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ten

Astoria

T he skies were bleak with the beginning of an August storm rolling through.

Even the tepid air knew the thunder would soon sweep through the countryside, rumbling with a reckoning force.

My mother’s chimes stood their ground against the wind's assault, carrying a haunting melody that was eerily similar to the notes that hung around Death.

The DuPont estate was vast, its land unkempt by the new owners. Even the gate that once swung with precision groaned as I struggled to push it open on its uneasy hinge. The pit in my stomach grew as I swept through the gates, turning left toward the statue.

It was funny that James insisted we be buried beneath a statue of an angel. I glanced down at the lone headstone, the stone smooth and unmarked. It was beside James, and was of course meant for me. A show of his refute of the Tempest curse.

I could not decide whether to laugh or sneer as my grave, was of course, empty. Either way, he deserved to be mocked.

Paying the rest of him no mind, I walked the length of our row, sorrow etching its way deep into bone as I laid a single flower on my mother’s grave.

She wouldn’t have wanted to be buried here, but James insisted. We were family, after all. His own parents rested just a few rows ahead, entombed inside a gaudy, overdone mausoleum that screamed wealth and legacy.

The warm breeze carried notes of salt and oleander, tickling my nose with a sickly sweet dread. Death. Squinting into the setting sun, my skin prickled with his morose presence.

“Grim?” I called out, the hairs on the back of my arms rising.

Nothing. Only the whistle of wind singing through the melody of clashing steel and weathered wood.

Turning back to the graves at my feet, I knelt, placing the bouquets on the three most important headstones. Beatrice’s name greeted me first. Then Leo. Then Arthur. My children laid to rest.

“There’s even a spot for you…” The deep voice drawled behind me. Grim clucked his tongue. “Pity it’s empty.”

I didn’t rise.

“Why are you here, Astoria?”

It hardly felt like a question, his tone was clipped and accusing. I smoothed a hand down my jeans. “As the last DuPont, I have every right to be here.”

Grim’s dark leather boots appeared in my peripheral, his toes edging the border of Bea’s grave, practically touching my leg. For once, Death was silent.

“Why are you here?” I questioned.

He knelt, his knee knocking against mine as he crouched low, fingers lifting my chin until I had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Aren’t you tired?”

My eyes narrowed, scanning the hard lines of his face. “Tired?”

Grim’s scowl pulled into a lopsided grin, crooked and too wide, something close to feral. It made my stomach twist. “Yes, Astoria. Tired . Ready to give up? Because I’m damn tired of you .”

I wanted to scowl, bare my teeth, and scream at him to leave, but something about Grim always short-circuited my body. My blood simmered, my vision danced with black spots, and adrenaline spiked like a warning flare.

He was tired of me .

“Well,” I crooned, dragging on a mock pout, “and here I thought we were just starting to get to know each other.” I stood, brushing damp earth from my clothes and slinging my bag over one shoulder. “What’s another hundred years or two, Death?”

“What is it you think you’ll amass with all this extra time?” he called, just loud enough to make me falter. “No family. No job. No friends.”

He loomed behind me, dark eyes alive with challenge. Thunder rolled, and the chimes clanged.

“Just so you know, I hate you. I cannot stand you or your sorrow-filled presence,” I spat, heat flooding my cheeks. “Second, you suck. Third, I don’t know what I want—”

I sucked in a sharp breath.

“Fourth?” Grim added dryly.

“Fourth!” I shouted, stabbing a finger into the air. “Fourth… leave me the hell alone.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

I laughed, loud and bitter, each breath a burst of disbelief. Tilting my face to the sky, I closed my eyes and inhaled the summer storm rolling in. Sweet grass. Fragrant trees. The sharp edge of rain on the horizon.

It’s all a game to him, I thought bitterly.

“Not a game. It’s real. I have a job to do, and you’re quite the unwelcome distraction.”

