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twenty

Astoria

I was drunk, but not that drunk. Certainly not hungover enough to forget that I’d pressed my lips to his and fell prey to the temptation.

Who was the tempest now? He’d argue it was still me, but I had thoughts on that.

“Grab her bags, will you, Day?” Grim peeked around the door. Time was already halfway up the stairs.

After a night in Feodora’s opulent suite, we woke to the most decadent brunch I’d ever seen—and a house so silent. Not a single body draped across a velvet chaise. No bottles tipped in surrender. No glittering heels abandoned on the marble.

This was impressive, considering the level of debauchery that had unfolded beneath the chandeliers.

The mansion sparkled in the pale winter light, all gilt and glass, pristine in a way that made me uneasy.

Outside, the Hamptons air had turned mild.

Snow retreated from the cobblestones, and the sea glimmered with untold secrets.

I tightened my sweater, suddenly cold, glancing toward the locked room Grim had vanished into.

After brunch, he’d disappeared with Feo, that infuriating gleam in his eye.

But it wasn’t just his secrets that unsettled me.

It was mine.

I’d confessed far more than I meant to last night, words I couldn't unsay, truths I hadn’t meant to let out. And now, in the sobering quiet of daylight, they hung in the air like dust motes catching the sun.

Then… there was the kiss.

I exhaled sharply, dragging my hands down my arms. I didn’t want to think about it. If I did, I’d have to admit how wrong it had been.

And how ruinously right it had felt.

It had been years since I’d kissed anyone. Somehow, I’d given that to him—the one being I’d spent a century running from. The one who kept asking me to die.

Day returned with a dark leather bag, dangling it on one finger in front of me. “Here ya go, princess.”

“That’s not my bag, Day. The two black duffels and the backpack should have been in the room I stayed in.”

His eyes gleamed with mischief. “Yeah, I tossed them out.”

I frowned. “You tossed my bags out? All of my stuff?”

“I threw the bags out, but don’t worry. Everything’s in here.” He swung the bag back and forth in front of my face. “It’s a gift—from me, to you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I hope for your sake you’re lying.”

“Time can’t lie,” he said.

Snatching the bag from his hands, I opened the flap and peered inside. It was empty. “Where’s my stuff—”

“You have to reach inside, silly.” Day grabbed the bag back, shoving his hand into the opening, it swallowed his arm whole, up to his shoulder.

It could not be that deep, but then his head disappeared as he leaned in further, and I wondered if I was still drunk.

“It’s enchanted,” Grim’s voice came from behind me, amused. I turned to find him standing there, watching the spectacle. “It can hold anything you want. As much as you want.”

His point was proven as Day began to toss my clothes out of the bag, pulling out my copy of Dante’s Inferno and some of Ishani’s artwork.

“Whoa, okay, I get it, we do not need to throw my underwear around, thank you very much.” I snatched the bag from his hands, shoving the clothes back into the seemingly endless depths. Grim handed me my book, carefully tucking Ishani’s artwork inside the cover.

“Ready?” he asked, smile tight and gaze caught on the book with the rainbow drawing peeking out from the top.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Feodora strode in, her feather-trimmed robe trailing behind her in a crimson blur.

“It’s been a pleasure, dear. You’re welcome anytime.

” Fate kissed both of my cheeks, holding my face gently as she stared into my eyes.

“I mean it, Astoria. Come back and visit. I wish you nothing but the best in your endeavor.”

“Thanks, Feo.” I let her crush me into another hug, a feather tickling my nostrils. “For everything,” I added.

“Death,” she said, nodding toward him. “Remember what I said.”

I watched their exchange, following the subtle line of tension that rolled through Grim’s shoulders as his gaze dropped to the floor. But before I could make sense of it, Day pulled me into another bear hug, stealing my attention.

“I’ll see you around, Storybook. I’ll pop in soon, can’t have you forgetting all about me.”

Laughing, I kissed his cheek. “I could never forget you, Day.”

Grim’s hand landed on Day’s shoulder, giving him a gentle push away. “Okay, that’s enough of that.”

I grinned back at him over Grim’s shoulder, reluctant to be led away. One evening wasn’t enough with them. My mother raised me to fear Fate, and I’d formed my own conclusions about Time, but they were more than what I’d imagined them to be.

Grim opened the door to the room he’d been hiding in earlier. “Are you ready?”

“I think so?” I wasn’t confident about whatever new trick he had up his sleeve. True to form, Death had kept me in the dark, offering no clues about where we were going or what we were doing. He kept asking if I trusted him, and while my answer was a resolute no, my irritation was starting to fade.

He grinned down at me, his pearly white smile making a rare appearance. “Great, because there’s a chance this may hurt.”

With those few dreadful words and a small shove against my back, I was falling into a nothingness I couldn’t explain.

Grim held my hair back as I knelt in the wet grass of what appeared to be a park. The damp earth clung to the back of my legs, and I could feel the coolness seeping through my clothes, adding to the nausea swirling in my stomach.

