“It’s out of the question.” Even as Fallon said it, he rubbed his lips and looked at the corner of the room as if contemplating the idea.
Timothy put his tablet down on the coffee table to elaborate. “You must understand, resurrection is a…tricky process. Which is exactly why we have the rules we have.”
“What rules?” Miranda asked.
“If Grim can be brought back, why the ever-loving fuck weasels are we standing around here with our thumbs up our butts?” I demanded.
“Should he return to this life, in human form,” Timothy stressed, “it could be hundreds of years or more. And only he can decide that for himself.”
“Why the fuck wouldn’t he come back?” I knew my tone was biting. Maybe because of the guilt and recrimination I felt over losing my window to tell Grim I loved him.
Timothy shook his head. “Wherever Grim is, he is in his raw essence. He does not have memories or feelings like he used to. It’s not that he didn’t love you.” His eyebrows furrowed with sympathy. “It’s just that in the state he is in, there is no beginning or end. There is no memory or grounding or time. He could come back confused, volatile, violent.”
Seeing my deep frown, Timothy went on. “Think of it as one of your cakes. If you don’t let it bake, it will make a mess. We learned long ago that when we resurrected gods too soon, their powers would be unstable, ungrounded. They could be detrimental to society as well as themselves. Eventually, one day, far from now, he may be drawn to return to this earth, but we can’t interfere with that.”
“Bullshit,” I shot back.
“We can’t, Vivien,” Bianca said in a firmer tone.
“Bi, think about it, though,” Fallon said. “If we could find the cradle—”
“No,” she cut him off, standing abruptly. “It’s absolutely out of the question. The balance of the world could be thrown on its head with the premature emergence of a god. Grim will remain in repose until he is ready to return, and none of us shall interfere with that. End of conversation. I need to get back.” With that, Bianca left, disappearing in the direction of the elevator.
After checking his tablet, when it vibrated, Timothy followed after her. “I need to fetch blood for Vivien.” The doors closed on the two of them, leaving Fallon, Miranda, and me.
“Fallon?” I asked. I sensed the conflict in him.
He stared after Bianca with a pensive look. “She’s right. We can’t.”
“No,” I said, my fingers curling into fists. “You won’t. There’s a difference.”
The god’s head snapped toward me, anguish plain on his face.
“You think I want this? You think I want him to be gone? You think I want to be the god of the dead?” The death mask flickered. He stilled, closing his eyes as if trying to regain control. When they opened again, the blue one glowed. “I don’t want the weight of this responsibility. I don’t wish to spend my days judging souls, captive to a position I can never be free of. If there was a choice, I would find the cradle and raise Grim.” Desperation edged along his voice. “But I have to face the reality of my fate. And you need to face yours. We have to carry on without Grim, and be prepared for things to get a lot worse before they get better.”
Miranda folded her arms as if she was suddenly cold.
I didn’t dare say the words out loud, but I couldn’t see how things could get any worse.
14
Vivien
“We’ll both feel better once we have a little caffeine.” Miranda sat me down at Perkatory.
I said nothing. Grief vibrated through my being as my ass hit the hard chair. All I could think was I needed to get Grim back.
The thought of waiting a hundred years or more to see him again made my insides ache. But if I could be with him, I’d wait forever.
Raise hell in the meantime, of course, but I belonged with him as he did with me.
Still, my fingers curled into my palms, digging in against the arduous inching of time between me and him.
I understood now. Grim explained forever meant having that much more time to experience the pain. And I kept him hanging on that edge of uncertainty, straining to know the depths of my feelings. Did the moments crawl along like this for him in between my weak excuses that I needed more time? I’d been a coward. And I was disgusted with myself.
Miranda disappeared over to the café line, and I sat there growing colder by the second. Timothy went to retrieve blood for me, but the thought of drinking blood, anyone else’s blood, made me positively ill.
My arms curled into my stomach as I became a small ball in my seat.
