Grim and bear it, p.5
Grim and Bear It, page 5
“I know.” She looked out over the water. “Something weird is going on.”
“Excuse me?” The young woman asked, turning to face me and Sylvia. “What’s going to happen to us?”
“We’re going to deliver you to the gates of the afterlife. Once we dock, you’ll follow the brick path with the other souls and pass through the iron gate. They’ll call you by name from the waiting area and you’ll be informed of your options,” I explained, my voice tight with nausea already.
“Like heaven?” An older man asked.
“Not sure. We aren’t allowed past the gates. We’re just the delivery service.” I was seriously considering embroidering a DEADEX logo onto my cloak as a joke. I wondered if anyone would notice.
“How do we know this isn’t a trick?” a third chimed in.
I took this moment to pull out a barf bag and dry heave. This always did wonders at shutting people up. When I finished, I wiped my hand over my mouth, a superfluous gesture. I couldn’t actually throw up.
“Because I wouldn’t suffer through seasickness several times a day to take ungrateful souls to the afterlife as a joke,” I snapped.
Sylvia, despite loving conflict and mayhem, elbowed me. “What she means is you have a choice. You can trust us, reapers who put ourselves on the line to help souls cross over to the afterlife daily, or you can risk facing whatever else is out there. And trust me when I say most of what’s out there has a taste for new souls.”
The boat went silent, except for my dry heaves. I laid down on the bench and closed my eyes. Sylvia ran her boney fingers through my hair, trying to help me feel better. “Tell me about the wedding.”
I must look really sick. She hated weddings. If only seasickness medications worked when one was dead.
I fisted my cloak in my hands. I was still in my human form to not scare the souls anymore, and mostly because I liked it better. “I…” My words bottlenecked, trying to keep from spilling out. As if saying them would breathe my fears to life.
How could I tell her?
“What?” she prompted.
I knew one day Jake and Eliza would die. All humans died, even those with supernatural genes. It was just that once my friends died, that was it. I would never, ever, ever see them again. Reapers existed only in an in-between, sandwiched between the human world and the afterlife.
For twelve years, it had been enough to know that they were alive and thriving. I checked the log after every shift, searching for their names. I could only rest once I knew they had survived another day.
My sister leaned closer. “Poppy?”
“I saw Jake.”
She jerked her hand back. “What? On accident?”
I shook my head.
She leaned close to me, her voice full of quiet fury. “Are you shi—Poppy, if you got caught, you’d be permanently retired! I could be, too, if they suspected I had a hand in it. Good god, here I thought you never broke the rules and you’re breaking one of the most serious ones! Tell me this doesn’t get worse. How often—”
“Jake could see me back.” My voice was barely above a whisper, but even I could hear the pain laced through it.
“Shit. This actually got worse.”
I sucked in a shaky breath. “I can’t do it, Sylvia. I can’t take his soul.”
She laid her head on my shoulder, which made it both better and worse. Better because I loved physical affection and being dead really hindered receiving it. Worse because Sylvia didn’t like to touch other people, or other reapers, unless she was about to fight. Her touching me meant things were as bad as I had feared.
“I’ll be by your side, okay?” she promised. “Whatever happens. I’ll do it when the time comes.”
“He was supposed to die when he was 101 with a dozen great-grandchildren and a lifetime of memories.”
“I know.” She sat up and brushed my hair back out of my face. “You know you can’t go see him again, right?”
Her words cut through the fog of motion sickness and sank into my chest. “Yes.” The word carried no sound but a lifetime of weight.
If I stuck to the rules and stayed away from Jake until his name came up on my list, and then I delivered him to the afterlife registration portal, then this wouldn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. Couldn’t matter.
We sat in silence until the boat docked. Sylvia took charge, ushering our lot off and into the registration line. I took a minute to sit on one of the large boulders that lined the shore, staring out over the misty water, trying to recharge and recenter.
My sister nudged me with her toe bone a few minutes later. “You wanna come watch a movie with me tonight? We can pick something you won’t hate.”
I shook my head. “Maybe tomorrow? I think I just want to read.” I needed to lose myself in anything that wasn’t reality. I needed a happily-ever-after.
“Alright, but if you change your mind…”
I smiled. “Thanks.” I followed her back to our lodgings, a long brick building filled with studio apartments. We didn’t need to sleep and couldn’t eat, but reapers reported a higher quality of unlife when they had their own spaces. My dads even had a courtyard.
I was in the center of the building—not smart enough when I was sixteen to ask for something with windows—but that was okay. When I stepped into the small room with my worn recliner, scattered sheet music, and an entire wall of bookcases, the wiring in my shoulders loosened. It was a hodgepodge of things from the human world and magic, like my always-glowing twinkle lights that floated above my head without the need for electricity and a plush black rug that covered most of my floor. Reaching into my pocket, I took out the program from today’s wedding and pinned it to my wall. It rested among dozens of wedding programs from events I had snuck off to watch.
I traced the Blackburn House lettering with my finger, the threads of colored paper pulp indicating that it was printed on recycled paper. The house had always been a staple in Jake and my relationship. Could that be all it was? Was my wishing so strong that it somehow defied the odds?
