Page 103 of Grim
And Rue … Rue just picks up her drink, takes a sip, and swallows like she didn’t just rewrite the laws of what’s possible with nothing but her voice and her heart.
Rue blinks, smiles, and looks over to me. “Well, I hope that conversation put her at ease a bit. It must be awful to feel trapped in a world you’re no longer a part of.” She takes a deep inhale, reaching for one last pull from her drink. This time, she makes no grimace as she swallows. “I wonder where she went.”
I can’t speak. I don’t trust what might come out if I try.
An elastic moment of silence stretches between us, broken by the tone of a message from my Tombstone Phone. I read the message to myself.
Big D: Get your ass to my office. Now. —Big D
Putain.This escalated quickly.
Rue stares at me, oblivious to the storm she just summoned, and asks with that casual grace that is becoming far more dangerous than endearing, “What is it?”
I look up from my phone and lock eyes with Rue.
I have a better question. “What are you?”
Tock,Tick
Big D doesn’t need to raise his voice. He never has. His anger comes wrapped in velvet and nails, slow and inevitable—like rot or taxes.
“To quote Ricky Ricardo,” he says evenly, “you better tell me what the fuck you’re up to.”
I don’t flinch, though my spine tightens. I give him a smirk anyway because, if I’m about to be flayed, I should at least go out in style. “I’m fairly certain that’s not how the quote goes, sir.”
His eyes narrow to slits. “Do I look like I give a shit?”
One clawed finger—growing by the second—pierces a piece of parchment on his desk like a skewer through meat. “Why don’t you tell me what the fuck this is?”
I lean forward on the balls of my feet to get a closer look, not at all interested in stepping any closer to him in this state.
“That’s a sheet of paper, sir,” I state plainly. “Good texture, recycled stock, strong gra—”
“Look at it, you fucking idiot!”
I step forward with measured strides. “Okay.”
I pluck the sheet off the desk, careful not to graze the talon embedded in it. The paper tears near the edge where his nail was. As I look up at him, his nail retreats, and his slithering tongue morphs back, and he closes his mouth.
“Uh …” Clearing my throat, I read the information. “It looks like an intake form, sir. Sent to the desk of AfterLife Processing immediately following a successful crossover.”
“Well, what do ya know? The doctor can read.” Big D’s eyelids close to razor-sharp slits. “Impressive.” He pauses, clearly waiting for me to do something, then groans. His voice takes on that petulant-child tone. “Read the name, Kane. And the date.”
I scan the paper more closely and realize that this is from Claire Simone.My brain short-circuits. If my blood wasn’t already cold, it would be now.
This shouldn’t be possible.
“Típota den eínai adýnato,” I mutter out.
Big D’s head snaps up. “What did you just mumble, reaper?”
“Nothing is impossible.”
“In Greek?”
“Yes.”
“Why Greek?”
