He moved fast—toofast, somehow unfurling into smoke and vapor before rematerializing in front of me to seize the wrist of one outstretched arm with a freezing andliterallyskeletal hand.
“Omigod!” I gasped as he yanked me to him, the fallen chunks of balcony cracking loud as gunshots on the flagstones below.
My feet under me again, I teetered on my two-dollar Goodwill heels, my free hand going to his chest.
Instead of plastering themselves against a solid pectoral, my fingers dipped into the black fabric, curling around…ribs?
I snapped my hand back as if burned, and swiveling me away from the broken balcony, he released me.
Skittering in reverse with a cry of shock, I lost my balance a second time, my heels snagging in the hem of my dress, and I went spilling onto the stone floor.
I landed on my hip, catching myself with my hands, palms seared by the stone, my crown knocking askew, one knee screaming from the jolt.
But then, I wasn’t lying broken and bleeding on the flagstones below, was I?
“H-how?” I managed as I swung my head back toward my rescuer.
Except he was gone. Vanished from the balcony altogether.
But that… was impossible.
Behind me, the sliding door shushed open. “Oh my God,” fussed a woman, her heels clomping fast as she hurried over to me. “Are you all right?”
“Is she okay?” asked a male voice.
“What happened?” questioned a second feminine voice.
“This door is supposed to be locked,” answered the first voice.
People crouched around me, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t tear my gaze away from the now-missing portion of the balcony. Because I’d nearly gone with it. Been smashed, too, on the stone below.
Right at that moment, I could have beendead.
Right at that moment, Iwouldhave been.
If not for the man with the skeleton hand.
Except men—people,livingpeople—didn’t have skeleton hands.
Or touchable ribs.
But therealGrim Reaper… supposedly did.
2GRIM
I should not have done that.
I should not. Have. Done.That.
Scythe clutched in one hand, glowing hourglass holding the day’s collected souls in the other, I stalked down the long hall leading to the Basins, the repository where, every twenty-four hours, I delivered my cache of spirits.
My boots made no sound against the dark marble floors. The quiet that had never bothered me before swelled like a scream, aggravating my thoughts, making my normally calm mind snap and snarl at itself.
As I drew nearer to the open archway leading into the main chamber, the tall walls seemed to cinch tighter. And why did the vaulted ceiling have to resemble the roof of some unending serpent’s mouth?
On either side of me, green Soul Flames guttered in their sconces, their quiet wafting like whispers.
Made me nervous. Paranoid. Like their hissing pertained to me.
