The rest—blessedly, mercifully—disappeared.
thirty-two
Itried to ignore the angry voices coming from his office, telling myself I should mind my own business. But each time I attempted to get back to my basket, my fingers wouldn't cooperate. The rows weren’t getting any shorter.
Then Feo’s voice rang out, louder now, cutting through the house with the honed edge of a blade. Leaving the project in my lap, I tiptoed down the hall, avoiding the planks that I knew would give away my eavesdropping.
“You were given a choice—”
“It was not a choice!” Grim’s voice rose. “It never was. And even if it had been, I made my decision years ago.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, ready to be found out, but the rising tension distracted them from my presence. Grim’s back was to the door, Feodora hidden from view through the narrow gap, but her bangles clanked with every frantic movement of her arms as she argued with Death.
“You forget there is free will. Do you truly believe you know her heart better than she? Because the thread you’ve been giftedwith has now withered. Died. It’s gone, forever. How could you be so foolish?”
Grim’s silhouette loomed as a mountain, his fury gathering in dark clouds, spilling rage like thunder rolling down the hills. “I stand by my choice,” he said, each word tight, as if it physically pained him. His arms were crossed over his chest, but even that couldn't protect him. “I have now known love, and even a single fleeting second of it with her is worth more than a million lifetimes lived without.”
The air was swept from my lungs.
Feo clucked her tongue as she gestured to the strange milky white globe before her. The very one that always stole my attention. Reaper groaned, a sharp noise, as he stretched out on the hardwood floor. Her eyes darted to the door as I ducked out of sight, my back pressed against the wall.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Death. For her sake and yours…” she whispered, defeat laced heavy through her tone.
Darting back into the living room, I rummaged through a stack of notebooks on the coffee table, picking up where I left off.
My fingers shook as I scribbled the same looping letters over and over again, running through their conversation in my mind. Death made some kind of choice; one Fate was angry about. And I was fairly certain it involved a curse…me.
The next morning, I woke alone. In his bed. A folded note on the pillow beside me.
Astoria,
I hope you slept well. I had business to attend to, home by dinner, I promise. Tomorrow we’ll go back for Gentry. Give Reaper a treat for me, will you?
I love you,
G
It left a crooked grin on my face as I pushed tangled curls from my forehead, imagining him carefully disentangling himself from bed to avoid waking me. His hurried handwriting on the note only made my smile grow wider. Despite the rush, it was clear he couldn’t get home fast enough.
It was a small thing, but it made my heart clench.
After breakfast, I sat at the table, ready to tackle the project Grim mockingly dubbed my ‘life’s work.’ The basket still needed two more rows. Only two.
The basket would be done by the time Grim walked through the door for dinner. I had already asked the House to pull ingredients for our meal. It had been a while since I’d cooked anything from scratch and I was excited to make something without magic or shortcuts.
I set to work, my hands moving almost instinctively now. The motions, though slow at times, were becoming easier, more fluid. I didn’t have to think about the steps, my fingers just knew. And as I worked, I watched the basket take shape, a little more with each pass.
An hour later, I held my finished creation in my hands. The House responded in its usual way, the lights flickering with approval, as I set my completed masterpiece on the table.
Would Grim notice? He had cheered me on all week, reading while I weaved, offering quiet words of encouragement, his steady presence always in the background. But before I could linger too long in my small victory, a loud crash from the hall startled me. Reaper.
I groaned, realizing the monster had vanished yet again. Yesterday, I’d caught him with Grim’s loafers.
“Reaper!” I yelled, striding down the hall. The dog burst out of Grim’s office at full speed, barreling past me and nearly taking my knees out from under me.
Pushing the door open, I silently prayed that the crash had sounded worse than it actually was—especially considering how many priceless artifacts Grim kept scattered across his shelves.
My eyes swept the room. A water glass lay tipped over beside the desk, its contents dripping onto the hardwood. Grabbing a towel, I mopped up the mess, nudging a fallen globe aside to reach under it.
