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fourteen

Grim

I didn’t need to sift through her thoughts to know she was stuck in the memory of that fateful winter night. The night she’d given me my name. The night I’d almost kissed her.

The bitter end I hadn’t realized I’d needed.

There were signs, many of them. Signs that I was becoming strangely, and uncomfortably, attached to the girl with unruly red hair and emerald eyes. I owed her nothing. Quite the opposite, in fact, as she owed me everything. Just like her godforsaken name, she was truly tempting .

It was why I refused to stay.

Drawn to her, I appeared throughout her timeline, as a smudge she could never quite erase.

One night in the gardens had been enough to realize that her malediction was surely mine too.

Her skin glowed beneath my color, the glittering ballgown clinging to her in a way that had me consuming her fragrance—iris and asphodel, regret and sorrow intertwined.

If I had shown up on that ship…

I shook the thought from my mind, pulling my focus back to the woman before me.

“I’ll help you out of this mess. Help you break your curse.”

She narrowed her eyes, silver fire flickering behind them. “What makes you think I want to break my curse?”

A faint, dangerous smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I traced them with my tongue, resisting the urge to run a finger along her jaw. “Are you not tired yet, Tempest?”

It was a question I’d asked before, and she had always refused to answer it.

But she looked tired. Exhausted. Undeniably. The dark circles beneath her eyes and the sharpness of her bones made it impossible to ignore. Tragedy and fear would do that to a person.

“There’s always a catch,” she agonized, her voice laced with the kind of quiet defeat I’d long imagined, but hearing it now…

It scraped against the edges of my resolve, threatening to shatter the facade I’d spent seventy-nine years building. Every sharp retort, every venom-laced word, every sorrow-wrung breath would be gone if I gave in to the enchanting creature before me.

It was maddening to think that everything I’d worked for could unravel with a single look.

“In payment, you’ll give me your soul,” I answered, tone absolute. It left no room for bargains or any desperate pleas. I’d chased her through decades, and I would be damned if I didn’t have her soul.

She didn’t sputter, or even flinch. No, her response was sharp and quick. Her wit was unbroken, even now. Astoria thrust her hand forward, sealing her fate between us in a finality that could not be undone. “Fine, Grim. You win.”

And there it was.

Words I had dreamt of for years, the ones paraded through countless fantasies. They slipped from her lips, soothing the fragments of me that had been tattered and torn by time.

“One cursed soul,” she spat, eyes brimming red. “Just get me out of here.”

Her surrender hung suspended in the stale air between us. The deal was made, but I could feel the fear coursing through her, licking at her bones, making her fingers twitch at the hem of her sweatshirt. A bead of sweat pooled on her brow, betraying the mask of defiance she stubbornly wore.

I told myself I didn’t care. That this was the victory I had long salivated for. That it was hard-won, but…

Why did it taste like ash in my mouth?

The reason could be found in the way her eyes lost their glint of silver, dulling to a boring and less alluring green. It almost caused me pain, but I had a job to do. One that had a chorus of souls lamenting in the back of my mind, tearing at the hollows of it until I was nothing but my duty.

I took her hand, clasping her wrist with my fingers as we shook on the deal.

One soul for one broken curse. A curse I’d been leading her to break for years.

It was about time things were set straight once again.

I was as exhausted as she looked, and nothing would stop me from finding rest. Our deal burned between us, the remnants of it lingering in the space where our skin touched, the blood pumping beneath hers—alive, but tethered.

“Close your eyes, Astoria.” She did, without hesitation, and I let the magic flow between us, weaving the disguise she’d need for the journey ahead.

The trace amounts of magic in this world had limits.

Could I have walked us through the door to a new destination with nothing but a snap of my fingers?

Of course. Except that wasn’t nearly as satisfying.

Rearranging her identity was effortless, and with one subtle change, I aged us both.

At one hundred and forty-six, Astoria finally appeared every bit the proper old lady, even though she still wore her light-washed jeans with ripped knees, a purple hoodie, and Converse.

It made me chuckle under my breath. She was adorable, in a way she didn’t even realize.

