Flora and Johann could be just as compromised as her. And those factors left me with no choice.
I would ask her where she’d gotten the book—that was all—and just consider getting to see her a secret silver lining to a visit that I would keep professional.
That’s what I told myself, anyway.
28HELENA
It had been three days since my… interlude with Grim. To say I was experiencing reaper withdrawal would be an understatement.
There was something so comforting about him. Not to mention alluring…
I’d learned so many unexpected things about him, like his love for music, that heplayedmusic, where he “lived,” and how he conducted, well, business. I’d met his adorable family. Learned how much they cared for him…
I could certainly see why.
But… each of those things, illuminating as they had been, had only brought more burning questions about who he truly was—and why our souls seemed to sing to one another this way.
Didhis soar the way mine did when we’d intertwined like that?
Exiting the director’s office after delivering our department’s finalized summer-reading-program plans to his desk, I headed for the stairwell, today’s shift officially over.
Yesterday, the director had smiled so big when he told me the “stolen” bookmobile—which the police had recovered—would be repaired and operational again within the month. I’d smiled back despite my disappointment that we wouldn’t be getting a replacement,and I’d be spending another frigid winter ushering bundled school kids into Gus the Bus, who’d already tried to kill me once. Something told me he’d probably be the way I was going to go out after all…
Then again, maybe I’d go out in a more dignified way, like choking on a taco or slipping on a rubber duck.
The good news was that no one seemed to know of my involvement in the Halloween-night events. My car had vanished entirely, which told me Grim had done something with her.
I wasn’t complaining. At least, in the fleeting time I had left—however long that turned out to be—I wouldn’t be fielding questions from the police or having to make up believable excuses for how and why my car had been turned into an accordion by the library’s hijacked bookmobile.
With a sigh, I paused at the entrance to the stairwell, my gaze going to the silver elevator doors cordoned off with yellow caution tape. Repairs were still underway and likely would be for the rest of the year. Was it bad, though, that I wished I could, right at that moment, climb aboard again?
It wasn’t that I had a death wish—I didn’t. I loved my life, my job, my family, my patrons…
I just… longed to see Grim.
Shoot. Maybe Ididhave a death wish.
If I wanted to be super honest with myself, it wasn’t just toseehim, either.
Would we havetimefor another soul-shaking make-out session when my proverbial library card finally got scanned in for the last time?
Maybe he’d just been humoring me… Giving me a little thrill before my spirit got weeded from the shelves of life, stamped with a mystical “WITHDRAWN,” and chucked into the great recycling bin beyond.
We’d agreed he wouldn’t stop my fate from unfolding again, and why would he when, with Cedric in check and a covert way to the White Basin uncovered, the need no longer existed?
At the same time, I still wanted to believe he’d once again find a way to get me off another haywire elevator.
Maybe that was wishful thinking, but then the stars had written hope into the job description of my entire being. Hope could be a beautiful thing, too, a lifeline and a friend—something to hold on to even as your grip on what you held most dear, or even everything… slipped.
I took the stairs to the first floor, then nodded to Sam, the afternoon security officer, as I exited through the main entrance. From there, as the late-afternoon sun took on a more golden hue, I started down the white stone steps of the library.
I had to pause as I neared the book drop.
Peter stood there, leaning against one of the giant metal bins, hands shoved in the pockets of his sophisticated black double-breasted peacoat. He wore a gray scarf that complemented those silver eyes, but not enough for the Grim-thoughts-induced butterflies in my stomach to do anything other than fall dead to the floor of my being.
“Helena,” he said as I neared him, headed toward the parking lot.
“Peter.” Since we worked together, I almost had to keep the interaction cordial, even though there were any number of colorful things I’d like to call him at that moment. Names I’d picked up from my favorite storytime crew like “poop head,” “stupid face,” and the perennial favorite, “doo-doo brain.”
