Page 19 of Grim Tidings

“Yeah, I know. Dumb question.”

I start a light, soothing pattern with my hands over the curve of his back. There are several abrasions, some deeper than others. I hesitate, then keep stroking, a knot in my chest that grows tighter with every pained exhale from the dog in front of me.

“What happened to you?” I whisper. “How’d you end up here all alone, hm?”

His nose nudges my thigh again with a low whine.

Maybe Gabriel was right. Maybe I have brought death to this small town. I can’t even find a place to stay without stumbling over a creature in agony. Maybe when I stood in front of the tree and asked for a reprieve, it decided to give me the things I deserve instead. Maybe I’m exactly what Gabriel seems to think I am.

Unwanted, I think to myself. Unwelcome.

The dog’s breathing grows more erratic, and I fold myself in half, pressing my forehead to his.

“What do you think, big guy? Want to get out of here?”

His tail thumps once against the pavement. I smile.

“Okay. Let’s see what we can do.”

I close my eyes and reach for the place within me where the deep well of ancient magic sits. I’ve always imagined it like a key fitting into the rusted lock of an old, curved door. I feel the metal in the palm of my hand. I weigh it carefully before I slip it into the lock. I wedge open the door and give myself over to the rush of it.

The magic flows out of me immediately. Up my spine and over my shoulders. It’s a relief to let go of the power. It curls around my arms like ribbons before spooling out to the dog in front of me.

He growls as the black shadows wrap around him, the curve of my scythe flashing in the muted light as I fish it out of my bag.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You don’t need to be afraid.”

I spin the scythe so the blade is facing away from us both, then tap the staff against the pavement. Three times, just the way I was taught. My magic settles over us like a cloak, wiping all sound and sensation. It’s like being in a bubble. Or sinking underwater and letting the current take you. Everything from this world, sucked out of it like meat off the bone. There is pressure, a biting wind, and then—

Green walls. Plush carpet. A gramophone in the corner that’s playing … Eric Clapton today.

The softness is an adjustment after the dark alleyway. The German shepherd at my side lifts his head from my lap, ears perked as he studies the warmly lit room. I reassure him with a hand down his newly healed back, and he turns big brown eyes up at me in question.

“Weird, huh?” I whisper. “I still haven’t gotten used to it and I’ve been doing this for a while.”

Somewhere above us, a file cabinet drawer slams shut with a clang.

“I hope you know you’re talking to an animal, Ms. Darcy.”

I aim a tight smile at the tall, thin man balanced precariously on his ladder. Maverick is usually seated behind his desk when I arrive, tapping away at his ancient typewriter. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him out of his chair.

I also don’t think I’ve ever seen the file cabinets open.

The intake room at the Department of Hauntings and Spirits is a long, narrow room. At one end, a simple oak desk sits in front of a single, unmarked door. At the other, a stretch of eggshell white. It would be a simple, unassuming room if it weren’t for the file cabinets that line either wall. The left is stacked with shiny, silver metal drawers. The right with identical shelving colored a deep bronze, like a handful of pennies tossed in the bottom of a fountain. I tip my head back and try to see to the very top, but as far as I’m aware, there is no top. Just file cabinets, up and up, as far as the eye can see.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt,” I call to Maverick.

Maverick frowns at me from overtop his thin wire-framed glasses. His white-blond hair is a chaotic sweep on top of his head, a startling contrast to his dark skin. Balanced up on his ladder, he looks much smaller than his six-foot-nothing frame.

“You did, actually.” He begins to climb his way down, a file folder wedged under his arm. “You’ve been around long enough to know I operate by appointment only.”

“Hard to make an appointment when I stumble upon a soul, Mav.”

He finally gets to the bottom of the ladder, skipping the final rung for a jaunty hop instead. His eyes flick to the dog at my side, his lip curling in distaste when he sees the muddy footprints on his plush carpet. “And who is this?”

“This is a dog.”

“Yes, I can see that.” His eyes narrow behind his glasses. “I don’t believe you’ve been assigned a dog, have you?”