Page 53 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

Burning it doesn’t sound better, except maybe to ward off the pervasive chill. Something to stop the eternal cold that is imbedded in the bones.

“You’re gonna need to be careful around hospitals,” Chloe says, shooing the cat back away from the door and then locking the door behind them. “And any graveyards bigger than the one the other day.”

The entire tripdown to the nearest target takes an hour of driving through the mountains, and Delina wants to claw her own face off at the constant squabbling between Gurlien and Chloe.

It’s not that they’re not getting along, but that everything they do and everything they say immediately gets a comment from the other, spiraling down into tangents and counter arguments and examples half explained from their background until Delina’s…exhausted.

There’s a reason why she’s usually insular. Usually an introvert.

Chloe splits the moment they park back behind the store, heading straight for the garden store.

“Remember to actually make sure the seeds are accredited this time!” Gurlien calls after her, and Chloe waves back without even looking at them.

Maison’s still scowling, standing close to Delina, like he’s half afraid something’s going to jump out at him and that by being close enough, he could somehow ward off everything bad.

It’s something he used to do when they traveled, though she had thought he got over it.

But the best she can do is ignore it, and she strides quickly into the familiar store.

Given enough time and inclination, she could absolutely spend hours wandering the store, smelling all the candles and browsing the clothes, but she instead heads immediately towards the hair care supplies with both men trailing after her.

It crawls underneath her skin, at the constant monitoring, but there’s the ever-pervasive sensation that if she tried to get rid of them, she couldn’t.

“So every time I made you come with me to the store, were you always just there to make sure I didn’t get shot or something?” Delina asks Maison, raising an eyebrow at him.

They hadn’t talked much the last day, not directly at least, and it doesn’t help.

“Not every time,” Maison replies, almost plaintively. “Just when there were known threats.”

“I’d hate to see those security briefs,” Gurlien says, and thankfully he got a basket too and seems to be filling it with actually normal things. “What, ‘mother of target pissed off Shaman group, keep an eye out for people with staffs chanting ominously?’”

“Not funny,” Maison sighs.

It’s a little funny.

“Or ‘Frisse attempted to destroy the world again, keep an eye out for FBI agents,’ was it that sort of thing?” If Delina hadn’t spent the last few days with him, she would swear that Gurlien is actively trying to bait Maison, but no, he just talks like that.“Frisse bought property in France and we don’t know why, don’t let any Frenchmen near the target?”

Delina snorts.

“The France thing wasn’t a problem,” Maison reassures her, and she quick flashes over to evaluate her life in the fact that he didn’t reassure her over the other ones and she has to find out in the hair care aisle. “You were never in any danger with that one.”

“You’re kidding me,” Delina says, grabbing her favorite shampoo and conditioner in their actual sizes. “You two are absolutely just messing with me now, you joined forces with the sole purpose of getting me to believe the most ridiculous things about my mother with no actual reason.”

Maison smiles, suddenly, with a brightness she hasn’t seen since the letter, and her knees almost go weak at the shock of it. “If you want ridiculous stories, I have ridiculous stories.”

“He’s just trying to charm you, don’t fall for it,” Gurlien says, and the smile is gone from Maison’s face in a flash. “If you truly wanted ridiculous stories, you can find them in the basement.”

Delina hesitates at the lost smile and at the reveal of information. “When we get back, both of you decide on the funniest, most ridiculous story, and let me know.”

Both the men still, wide eyed.

“Why?” Gurlien says, recovering first.

“Because she’s probably only heard bad things about her mother so far, I’m going to guess,” Maison says, and it’s absolutely correct. “It’s not like this entire thing has been fun for you.”

Which is even more true, but she doesn’t want to give him that, so she moves on to adding actual skin care products to her cart before pushing it towards the clothing.

“Her mother was awful, though,” Gurlien continues, honestly confused. “I don’t see why we should sugar coat anything.”

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