“Go ahead,” I said, my voice light with amusement. “Turn around and open your eyes.”

Once she opened her eyes, her hands shot to her mouth, covering the reaction I knew I would commit to memory for as long as I existed.

The moment Astoria Devlin Tempest had, at long last, aged.

Her gaze flickered between emotions too fast for me to catch, before her eyes met mine in the mirror. Then, they moved over my form.

We were about the same age now, early seventies, though I hadn’t changed much, still wearing the same jeans, cream sweater, and dark leather boots I’d put on this morning.

My dark hair was now a silvery gray, swept back behind my ears, and my face carried the faintest stubble.

She took it all in, the shift in our appearances, before I caught sight of a tear slipping down her withered cheek.

Astoria was still beautiful. Mesmerizing .

Her fiery red curls had softened to an illuminating white, but her cheeks still flushed a gentle pink under my gaze.

She'd been robbed of the aging she deserved, as she watched those she loved grow old and die, living a thousand lifetimes in between.

Seventy years was nothing when compared to her true age, but she'd never had the privilege of seeing her skin wrinkle, of letting time catch up.

Now, lines crept in from the number of smiles she'd shared, and the color had drained from her hair as she collected wisdom in the form of silver threads; shimmering spider webs framing her gentle face.

The shock faded as she started rubbing at the wrinkles on her cheeks, tears falling with the beauty of stars. I couldn’t stop myself. I reached out, my hands resting on her shoulders, offering a soft, wordless squeeze.

Words caught in my throat, because what could I offer?

There was nothing I could do to ease the weight of what she’d been through.

Astoria deserved to see what time had stolen from her.

Selfishly, I wondered why I hadn’t shown her this before.

If I had, would she have sought the cure to her disease earlier?

It wasn’t my intention to cause her harm or distress, though something strange pricked at me when her tears fell. But the truth was, this was inevitable. Aging was a privilege Astoria had never been allowed, and I was bound and determined to restore it to her.

For her.

Bitterly, for me.

“This is the best you could do?”

The fire I’d come to expect from her flared once more, flickering in those emerald eyes, and I couldn’t help but smile. "On such short notice..." I raised my hands in mock apology.

“Mhm.”

Her tears evaporated as quickly as they had arrived, replaced by the fierce glare that could burn through stone.

She studied her reflection in the mirror, and I could feel her temper simmering just beneath the surface.

It occurred to me that this was the only time she’d see herself like this.

If I got my way and she broke her curse, I’d take her soul.

A sharp pain bloomed in my chest. Even I had to wonder if I was past that brand of cruelty. Could I take her soul when the time came?

I swallowed the thought and let the mask fall back into place. “Wrinkles and eye bags suit you,” I sneered.

“If you had a heart, I’d drive a knife through it.”

I tilted my head. “If I had a heart, I’d offer you my own blade.” My hand ran through my hair, the motion both casual and deliberate, drawing her attention. She muttered curses under her breath, a sound that brought an amused smile to my lips.

The corners of my mouth lifted, “Shall we, wife?”

I ignored her protest and took her hand, guiding her back up the aisle. She hesitated when we passed Phillips and Smith, both of whom were snoring with their chins tucked into their chests like caricatures of incompetence.

“Did you do that?”

“I did,” I responded, because there was no need to lie. We reached her row. Brett was unconscious too, phone still clutched in one limp hand. “Would you like me to wake them?” I asked, plucking the device from Brett’s fingers.

“No.”

I released her hand to pull her bags from the overhead compartment and she rubbed her palms against her jeans as if she was trying to scrape away the irritation building beneath her skin.

He enjoys this. Making me uncomfortable. That’s why he picked this disguise. Wrinkled hands. A limp. Even my sweatshirt smells like mothballs.

Not inaccurate. “To our seats,” I said aloud.

We moved slowly toward first class—our assigned seats sat empty, waiting. She tried not to stare, or look impressed, but as always she failed miserably.

“Only three hours left to go,” I said as I sat beside her.

“And then what?” She took the window seat, gaze already drifting to the clouds as I stowed her bag.

I unlocked Brett’s phone and pulled up the article she’d been running from. “They’ll soon discover that Elizabeth Rhodes doesn’t exist,” I said casually.

