rule or mine?”

“Mine. Trust me, it’s for your benefit.” The derision in his tone borders on offensive.

“Wow. You are allergic to sincerity, aren’t you?”

He has the audacity to look bored. “Can we move this along? I have another case and would like to get you safely restrained.”

“Excuse me?”

“Not like that,” he says, already walking toward the house. “Though I do appreciate your enthusiasm.”

“Hey!” I yelp as he opens my back door like he owns the place. “I—I didn’t invite you in! You don’t just walk into someone’s home!”

He lets out a comically exaggerated sigh, looking up at the sky, like he’s personally requesting divine intervention to deal with me. He mutters something under his breath that I don’t catch, but I’m pretty sure it’s rude.

I cross my arms. “If you’re going to insult me, at least have the backbone to say it loud enough for me to hear.”

His grip tightens on my banister before he turns toward me, his eyes nearly flashing.

“Rue,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining basic math to a toddler, “I am not a fairy, or a vampire, or some whimsical chimera dreamed up by your feeble mortal imagination.”

Rude.