Page 155 of Grim
I step through the inky center of the arched door and am instantly transported to the end of a long red carpet. I take in the high ceilings, ostentatious art adorning the walls, odd pieces of furniture in mismatched period styles. I don’t know Big D well, but even without context clues, I’d know who this space belonged to. I scan the length of the red carpet before me and see a tiny desk at the end. The desk probably isn’t small, but its distance from me makes it seem so.
There is nothing tiny about the booming voice that echoes from behind it though. D intones with all the bravado of a cartoon villain, “Rue Chamberlain. We meet again.”
“To my great disappointment,” I mumble to myself.
“I heard that,” he snipes, though there is a hint of delight in his undertone. “Come here.”
This time, he snaps his fingers, and I find myself immediately opposite his desk, gold name placard pointlessly announcing the owner of the room to a world that doesn’t need the reminder.
“Neat trick,” I deadpan with a hint of venom in my tone.
“I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises today, girl,” he replies with a too-wide smile while leaning back in his chair. The way he says that last word gives the sensation of spiders crawling on my neck.
I shiver, and he continues, “Also, rude. Nana heard you talking ill of me.”
He gestures to a human skull sitting atop a carved lava rock coaster. Red candy ropes jut from the top, along with a blue umbrella, like the ones found in those tropical vacation cocktails.
“Care for one?” he asks, pulling the candy out and offering it to me. “Twizzlers straight from Nana. The purest ambrosia.”
“I would sooner eat a stranger’s toenails. Thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” He pops it into his mouth and leansback, giving the skull a pat. He looks so amused with himself.
“What do you want with me?” I ask, not bothering to hide the bite in my tone.
“Straight to the point. I like it! So, we’re skipping over thehard feelingsthing then?”
“Oh, by ‘thing,’ are you referring to the whole separating me from the mate to my soul during the single moment in human existence that mated souls should be together?” I stare at him, my gaze stone-cold. “Fuck. You. Daryl,” I spit.
He holds up both hands. “Still a bit raw. Okay, I get it. Listen, my hands were tied. I think you’ll see that in time.”
“I don’t care about time,” I finally snap. “I care about what you did!”
“Patience, peaches.” He laces his fingers together on the desk. “You see, I forgot myself for a while. I let Fate and Time run too much of the show. Gave them creative control, which was clearly a mistake. They tried to hog-tie me with my own rules—and that isn’t as fun as it sounds. Then,” he shudders theatrically, “do unspeakable things to my executive authority.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about power, Rue. Hierarchy. Who makes the rules and who has to follow them. Those Weaver Sisters sing a siren’s song, but my head is clear now. They overplayed their hand and didn’t think I’d see the puppet strings. But I have, and I have cut them down.”
“That’s a second rope analogy, and I’m just as lost as I was after the first one.”
“I don’t answer to Time, Rue. Death isn’t beholden to Fate. Everyone whines about choice.Choice, independence, free will.” He mocks in an odd whiny baby voice. “Well, no one and nothing escapes death. Fate can tell any story she wants, as long as it ends in death. Time can strum a tune for any soul, but the final note will always be silence. I am the period at the end of a book. I am the rest at the end of a ballad. I am the only inevitability in a world full of mystery. And I will be obeyed.” During this diatribe, D rises from his chair, placing his palms flat on the surface of the desk, punctuating his last sentence.
“Ooookay.” I stretch out the word, taking the wind out of his sails. “Well, congratulations on your rebranding. What does this have to do with me?”
“Everything, fool.”
Flames light behind his eyes, and I pause. He’s a bear in a cage, and perhaps I’d better not rattle it. He may act like a sitcom villain with a sugar addiction, but he is still the current incarnation of Death and de facto ruler of the OtherWorld. Unhinged or not, he is still the boss.
He continues in a much more composed manner. “I am feeling, shall we say, a bit merciful at the moment, Rue. So, I come to you today with a choice. According to your intake forms, you qualify for a fast track to PTO.”
“PTO? Paid time off?”
“No, Rue. Passage To Oblivion,” he corrects. “It’s a bit like The Nothing, which I’m sure you remember from my recent soiree—which everyone loved, by the way—but much nicer. An all-expense-paid eternity in a dream state of your own making. No work, no souls, no pain. Just you, your imagination, and an infinity pool of peace.”
“Can I bring anyone?”
“Oh, you won’t remember anyone or anything there, Rue. That’s the Oblivion part. Blissful ignorance, a mind free of those pesky memories.”
