Page 2 of In Death's Hands
She lifts her big brown eyes and I hold my breath, waiting for her to start shouting in fear. To my eternal shock, she smiles at me. It’s a weak little thing, but it’s there.
“Hello,” she says, her voice wavering a little, but still the purest sound I’ve ever heard.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Damn it. The one time I don’t want to scare a human, I act like a complete fool.
“I’m dead, aren’t I?”
The acceptance in her voice knocks the breath out of me. I lower to my knees, trying to appear less frightening, even though she doesn’t seem scared.
She must see the answer in my eyes, or maybe I take too long to speak, because she asks another question. “Have you seen my new parents? I can’t find them.”
They must have been in the car with her. Either they are still alive or they are crossing their own portals wherever they landed.
I peek into hers and see no one waiting for her. I frown. There is no one to welcome this girl into her next life. How is that possible? She must have family or loved ones that have already passed on. If her parents are crossing, it may take some time for them to come for her.
“I haven’t,” I finally answer, my voice rough. It’s been so long since I used my vocal cords, it’s a strange feeling to have them vibrating again in my throat.
She nods to herself, still not looking at the light.
Something is wrong. She should feel the pull of it. Even without anyone there to draw her in, the new life awaiting her should be a beacon to her soul.
She looks at me, eyes stopping on the wicked blade at my feet, on my cloak, and settling on my own eyes. She takes a breath and seems to reach a decision. I see her moving and feel relief that she’s decided to cross. I don’t have time to understand what is going on before the girl is wrapping her arms around my neck.
My first instinct is to parry the attack. It’s only when she speaks softly in my ear that I understand that she’shuggingme.
What on earth?
Her words are slow to register, but when they do, they make my whole world shift.
“Don’t be sad, I’ll be okay. I promise,” she fiercely swears.
My emotions are a whirlwind within me. Like a tornado sweeping me up and tearing me apart piece by piece. The resigned look on her face. The lack of loved ones waiting for her.Her tiny, tiny hands clasping each other behind my neck. Herhug.
I take a breath and the storm settles.
“Yes, you will be,” I vow.
“Liv, your mysterious man is back!” Joana pops her head into the break room to squeal.
Despite me rolling my eyeshard, my insides tighten in excitement. I haven’t seen him in weeks.
I close my smutty book slowly and pack up my lunch meticulously. If you can call a bag of crisps and a chocolate bar lunch. I may be trying to look unaffected, but the smirk she sends my way before heading back out tells me I’m not fooling her.
What? I’m only going back to work fifteen minutes before my break ends. Plenty of people do that voluntarily. Right?
Eh, maybe not.
I’m usually not one to ogle the clients traipsing in for their caffeine fix in our bright corner of London, but this man is impossible to ignore.
He started coming in about six months ago. He always orders a cup of plain coffee (who does that?) and sits in the corner of the coffee shop for at least an hour each day without drinking it, staring intensely at everyone. He has that tall, dark and handsome look about him that makes everything he does seem deliberate and important. Honestly, he looks like a character straight out of a book. Maybe that’s why I’m crushing hard.
Out of the numerous baristas working here, I usually manage to be the one serving him. His deep, quiet voice alwaysspreads delicious goose bumps across my skin. And I’m pretty sure I’m being self-centred, but amongst all the people he observes, his eyes seem to fall on me more often than not.
But then he stopped coming, and it’s embarrassing how much I’ve missed his daily visits. I exit the break room in a rush, ignoring the loud noise of something crashing on the floor with deadly force as I close the door. I really don’t have time for this shit right now.
I take a deep breath, run my hands over my deep purple barista apron and head back behind the counter.
I love this coffee shop. Six years ago, when I moved back to London, I had no idea what to do with myself. I spent the first few days visiting everything, as any tourist would. After all, I had never been an adult in this city before. The “home” I grew up in once organised a day trip, but we were mostly stuck in museums all day. And as lovely as they were, they could not compare to the real sights of the massive capital.
