Page 14 of The Reluctant Reaper
La Croix snickered. “Both of those things can be true.”
“All vibes in the death car are weird vibes. Speaking of, La Croix, why are you here? I told you I’d go home, and you know I never lie.”
“It’s true!” Gray piped up. “It’s almost pathological with her.”
“I’d think you would have wasted no time getting back to your territory,” she went on. “Especially because it’s sunny and seventy-five in New Orleans right now. You could have gone back to Minot without me.”
La Croix chose the La-Z-Boy opposite Gray and sat with a flounce. How he could make flouncing so masculine was an eternal mystery. “I missed you,” he replied simply. “As does your mother. I’m not just here on your father’s behalf; I promised your mother I’d see you to the train. It’s been too long.”
“It hasn’t, though.”
The train was pulling out. Gray cleared his throat in what he always assumed was a subtle way, but it sounded like a bulldozer in low gear. “I think I’ll go downstairs and pick out my room. Which is nothing I thought I’d ever say anywhere, much less on a private train. I know there’s no way to stop you from talking behind my back once I’m out of earshot,” he added, slipping past them and down the stairs. “All I ask is that you temper the snark with the sweet.”
Amara laughed. “We’re not going to be talking about you even a little, you vain slug.”
“Yes you are!” Gray punctuated that by shutting the first door he saw. Amara waited, heard his muffled curse, and then the door swung open. “Okay, obviously Amara’s room. The eighteen suitcases tipped me off. Maybe one of the other nine bedrooms will be unoccupied...”
“Four,” she protested.
After another door slam, La Croix shifted in his chair and crossed his legs. “I like friend Gray.”
“What’s not to like? He puts up with my weirdness and I put up with his generous nature and his twelve-stepping all over the place and love-me-love-my-dog loyalty. We both bring something to the table. Him more than me, obviously.”
“I would have thought you would share a bed.”
“It’s not like that,” she snapped. “It’s never been like that. And even if it was, it would be none of your fucking business.”
“Mmmm. Well, as I assured your mother, there’s plenty of time for you to take a lover and birth an heir.”
“Please pleasepleasestop discussing my reproductive future with my mother. Or anyone.”
“It’s a fine thing to have such a good friend, in particular one who knows what you are. What a pity you’ll soon bid him adieu.”
“Shut up.”
La Croix scrutinized her over tented fingers. “You haven’t told him.”
“Shut. Up.”
He sighed and had the gall to look sorrowful. “Must you do this dance every time?”
“Apparently.”
“Your window where denial serves your purpose is sliding shut,” he warned.
“Your metaphor sucks and also, shut up.”
Gray often wondered how she put up with her heritage and the baggage it brought.
She’d never told him: The only way to put up with her heritage was to deny it. Every day.
ChapterEight
Five years ago...
* * *
When you feel like barfing into the abyss, the abyss barfs back into you.