I set my violin on its stand, then hung my robe in a small closet before falling into my recliner. While my family always allowed their skeletons to show when they were home, I still wore my human form. I had died in my pajamas—unicorn leggings and a long pink T-shirt—which I was happy to see was back in style again. This pissed my family off to no end because they had worn black dress clothes. I had defiantly changed out of the outfit my dads had laid out for me, too angry to agree to their plan, the moment they had said goodnight.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t remembered to put back on my socks or shoes. At least my fingernails and toenails had been manicured in a soft pink for the vow renewal. One perk about being dead: the nail polish never chipped.
I picked up the book on the side table next to me, running my thumbs over the pages. It was a frequent reread, but I still enjoyed falling into the story. On days like today, when I was shaken to my core, I needed the familiarity, the comfort of knowing exactly what would happen.
I opened the book and leaned back, trying to concentrate on the characters. Desperately ignoring the pulling in my chest that longed to check on Jake one more time. To beg him to stay safe. But if I saw him again, it would destroy me.
After rereading the same paragraph four times, I stood and tossed the book down. I needed to scream, cry, throw something across the room—anything for a release. Instead, I grabbed my violin and headed out the door. I needed to go practice somewhere where no one but the lost reapers would hear.
Chapter Seven
Jake
As the sun crawled over the horizon, I tipped back the last of my coffee, which had a startling lack of cream and sugar. I was so desperate for caffeine, it didn’t matter. Maybe this was how I died. Drowning in bad coffee.
“Robinson, you good?”
I nodded at Paris. Easier to lie without speaking. She waited at the front door of a brick ranch as I leaned on my cane hard and climbed to the front step with no rail. I bit down on an expletive. My leg hadn’t recovered from yesterday and my normal regimen of pain relievers wasn’t keeping up. I had five pills left of my in-case-of-a-pain-emergency stock, but I’d need a doctor appointment before I got a refill. I didn’t know when the hell that was going to happen.
Anyway, combining the good meds with no sleep for thirty hours would definitely slow my reaction time. After an all-nighter with Paris trying to trace who sent the email with no luck, one of our ghost agents activated the communication tree and Sebastian had appeared in Paris’s office an hour ago with this address. Who didn’t love visiting a rundown house in the middle of nowhere at sunrise with several dead bodies waiting?
Paris opened the door and I limped through and into an open kitchen-dining room. Five human-presenting bodies were slumped over in folding chairs. There was no blood, no restraints, no needles, no signs of struggle. Whatever happened here was likely done willingly.
I navigated to a near-spotless kitchen space, where two white pills sat in a plastic cup next to a bottle of water. Paris was already at my side, removing a test kit from her shoulder bag. She slipped on gloves before inserting one of the pills into a handheld tester.
I approached the doorway to the empty bedroom beyond. A cold chill ran down my spine as soon as I crossed the threshold. Something bad had happened here. Something unnatural.
The bed was made with military precision and a small desk was completely clear. Maybe it was the order and cleanliness in juxtaposition to the bodies in the next room that threw me. No, it was something deeper. I squinted at the shadow in the corner, the one that didn’t quite look right…
“Jake!” Paris called. “Got a result.”
I blinked and looked around the room again. Sunlight streamed through the small window, casting out any remaining shadows. I shook my head. This lack of sleep was killing me. Still, I was going to have forensics bring in one of their witches. See if they could find a trace of what happened here. I texted forensics as I returned to the kitchen.
Paris handed me the handheld tester and I read the screen. “Positive for a chemical component of vampire venom and fentanyl? They’re cutting venom with an opioid?” I looked up at her. “The venom is in powder form?”
She looked over the kitchen again. “It’s a much more stable form than the suspension Thinner used, but far more labor intensive to make. SHAP had developed a method to make the venom into a powder right before I moved onto this case.” She shook her head. “I’m…surprised? No…worried, that they’ve discovered the powder technique.”
That chill ran down my spine again. “They’re trying to make alternatives.”
“Looks like. And this batch failed.”
“But why? Why cut it with an opioid if they’re trying to make hybrids? It makes it inherently more dangerous.”
Paris shook her head. “If they were to mix in blood with the venom and the opioid, they could’ve saved every one of these people. Well, if turning them into vampires was the goal.”
“So why slow the heart rate and respiratory system if they’re not making vampires?”
“There’s something we’re missing. Why wouldn’t they give them blood and stop a potential overdose? And based on initial visual examination of the bodies, I suspect an overdose.”
I shook my head, taking in the scene with new eyes. I was prepared for this eventuality. As we researched Lucinda Nicks’ suppliers, we unearthed groups illegally selling vampire venom. The more venom we took off the streets, the more desperate suppliers became. Desperate enough to try alternative versions and test them on unsuspecting people.
My gaze fell on a woman with a scarf wrapped around her head, her body frighteningly small. It was clear she had been sick before this and was likely promised she’d be cured. “I hate this case,” I admitted.