“Neither does Astoria Tempest,” she snapped.

I snorted and turned to her with a wide-eyed look. Her shame bloomed, hot and brittle. I could feel it crawling under her skin.

He sees right through me. Like I’m glass. Like I’m weak. I hate that. “It’s better this way,” she added, aloud this time. Trying to coat her fear in logic, she tucked her hand under her chin, eyes on the sun spilling gold over the clouds.

“Is it?” I asked. “Regina might have other thoughts. Her children. Her husband…”

“It was an accident.”

“No, Astoria.” I let her name settle in the space between us.

“Accidents lack cause. You had both cause and intent.” Reaching for her hand again, I brushed my thumb over the back of it.

She flinched, not from fear, but from the sheer indignity of being handled gently.

“It was deliberate,” I said, quiet now. Not cruel. Just true.

She yanked her hand back and scowled. “She wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“And yet,” I said, leaning back with a smirk, “people rarely die on schedule. I should know.”

She went still. What happens if someone finds out who I really am?

“What is it you think will happen?” I asked.

“No one will.”

“But if they do—”

“They won’t,” she bit out, sharper than she meant. She leaned her head against the window, glaring at the clouds as if they owed her something.

I let the silence stretch before I said, “I heard you met Nemo.”

She tensed as I crushed Brett’s phone in one hand. It disintegrated into dust, the remnants drifting upward into smoke.

“What was the point of that?” she asked, glaring at my hand. “Dramatic much?”

I shrugged. “What did you think of Nemo?”

Nemo was… sweaty.

“Sweaty’s good,” I said with a grin. “Drippy little man, isn’t he?”

“Can you not read my mind?” she snapped.

I had, many times. She wasn’t exactly subtle.

Over the last century, I’d watched her thoughts fall to the ground much like the leaves that had begun to fall now that it was autumn.

They were messy, brittle, and exposed. “Not likely,” I replied, licking my thumb to flip a page of the magazine I’d conjured.

“And why not?”

I turned to her slowly. “Because I don’t want to.”

She slapped the magazine from my hand but it vanished before it hit the floor. I let her have the win.

We didn’t speak for a while, she sulked and I waited.

Her hip throbbed from the disguise; she shifted, running her fingers over the armrest. The number five was etched into the metal.

She traced it like a talisman. Her mother was superstitious, and I’d watched Astoria flinch plenty at the sight of black cats and strange weather.

It gave me a peculiar sense of joy to taunt her with them.

Her thoughts came wrapped in fatigue, soaked in the kind of weariness that settled into bones.

Her thoughts wandered—to a missing father, a cursed coven, a family legacy as thick and toxic as tar.

To James. If I’d never met him, we wouldn’t have had children.

I wouldn’t have had to kill him. And maybe I never would’ve met… him.

Me.

I felt it before she thought it: that twist of regret and longing. The kind humans buried under resentment.

I wouldn’t have known the greatest loss of all…wanting what I can’t have.

She had loved. She had survived love being torn away. Again and again and again. And I—uninvited but constant—was still here.

In the space between heartbeats, in the shuddered breath before surrender.

They all met me eventually, but she had summoned me, whether she meant to or not. With blood on her hands and breath hitching in her chest, she had offered me more than a name.

If he’s always watching, always waiting, then this is his fault. Surely this is his fault.

It wasn’t, but I let her believe it. It gave her comfort and it created the chasm between us that I needed to do my job.

I didn’t speak again for the rest of the flight, but I didn’t need to. She felt me. Not just the brush of my shoulder when I moved, but the way I threaded through her senses; a shadow she couldn’t unsee.

I watched my mother and grandmother fight the Tempest Curse. I think I’d rather lose my name than fight Death for eternity.

She didn’t say it aloud. She didn’t have to.

Does Grim even know the origin of the curse? Or is he just making it up as he goes? And what about what he said in the warehouse—was any of that real? Nemo gave me nothing. Just a name. Just a stupid article…

Her mind spun in loose circles, each thought slipping further from the last.

And I listened, silent, steady.

As always.