I hated whatever method of travel this was. I wasn’t particularly fond of airplanes, but anything was better than the horror I'd just gone through.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he assured, his voice far too light considering the situation, his hand rubbing small, soothing circles on my back.

I shot him a venomous glare, pushing myself up onto my knees. My hands sank into the soft grass, my palms wet as I steadied myself. “Says Death himself.” It had been so awful that I’d gladly sit through endless flights before experiencing whatever the hell that was again.

Some sort of portal had ripped at my body as if I was being torn in two.

The sensation had been sharp. Imagine falling through a tunnel made of glass shards, and how each moment would be new terror.

I’d screamed the entire time, until my throat burned and my voice went hoarse, only to realize I was still falling—and screaming.

Would the world ever stop spinning? The dizziness hit me again, sharp and disorienting.

A fresh wave of nausea surged through me, my stomach heaving as I bent over and vomited into the grass, the sour taste burning in the back of my throat.

Behind me, Death chuckled, clearly entertained by the twisted spectacle.

“I’m sorry, Astoria…” he said, voice rough as he held back a laugh, hand tightening on my hair to keep it out of my face. “I’ll warn you next time, although I don’t think it would help.”

I could feel the cold slickness of sweat on my skin as I sat back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my sleeve. The sharp, tangy scent of bile lingered in the air. Yeah, what a lovely sight. “I won’t be doing it again, so it doesn't matter.”

I swore I heard him mutter, “That’s what you think,” but it was so faint.

“Come on, Star. Let’s get you cleaned up and find a strong coffee.

” His fingers brushed against my arm in the briefest, accidental touch, and for some strange reason, the warmth of it cut through the cold that had settled in my bones.

He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, the fabric soft against my skin as he handed it to me.

Grateful, I took his offering, even though it was on the tip of my tongue to ask him where the pocket square had been a second ago when I’d wiped my face with the back of my sleeve.

But if I’d learned anything from my mother’s curse, it was that life didn’t always have to be a fight.

Sometimes, letting go was its own kind of victory.

“We’ve got a meeting in an hour, let’s get going.”

It was now November, and as we walked over a grassy hill, the crisp bite of winter’s approach nipped my skin.

Stripping the trees of all their leaves, their skeletal branches clawing at the dimming sky, the air carried the sharp scent of earth and the faint promise of rain.

The sun hung low in the sky, a dull, amber glow that made everything feel distant, as if the day was losing its battle with the dark.

It occurred to me that I didn’t even know where we were.

“Where are we?”

“London.”

I blinked, a rush of warmth flooding my chest at the mention of the city. “I love England,” I admitted. It had been a long time since I’d been back to the United Kingdom, and even longer since I’d set foot in London.

“I know.” Grim’s back was to me, but he paused, glancing over his shoulder with an unreadable expression.

The last time I was in London was when he crashed the masquerade party.

I remembered standing in the gardens with him, the sound of distant laughter, the murmur of voices, and the soft crunch of leaves beneath our feet.

And then, I’d given him his name. Suddenly, the air between us felt thicker, almost suffocating, carrying words left unsaid.

A tension that curled itself around my ribs and squeezed.

“Coffee?” I asked, desperate to push the thought away, to break the thickening silence.

“Only the best,” he replied, his voice smooth, but the faintest hint of something in his tone lingered in the space between us. He smiled, taking the bag Day had given me and slinging it casually over his shoulder. At the same time, he offered me his empty hand, fingers extended in invitation.

It felt natural, arm in arm, walking through the park in the dead of autumn.

The cold air nipped at my cheeks, the crunch of our footsteps the only sound in the otherwise still landscape.

The park stretched out before us, a vast expanse of trees and greenery shivering under the weight of the season’s chill.

The world was quiet, except for the occasional rustle of a distant branch or the soft hum of the city just beyond the park’s edge.

With Grim’s arm at my side, there was a strange comfort in the stillness.

It felt reminded me of my youth. Of trailing the dirt paths home.

His arm brushed my own, and he smiled down at me.

As if this was just another afternoon walk, an ordinary weekend.

A walk I could take with anyone, anyone but him.

Yet, here we were.

That quiet tension beneath the surface.

He had a way of pulling out desires I hadn’t known existed, making me question what exactly I was yearning for. In this moment, it was as if everything that felt too far away, too complicated, could just be as simple as this: walking beside him through the quiet of November.

I’d done a damn good job of avoiding my loneliness over the years, but these small moments made me wonder if it was possible to have that again.

A life… a normal one, and someone to share it with.

Not if I were to break my curse, though. One soul, for one broken curse.

With that thought, the mirage slipped away, and I dropped Grim’s hand.

He faltered.

His hand flexed, fingers stretching toward mine, his pinky grazing the back of my hand. For a moment, I wished he’d take it again. But like the fleeting image of us enjoying a lazy weekend together, the chance was lost.

The sharp breeze died down, and the notes of cypress in the approaching winter air turned bitter. Grim shoved his hands into his coat pockets and stomped off, a frown marring his beautiful face.