Twice.
The storm had returned with a vengeance, the rain beating its angry fists against the metal roof, causing a tinny song to fill the gaps between the hollow sound of wind churning. I considered a walk to the beach, knowing I could always draw a warm bath, but thought better of it when I’d opened the door and Grim’s hat had been ripped from my head, floating out into the pasture.
“Ugh! What is it that you expect me to do!”
I’d already spent a good portion of the morning yelling obscurities and profanities, aiming my ire toward the house and Death, hoping that he was listening or that the house would suddenly learn how to speak and pick up the conversation.
Again, my tirade was met with silence. A shudder ran through the walls. Grabbing the closest item to me, a poetry book, I hurled it across the space, straight toward the roaring fire. It stopped midair. The space around it wavered, forming a ghostly hand that gripped the book in its translucent fingers.
“Are you quite done?” Death snapped, impatience laced through his deep tone.
“You’re back?” It was a statement and a question, one with hope blossoming in my chest, born out of sheer boredom.
“No.” He stepped out of the shadows, his body incorporeal and face shrouded in a haze. “I’m in between, and in a bit of a hurry, but I cannot focus when you’re throwing a fit in my home, tossing priceless editions of ancient poetry into the hearth.”
Blushing, I pulling my knees higher to my chest. Grim set the book down safely on the coffee table. Even in a haze of shadows, I could make out the glare on his face and the t-shirt tight against his crossed arms. He looked handsome.
I shook the thought away, “When will you return? This was never part of the deal. I’d like to get this—” I motioned to the space around me, suddenly hit by the absurdity of it. “Finished.”
His voice caught on the last word, “This…”
“Yes, this. Why am I here, Grim? We need to get back to Gentry.”
“The curse shall be there when I return, Astoria.” His shadowy head cocked to the side. “I have to get back.”
His form flickered again, fraying at the edges.
“Learn to rest,” he called back, voice thinning as he dissolved into vapor. "Paint, read, cook... weave a basket, I don't know. Butplease—” His presence pulled taut, like a rubber band about to snap. “—refrain from burning my personal effects.”
And then he was gone, only his scent lingering where he once stood.
Oleander and salt.
Yeah, as if I was going to learn how to weave a basket. Pride flared in my chest, my stubbornness rearing its ugly head.
Perhaps, that is exactly what I will do.
“House? I am going to need a few things.” I paused, looking around. “Unless you want me to use the drapes.”
I knew absolutely nothing about weaving baskets—that much was apparent by the wet tile before me and long branches haphazardly tossed on the floor.
I flicked the page over, scouring the long paragraphs. The house was able to provide me with everything I’d need to weave a basket, including the long spindly branches, rope, and shears. The bathroom was a mess, the tub filled with water and large rocks weighing down the bundle of branches.
According to the book,Weaving for Beginners,I was supposed to soak the branches until they could be easily maneuvered without snapping, but Grim’s tub was certainly not long enough for the branches the House provided. The woman in the photos was using a large container outside in her yard, which seemed much more practical, but given the circumstances, there was no way I’d be going outside, and I had an ancient entity to prove wrong.
It wasn't that he didn't believe in me, but more so that he'd never expect me to do it. So, while my hands were bright red,irritated by the cold water and small cuts from where I’d nicked myself on the branches and my body repeatedly healed itself, I was determined to master this craft.
I jammed the last branch under the surface, shoving a rock down on top like I was drowning a very specific, very smug person.
My fingers were so raw they throbbed. Good times.
Stacking the remaining supplies on the counter, I took a moment to admire my handwork. They’d have to soak for a while before I'd be able to do any actual weaving, and it suddenly occurred to me thatthiswas the easy part.
Scowling, I dried my hands on the towel, closed the bathroom door behind me, and found myself staring atthatdoor once more. How long would I last before shoving it open to snoop through his things?
At least a while longer,I reprimanded myself. Even if that meant pacing the hall a few more times. I could refrain…
I think.