I chuckled, “Right.” He was so cranky about his job. “I’m sorry you feel cheated out of my soul. Take it up with the person who cursed the women in my family.”

Grim mumbled something under his breath, that sounded a whole lot like ‘working on it,’ before his stoicism settled back into place, a new crease between his brows.

A piercing howl split the darkening sky, followed by the distinct sound of dogs running through the fields and shallow forest. Death stood motionless, watching me with lazy indifference as he ran a finger through the grime crusting James's headstone.

“Aren’t you trespassing?” he mused.

Was it trespassing when my name was etched into the gate?

“Last I checked, I was a DuPont.”

“That may be,” Grim said, his grin cutting sideways, “but I doubt they care much about that.”

He pointed with one long, spindly finger toward the noise fast approaching. “Surprised you missed all the no trespassing signs.”

I hadn’t. I just didn’t care.

My name was on the damned gate—on half the tombstones here.

I doubted the new homeowners gave a damn that some girl came to visit her dead.

Then, a man appeared through the tree line, a long gun slung over his shoulder. His vicious-looking dogs led the way, barking and howling aggressively as they neared the wrought iron fence and gate.

Grim disappeared—gone with the sweeping winds and rising storm.

Retreating a few steps, I stumbled between graves.

The man called out, his words indecipherable.

The dogs moved in closer toward the gate, their gangly jowls dripping with drool and spit as they bared their teeth and tucked their snouts between the bars.

Balling my fists, I slunk behind the closest statue, pressing my back against the cool marble.

Chancing a glance around the angel, I looked to see if the man would follow and let them in.

I wasn’t sure what I’d do if he did. They didn’t look like affectionate animals.

Cursing Grim and his uncanny ability to leave me in the worst of spots, I slunk further down, crouching behind the bulk of the statue.

“What is it boys?” the man called. “Someone there? My dogs don’t take kindly to strangers.”

I froze. My heart raced as the gate began its long and strenuous groan. I thought about revealing my hiding spot—it wasn’t as if it would be difficult to see someone had been there, with fresh flowers laid on graves that had been left untouched for decades.

“His name’s Timothy Hoffman. He’s half-mad and convinced someone’s out to get him…”

Grim’s voice filled my mind, taunting and cruel, a wave of coldness washing over me. “Shame you have no means of proving your relation to the estate.”

I’d found myself in a lot of unfortunate situations over the years, but none had shaken me like this—staring down a crazed man holding a gun, flanked by three vicious-looking dogs.

Their fur was dark and shaggy, their backs rising to the man’s hip.

They snarled and pawed at the ground, leaping toward the gate as the man held it halfway shut, his eyes scanning the grounds.

“I can’t imagine Natalie Keene will be of help,” Grim joked.

Trembling, I sank further into the dank earth and the stone, willing myself invisible. He was right. My license said Natalie Keene, twenty-one-year-old from Maryland. Thanks to Nemo, of course.

The short glance I got of the man proved Death’s observation.

Timothy looked manic, his appearance disheveled.

The rifle in his hands ate away at any semblance of hope that this encounter wouldn’t end with me lying in a pool of my own blood.

My body would knit itself back together, of course—but could Timothy justify such an unnerving event in his mind?

Or would I get carted off by the police? Or worse?

I sucked in a shallow breath, my lungs struggling to inflate with the air I desperately needed.

The gate creaked louder, the dogs barking growing fearsome.

“Don’t say I never did anything for you.” With the last of Grim rummaging through my mind, the gate clattered shut and the noises faded away. Trembling, I peered between the dragging wings of the angel. The man disappeared, his form fading with the light as he ran after his dogs.

Sincerity was something I did not entertain with Grim, but my near-death experience pulled a broken apology from my lips.

Half expecting him to reappear and shove it in my face, I gathered my things, shook off the last bits of creeping fear, and pressed my fingers to my lips.

Blowing a kiss to my children, I left my old life and entire world behind in silence.