Page 61 of Grim
“Don’t encourage him.”
“Who said I was encouraging anything?”
“You looked at him like you would have given him a kidney.”
“Didn’t look like he needed a kidney,” I mutter under my breath.
“What did you say?” Kane grates out.
I blink, surprised by the edge in Kane’s voice.
“Are you …” I trail off, a slow grin tugging at my lips. “Are you jealous?”
Kane’s jaw tightens. “No.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not terrible at anything.”
I look at the dead body next to me, and suddenly, I’m filled with shame. I forgot for a moment what they’re here to do. They act so casual that it’s easy to lose sight of the enormity of their assigned task.
“Stop looking at him,” he mutters.
“Why?” I manage out weakly as I look at the shocked look frozen on the man’s bloodied face.
“His fundamental essence is still trapped inside that body. You looking at him is only going to scare him more.The more scared they are, the harder they are to reap.” Kane pulls an obsidian handle from his breast pocket.
Where did that come from?
I note the small silver nub on the side and realize it’s a switchblade. He deploys and retracts the long silver knife’s edge several times before returning it to his pocket. I whip my head up to him in shock.
“His soul is in there, crying out for help?”
Kane winces as he nods. “Yes, they’re all very loud.”
“So, help him!” I say frantically while trying to pry myself from Kane’s firm grasp.
He jerks me back to him and pulls me around the bus, where there is no one standing. “I can’t let go of you. Stop trying to remove your fucking hand from mine,” he growls out.
I look at him and raise my brow. “Why?”
“Because you’re alive, remember? When we are physically connected, I can pass my spectral energy to you, rendering you invisible to the other living souls in a space. You let go, they will see you, and you will be told to leave. Actually, that might not be the worst idea.”
“Shut up.” I shove his chest. “Help them, Kane! You can’t let them suffer like this.”
“Mayday, you think I enjoy this? I’m a reaper, not a monster. I want these souls to cross over. I do not get off on pain.”
I side-eye him, remembering the way he absorbed the impact of my firm pinching of his flesh at the house earlier.
“Not all the time anyway,” he amends before continuing, “But if The Sisters are coming, we can’t.”
“The Sisters?”
“Time and Fate. One controls thewhen, the other thehow. They show up during instances like this to make sure all souls are properly accounted for.”
“Really?”
“Yes, it happens often. So many stories having their endings written at once requires direct supervision. Fate’s loom moves down to create a new tapestry every so often and the results are—”
