Cut off from the rest of the world, I contemplated turning on the burner phone Nemo had left me—tucked away in the manila folder of personal effects prepared for my next life. Every time I brought it out, I'd end up shoving it back into my bag. Who would I call? Who would I text? The one person I was most worried about couldn't exactly be reached by phone.
It was a few hours past lunch when my stomach began to sour and took up pacing the kitchen barefoot, calling out for him once more as if he’d appear from thin air.
No reply.
I stood in the middle of the empty kitchen, heart hammering in the hollow of my throat, seriously debating calling for Day—or, hell, maybe even throwing a book into the ocean to make a point—when something flickered at the edge of my vision.
Movement, out past the glass.
I pressed my face against the cold windowpane, squinting into the winter light. A gray, shaggy shape moved lazily through the grass; something solid and alive. Curiosity and a fair bit of desperation made me grab Grim’s chore coat from the rack by the back door.
It smelled of him, and I pulled it on without thinking, stepping out onto the patio. There, across the field of pale grass, a dog stood. He stared back at me, tongue lolling out, long tail wagging so hard it disturbed the stillness around him.
A laugh, thin and surprised, caught in my chest. Before I could move closer, the dog barked once, then took off. A silver streak racing toward the distant shoreline. Chasing after it, I vaguely remembered what Grim had said about the fence and the creatures he worried lingered beyond. But the fence was on the other side of the property, and I couldn’t just leave a random dog out here. What if its owner was somewhere nearby looking for it?
My heels dug into the soft sand as I climbed down the hillside, scanning for any sign of the animal. There, just off to the side, half-shielded by the wild grass, the dog watched me. Warily. Patiently.
"Hi, puppy..." The words slipped out in a ridiculous baby voice before I could stop myself. I cleared my throat, heat prickling my cheeks. "Sorry. I mean—hi there. Are you lost?"
The dog cocked his head at me, the movement almost human.
Up close, he was a beautiful thing. Tall and lean, his back met the top of my thigh, and his coat was an unruly mess of grays and browns, shaggy and wild. The fur around his mouth fell in soft, bearded tufts, giving him the dignified, disheveled look of an old fisherman who'd seen too many storms. No collar. No signs of grooming. He wasn’t a pet, at least not recently.
"Are you hungry?" I asked, holding my hand out to the curious creature. I paused, not daring to move any closer. Thelast thing I wanted was to scare him off. So I waited, wrangling my heavy breathing from the climb down the sand as I slowly sat. For a moment, he just stood there, his coat stirring in the winter wind. Then, cautiously, he came forward, his wet nose bumping against my fingers.
A slow sniff, a tentative decision, and then he leaned into my touch. His fur was coarse in some places, soft in others. Beneath it, his ribs pressed sharply against my hand, a silent confession of how long it had been since he'd eaten properly. I wasn’t sure how Grim felt about animals. But he wasn’t here to protest. And quite frankly, after leaving me stranded in a strange place, I didn’t care.
Kneeling in the sand, I stroked the dog’s side, feeling the tremor of his breath against my palm. He shifted his weight suddenly, nearly collapsing into my lap as he tucked his face below my chin. "Do you want to come home with me?" I purred, burying my face in his thick fur.
He lifted his head, and for the first time I caught a clear look at his eyes.
Bright green.
Startling and familiar, the exact shade of my own.
"Yeah," I breathed, a small, cracked laugh escaping me. "I think you want to come home with me."
Reaper, as I had lovingly named the dog to match Grim, was the gentlest creature I’d ever met. Already house-trained, he took to the House quickly. And the House, it seemed, took to him.
It was day four without contact from Grim, and the panic was beginning to set in. My birthday was tomorrow, and before Grim left, we’d made plans to try and get back to Gentry before then.
Reaper was asleep beside me, his breath rising and falling against my thigh as I sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, the base of my basket spread between my legs.Finally—finally—I’d crafted a halfway-decent base.A few spots were wonky, but it was nearly a circle, and it would certainly hold, as long as I didn’t mess up the sides. On a roll, I kept going, my hands moving automatically, trying to push Grim, and the rising thrum of panic, out of my mind.
Maybe this was why Nemo had left me an entire Icelandic identity, because somehow, that slippery creature knew Death would deposit me in the middle of nowhere and thendisappear without a trace.
I supposed disappearing was better than dying. But it didn’t stop the anger from burning my cheeks or quickening my pulse until my hands shook against the weaving reeds.
When he came back, my fury would know no bounds. Of that, I was certain.
"Knock knock, Storybook, you here?" Day’s voice rang through the front room, the sound of the door creaking open then slamming shut against the winter wind. Beside me, Reaper growled low in his throat, rising to his feet and planting himself between me and the entryway.
A flash of blond hair and a too-bright smile appeared in the doorway. Day’s eyes widened as he took in the dog, who bristled protectively in front of me.
"Whoa," Day laughed, lifting his hands palms-up. "Whose dog?"
"Grim’s," I said without looking up, carefully threading another branch through the weave.
Day chuckled, setting a few canvas bags down on the counter and extending his hand toward Reaper, letting him sniff. “Does he know that?”
