Page 56 of Grim Tidings

Instincts, I remind myself. It doesn’t mean anything.

She unfolds the list carefully, pressing the edges down against the countertop. Her tongue finds the corner of her mouth, and I find something else to look at it.

“How do you feel about parasailing?” she asks.

“I’m gonna go ahead and pass on that.”

Her laugh is quiet. “Bowling?”

“Maybe later this week.”

“Oh, here we go.” She taps one finger somewhere in the middle of her list. Her brown eyes catch mine and hold. “I’d like to get drunk.”

I choke on the drink I’m desperately trying to power through. “Pardon?”

She folds her hands in her lap, her back straight, her posture perfect. A demure little merchant of death.

“I would very much like to get drunk,” she tells me.

Every time I think I know what to expect out of this woman, she surprises me.

“Is that … safe?”

Her face collapses into a scowl.

I rush to explain. “I just mean—it takes a lot for us to get buzzed, yeah?” Our senses are muted, and how our bodies physically operate is … not something I’ve ever decided to investigate. We can get drunk, but it takes a shit ton of alcohol to get us there. “Do you think it will be safe, I mean. Considering your magic is doing … whatever it’s doing.”

“You think alcohol will make it worse?”

“No clue. I haven’t gotten drunk since—” I squint my eyes, word-lessly counting back. “The last time I got drunk was in the twenties, I think.”

Darcy’s eyes dance, delighted. “Prohibition?”

“Been a bit of a rule breaker in all my lives, I guess.” I scratch at the scars over my chest. They’ve been throbbing something fierce since the jump in the river. It’s a reminder, probably, that I should focus. Darcy’s gaze tracks the movement and I force my hand away from the incriminating marks. “If that’s what you want, I can get you drunk.”

“I don’t plan on drinking alone, Gabriel.”

“Want me to grab Frank?”

“I’m not getting drunk with Frank either.” Her lashes flutter against the tops of her cheeks. “As you said, there is a risk of exposure. I can’t sit at your bar and drink myself to a stupor.”

I have an uneasy feeling I know exactly where this is going. “What are you suggesting?”

“We’re going to drink together,” she says, matter-of-fact. “We’ll go shot for shot until we’re both sloshed. Neither of us can take advantage of the other if we’re both flying high.”

I frown. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

Her smile is catlike. “I never said my list was for good ideas. They’re just things I’ve never gotten to experience.”

“Don’t see root canals on that list,” I grumble. “You really haven’t gotten drunk? Not since you died?”

She shakes her head. “Never. I tried once, with wine on New Year’s in 2000. The whole Y2K thing. But like you said, it takes a lot. I gave up with a light buzz.” She wiggles in her seat. “I guess I should be grateful, though. Most of the spirits at the department don’t feel anything at all.”

There’s a hierarchy. Those closest to mortal life, and those furthest away. The ghosts and average hauntings no longer experience sensation, taste, or connection. The Guardians do, but in a blunter form than the mortals. Almost as if everything is covered in wool. Our senses are dulled, but they’re still there.

I thought the Reapers would be on the other end of that spectrum, but I guess not.

I drag my hand through my hair, anchoring it at the back of my neck. “So, you want to get drunk. And then what?”