Page 94 of Grim
I head down the stairs and stop in the living room to grab Kane.
“Our noble steed awaits,” I say cheerily.
“Oh joy,” Kane grumps before I grab his hand and drag him outside.
The Prius rolls to a stop in front of the mall’s south entrance. Kane is already straightening his coat like he’s preparing to step onto a battlefield instead of a linoleum-tiled food court.
I open the door and slide out. Kane appears beside me the moment my feet hit the concrete.
Steve leans out his window with a grin. “Stay spiritual, Rue. It’s been real.” He places his hand over his heart and nods with a soft smile.
I give him a salute. “You’re a legend, Steve.”
Steve shoots us therock ongesture with his left hand, completely unaware of the immortal entity he just shepherded to Atrium 88, New Orleans’ finest mecca to merchandise.
“We should have transported,” Kane grumbles at the retreating vehicle before he turns his glare to the grey structure in front of us, like a general assessing the enemy’s battlements. “So, this is where we make our stand,” he murmurs, voice low and grim.
“Yes. Watch out for the escalators. Avoid the perfume sprayers and try to be brave.” I look directly at Kane with as much seriousness as I can muster.
He ignores me and steps forward with all the reluctant dread of a condemned man. “This entire building is vibrating with chaos and monosodium glutamate.”
“It’s called capitalism,” I whisper, looping my arm through his—just for the comfort of pretending he’sherein a way that people can see. “You’ll be fine.”
The sliding glass doors part, and the fluorescent glow and buffed floors beckon us toward the light. But before we enter the space, Kane clears his throat and removes his arm from mine, stopping me in my tracks.
“Don’t you remember?” he asks condescendingly.
“What?”
“Don’t loop your arm around the spirit no one can see. Put your earbuds in and keep your eyes forward. Otherwise, it looks like you’re talking to a brick wall.”
“Sometimes, I feel like that’s what I’m doing,” I mumble to myself while looking up at the ceiling to deliberately piss him off. I push the buds into my ears. “Better?” I snark.
“Just remember, you’re the one they’re going to whisper and point at.” He smirks.
“Just walk, reaper.”
We make our way down the first hall, and I find a kiosk with a map.
Kane takes in his visual surroundings with wonderand derision, if his tone is any indication. “Fascinating. Reminiscent of a medieval village.”
“They’re about to be just as extinct too,” I reply scanning the business names along the bottom of the display. “Shoes, shoes, shoes. Ah, here we go. HPSW.”
“What ishupsswuh?” Kane strings the letters together in a mess of sound.
I laugh. He does not.
“It’s not a word, Kane. It’s an acronym. Half-Price Shoe Warehouse,” I say, emphasizing each first letter.
Kane looks appalled. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not getting heels for a ball hosted by the lord of the OtherWorld on clearance. Show me on this map where FILTH is located.”
“What the fuck isfilth,Grim?”
“FILTH, an acronym that’s also a word, Mayday. The best kind of acronym.”
“What does it stand for?”
“Fine Italian Leather-Topped Heels. Take us there, Rue.”
