Grim disappeared—gone with the sweeping winds and rising storm. Retreating a few steps, I stumbled between graves. The man called out, his words indecipherable. The dogs moved in closer toward the gate, their gangly jowls dripping with drool and spit as they bared their teeth and tucked their snouts between the bars.
Balling my fists, I slunk behind the closest statue, pressing my back against the cool marble. Chancing a glance around the angel, I looked to see if the man would follow and let them in. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if he did. They didn’t look like affectionate animals. Cursing Grim and his uncanny ability to leave me in the worst of spots, I slunk further down, crouching behind the bulk of the statue.
“What is it boys?” the man called. “Someone there? My dogs don’t take kindly to strangers.”
I froze. My heart raced as the gate began its long and strenuous groan. I thought about revealing my hiding spot—it wasn’t as if it would be difficult to see someone had been there, with fresh flowers laid on graves that had been left untouched for decades.
“His name’s Timothy Hoffman. He’s half-mad and convinced someone’s out to get him…”
Grim’s voice filled my mind, taunting and cruel, a wave of coldness washing over me.“Shame you have no means of proving your relation to the estate.”
I’d found myself in a lot of unfortunate situations over the years, but none had shaken me like this—staring down a crazed man holding a gun, flanked by three vicious-looking dogs. Their fur was dark and shaggy, their backs rising to the man’s hip. They snarled and pawed at the ground, leaping toward the gate as the man held it halfway shut, his eyes scanning the grounds.
“I can’t imagine Natalie Keene will be of help,”Grim joked.
Trembling, I sank further into the dank earth and the stone, willing myself invisible. He was right. My license said Natalie Keene, twenty-one-year-old from Maryland.Thanks to Nemo, of course.
The short glance I got of the man proved Death’s observation. Timothy looked manic, his appearance disheveled. The rifle in his hands ate away at any semblance of hope that this encounter wouldn’t end with me lying in a pool of my own blood. My body would knit itself back together, of course—but could Timothy justify such an unnerving event in his mind? Or would I get carted off by the police? Or worse?
I sucked in a shallow breath, my lungs struggling to inflate with the air I desperately needed.
The gate creaked louder, the dogs barking growing fearsome.
“Don’t say I never did anything for you.”With the last of Grim rummaging through my mind, the gate clattered shut and the noises faded away. Trembling, I peered between the dragging wings of the angel. The man disappeared, his form fading with the light as he ran after his dogs.
Sincerity was something I did not entertain with Grim, but my near-death experience pulled a broken apology from my lips. Half expecting him to reappear and shove it in my face, I gathered my things, shook off the last bits of creeping fear, and pressed my fingers to my lips. Blowing a kiss to my children, I left my old life and entire world behind in silence.
eleven
Astoria
November 2018
It was nearly one in the morning by the time I arrived. My flight to Boston wouldn’t board for a few more hours. After dragging myself through security, I dropped my phone into the nearest garbage can and walked off in search of my gate. There was a new one tucked away in my bag—courtesy of Nemo—but I couldn’t bring myself to turn it on. There was no one to reach out to.
At least this way, I could breathe a little easier. Piper and Sanjay were silenced.
That was it. The end of it all. No more contact. No more goodbyes.
Rainwater fell in heavy sheets against the windows overlooking the tarmac as I weaved through the rows of seats.The airport was livelier than I expected for the middle of the night, but not busy enough to stop me from stretching out across a line of chairs and keeping to myself. Coffee and croissant in hand, I found a quiet corner to settle in. Still, a strange prickling at the back of my neck had me pulling my hood up and keeping my head down as I sipped and begged my eyes to stay open.
Crossing my legs, my gaze dropped to the flecks of dried blood staining my white Converse. I frowned, trying to forget Regina’s lifeless eyes as I fled the room. The scene replayed in my mind with ruthless precision. Recoiling, I pulled my collar up over my nose. I’d have to live with it—her death—and the blood that glared back at me from my feet. It was done. There was no changing what happened.
The next few hours blurred, my eyelids fluttering with exhaustion as I promised myself I could sleep on the plane. As a last-ditch effort, I took to pacing with the only book I owned. A few others began to trickle in—some in suits, scrolling their phones like lifelines, leather briefcases at their feet. Others wore sweats and trench coats, tennis shoes and tired expressions. Vacationers, maybe. Or people like me, people who were running from something.
A man took the seat at the end of my row, scrolling his screen and sipping from a paper cup. Occasionally, our eyes met over the edge of my book as I walked past. He stayed silent, watching with careful eyes and a kind smile.
“Does Hell interest you?” he asked when I neared him again.
My lips tugged down. “Excuse me?”
He pointed to the book in my hand, brow raised. “Dante’s Inferno?”
Oh. A sense of relief swept through me as I actuallyreadthe cover I hadn’t processed in hours. I laughed. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Long night.” I ventured a step closer. He was tall, dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, a thick trench coat folded besidehis bag. If I had to guess, he was in his late forties, maybe early fifties—the silver threaded through his beard gave him away.
“Favorite of yours?” he asked, setting his phone down and turning his full attention to me.
“It is, yeah. Ever read it?”
