Page 46 of Grim Tidings

“You kissed me,” I point out.

She rolls her eyes to the sky. “The point remains. I didn’t call my magic to me. It just sort of—” She makes an exploding gesture with her hands.

“But not when you claim a soul,” I clarify.

She shakes her head. “No. When I feel death surround a soul, I’m able to channel it. Like a power exchange.”

I frown. “You mean, you siphon energy off a nearby soul like some sort of succubus.”

Darcy snorts. “Sure.” Another shiver, her dark hair clinging to the pale slope of her shoulders. “But either way, I can’t zip-zap myself like you, so.” She hikes her thumb over her shoulder, in the direction of the truck. “I’m going to walk of shame my way back to the truck for my jacket now. Then when my teeth stop chattering, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

She barely gets two shaky steps before I relent and force my magic in her direction. A soft, shimmering wall of gold collides against her back, drying everything instantly. She straightens from her hunched position and shoots a curious look in my direction, caught halfway between suspicion and disbelief.

I shrug my shoulders. “Don’t want my seats wet,” I explain.

Except that’s not why my magic is humming happily in the center of my chest. The knot in the middle of my back relaxes and I’m—eased, I think. Content. My magic is satisfied when it’s helping others.

I flick my fingers with a half-hearted gesture and her hair twists into a braid. I toss my balled-up flannel at her, and it hits her in the middle of her chest. Her hands scramble to catch it before it falls back to the wet dock.

“Thank you,” she says.

I stare out over the trees clustered at the edge of the water so I don’t have to see the look on her face. It makes me feel guilty for reasons I can’t begin to articulate.

“Put that on,” I tell her. “And let’s get back to the truck.”

Chapter Eleven

Darcy

His shirt smells like cigarette smoke and whatever lemon-scented disinfectant they use at the bar. I keep it draped over my lap while he rumbles us back into town, unwilling to part with it even though I’m back in my jeans, sweater, and coat. My skin still feels tacky with the grime of the river, but I keep catching myself smiling in the reflection of the window.

Running down the old, swaying dock is the closest I’ve ever come to flying. A different sort of magic. I pushed off the edge with my bare feet and in that split second before my body crashed beneath the surface, I felt—

Untethered. Unburdened.

For the first time in a very long time, I felt like a person.

Gabriel hasn’t said much since we left the docks, and my happy high dwindles the closer we get to town.

Back to reality, and all the secrets I’m holding on to.

Gabriel turns down the alley behind the bar and slips his truck into a parking spot next to a garbage bin. He is a series of efficient, practical movements. I try to picture him existing in another time, but I can’t. He feels uniquely crafted for this one. White T-shirt and denim jacket, knees tipped wide and lazy on the cracked leather seat of his Toyota. I can’t picture him anywhere else but exactly right here.

He might have used his magic to reverse the effects of the lake, but dishevelment still clings to him. His hair is all dark wild curls, the collar of his T-shirt bent beneath his collarbone. He turns his body so he’s facing me in the wide bench seat, and I can see a touch of mud. Right on the side of his neck.

“Wet pavement,” I blurt.

His face pinches. “What?”

“In my vision,” I explain, “the pavement was wet. There was a storm passing through.”

Gabriel nods, considering. It’s a notable reversal from the bossy way he’s been demanding details since we first made this agreement. “How do they work?” he asks. “These visions.”

“I’m given pieces of the puzzle, but never the full picture. I think it’s because it’s constantly changing. You know—a butterfly flaps its wings somewhere and a tornado shows up in Texas.”

His mouth quirks up at the corners.

“What?” I ask.