Before this case, SHAP had been completely unaware that oral vampire venom existed. When Carma’s mother, Lucinda Nicks, launched a weight-loss company called Thinner that helped people lose weight by turning them into half-vampire, half-human hybrids, it had sent the entire organization into high alert. How had this been going on for years without anyone at SHAP knowing?
Hybrids were extremely dangerous, as ingesting one drop of blood could turn them into a vampire, or worse, a feral creature. While most Thinner members were able to return to their human state after a blood transfusion, people like Carma, who had been on the program longer than six months, were forced to choose to be a hybrid or make the full change to vampire. Carma and her best friend Elena, had elected to stay hybrids.
Elena, who’d joined Thinner when Carma promised her that it would help with her Crohn’s disease, went into remission the moment she’d started the program. I slipped on gloves and walked over to the woman with the headscarf, pushing the edge of it higher. Thin, patchy hair, no eyebrows, only a few eyelashes. She was most likely in chemo.
“Maybe this isn’t about hybrids,” I surmised, looking over at Paris. “Maybe it’s about creating a universal cure-all.”
Paris stared at me in an unnerving way, like she often did when processing information. “SHAP has been aggravated by our lack of success with a synthetic and they’re not willing to do the testing with natural venom on humans. These people are.”
I pointed at her. “A synthetic venom that didn’t accidentally turn people into vampires would change the entire medical system as we know it.” The only problem was no one had successfully produced an alternative.
A ray of sunlight pierced through a jumbled piece of curtain, landing on something shiny. Eyes narrowed, I moved to the front of the room and pulled a pair of tweezers from my bag. I crouched with a hiss, then picked up the small object, holding it up to inspect it.
A purple sequin.
Poppy had been here.
Twelve years of grief and confusion slammed into me all over again. She had been here, faced with watching them die. Did it bother her? Did she tolerate death and dying better now that she was older?
Why couldn’t she have warned me? I might have been able to help these people. Even as I thought it, I knew it wasn’t fair. She couldn’t have done anything. These people had been desperate, and desperation made people try life-threatening and sometimes very stupid things.
How many times had our paths crossed without me knowing? Was this the first, and maybe I could’ve seen her all along? Or was it because I really was going to die soon? Did her being peripherally attached to this case mean it had something to do with how I was going to die, or was this coincidence?
“You okay?” Paris asked walking over. “You’re staring into space.”
I blinked and shook my head, trying to clear it. “Exhausted.” I held up the tweezers. “Can you see it?”
She leaned closer. “See what? There’s nothing in your tweezers.”
“No purple sequin?”
She glanced between me and my hand. “No?”
I tucked everything into my pocket. “Good to know.” Why could only I see the sequin? Was it because I could see Poppy?
“I…should I ask?”
Before I figured out an answer, forensics walked into the house and started documenting the scene.
“That was unbelievably fast,” I marveled.
“We were already on our way,” the lead explained. “Sebastian told us you’d need us.”
Galinda, a witch that SHAP used on serious cases, followed the team inside and stilled just inside the doorway for a long moment. She walked through the bodies, pausing at each one. “They would’ve all died in the coming months, their souls were ready, but just barely.” She continued to the back of the house, touching the door frame, then immediately pulling her hands away.
“Something evil happened here.” She straightened her shoulders and marched into the room, determined. Less than a minute later, she burst back into the kitchen, gasping as if she had been underwater. “Demon.”
She looked directly at me. “You need to warn your friend to be careful.”
I frowned. “My friend?”
“The one who wears the purple sequins.”
Paris’s head snapped to face me. She narrowed her eyes.
“I, uh…” I cleared my throat. “We aren’t really in contact.”
“Get in contact,” Galinda prompted. She studied me from head to toe, then tilted her head. “Hmmm. You may not have long to wait.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Thankfully, my cell rang and with a mumbled excuse me, I stepped into a corner of the room and pulled it from my pocket. A picture of Eliza and Daisy wearing wolf ears from this summer’s Founders Festival popped up on my display. “It’s Jake.”
“Ah, your serious work voice,” Eliza said. “Quick, say ‘you’ll have the report by this afternoon’ so you sound busy and important.”
I sighed in response.
“That kind of day, got it.”
“What’s up?”
“It may be nothing.”
My stomach tightened. If she was calling me during work hours, it wasn’t nothing. “What happened?”
“I dropped Daisy off for school and realized I forgot my ID badge and my coffee, and you know I need both. I ran home and the alarm was off. It’s possible I forgot to set it. Daisy was in a mood today and I had to drag her out the door kicking and screaming.”
I swallowed down the sharp stab of anxiety before I spoke. “How often do you forget to set it?”
There was a pause. “Not once since Ben died.”
Two years. “Where are you?”
“In my kitchen. I did a sweep and used my watch and checked my doorbell camera and nothing showed up. If someone was here, they’re gone now.”
“Are you sure?”
“I know how to do a sweep, Jake. I might not be a top five field agent, but I’m good at my job.” The sound of a keypad beeping and a door closing filled the silence. “Anyway, I’m headed to the office. You heard me activate the alarm.”
