Grim Tidings

by Amanda M. Lee

  “And Braden and Redmond didn’t see it in the apartment?”

  “I think that would have been a clue they couldn’t have missed,” Cillian replied.

  He had a point. “Well, now what?”

  “Now? Now we wait for this poor sap, what is his name again?”

  I glanced down at the file in my hand. “Myron Goldman.”

  “Where is he going?”

  “Sheol.” Jewish Hell, for those wondering. A customer’s final resting place hinges on their personal belief system. So, while a lot of Jewish people don’t believe in Sheol, it is a reality for those who do believe.

  “Oh, bummer, what did he do?”

  “He’s a thief.”

  “We’ve been having a lot of people go to Hell -- and the alternatives – lately. Have you noticed that?” Cillian is interested in religion, more than I find healthy sometimes.

  “I’ve been doing this for three days.”

  “You’ve been living it for twenty-five years, though.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You sound like Dad.”

  “Take that back.”

  We both looked up at a screech of tires, my eyes landing on a small man moving across the street kitty-corner from our location. I had only glanced at the photo attached to the file – we really need to go digital at some point so we don’ t have to deal with all this paperwork – but I would recognize that bald head anywhere.

  “This is going to be gross, isn’t it?”

  Cillian’s eyes were glued to Myron Goldman as he shuffled across the street. “If we’re lucky.”

  Boys are strange creatures sometimes.

  The owner of the screeching tires came barreling around the corner – dark sedan, white guy with blond hair behind the wheel, looks to be in his early twenties – and slammed into Myron.

  It wasn’t like the movies – not that I thought it would be. Myron didn’t jump up and roll over the hood of the car. Instead, he kind of flew to the side and crashed into the gutter next to the street.

  The sedan never slowed.

  “Should we get the license plate?”

  “That’s not our job,” Cillian reminded, moving into the middle of the street. “Let’s do this quick. Someone could be here within minutes, and you don’t need another run-in with the cops.”

  Wasn’t that the truth?

  I followed Cillian, reaching into my pocket for the scepter. I could see Myron’s spirit detaching from his body already. At least he hadn’t suffered.

  I slammed into Cillian, who pulled up short, before I realized he had stopped in the middle of the street. I peered around his shoulder, freezing when another figure stepped out of the doorway of the building next to Myron’s body.

  Cillian and I watched as the figure moved over to Myron, pulled a scepter from a pocket, and absorbed the soul before it fully formed into something resembling a human. The figure then glanced up at the two of us, winked, and got to his feet.

  Unfortunately, I recognized him.

  “Duke Fontaine,” Cillian exhaled.

  Oh, good, he recognized him, too. I was going to need him when things got ugly in five, four, three, two, one … .

  Sixteen

  “Hey!”

  “Hey yourself, cutie pie.” Duke Fontaine didn’t bother running. Apparently, the sight of Cillian and me racing across the street to confront him wasn’t cause for quaking in his military boots.

  When we were all on the same side of the street it became obvious why our two bodies didn’t equal his one. At more than six feet tall, Cillian was dwarfed by the six feet and seven inches of pure muscle (and tacky camouflage pants) that made up Duke Fontaine. His right thigh was bigger than my torso, for crying out loud. He had mercenary – or prison barber – written all over him. For all I knew, the Chinese symbols tattooed onto his bald scalp signified just that.

  I didn’t let his stature deter me. I planted my hands on my hips and a stern expression (the one that had my brothers screaming PMS and hiding under their beds when we were teenagers) on my face. “That is my soul.”

  Fontaine shook his head from side to side. “That’s not how it looks to me, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t call me sweetheart. And that guy is on my list.”

  “He’s on mine now, my little pretty.” Fontaine was trying to be charming, but all that did was further infuriate me.

  “Hand him over.”

  “Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” Fontaine countered.

  “My foot up your ass is going to be ten-tenths of law in a second,” I warned. “Give me my soul.”

  Cillian remained silent, but his face blanched when I threatened physical violence. I was making the threats, but he would have to back them up.

  “I like you, button,” he said. “You’re fiery.” Her looked Cillian over and dismissed him before turning back to me. “You’re a Grimlock, aren’t you? You all have a certain look about you. I like it better on you than them, though.”

  “I’m pissed off is what I am,” I shot back. “Give me my soul.”

  Fontaine smiled, giving me a shot of teeth that were probably used to gnawing raw meat off of bones, and tilted his head in my direction. “What will you give me for this soul, sweetie pie?”

  “A hearty handshake, douche bag.”

  “I’m going to want something more than that.”

  Fontaine reached over and rubbed his fingers through my hair. I jerked back, repulsion squirming through my belly. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Don’t touch her,” Cillian growled, taking a step forward. He might not have Fontaine’s size, but that wouldn’t stop him if he felt the need to protect my honor. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

  “Listen, you two are cute,” Fontaine said. “He’s almost as pretty as you are, sweet thing. I think I should be going, though. I try to avoid the cops whenever possible and they should be here any second.”

  “I can see that,” I replied. “They probably give you wet dreams.”

  It took a second for my jab to land but, when it did, all pretense of flirting disappeared from Fontaine’s face. “You’re not so cute now.”

  “Wait a few seconds,” I replied, tapping my foot. “I’m about to get downright ugly.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Fontaine said. “I’m still not giving you this soul. This is worth five grand to me. There’s nothing you’re offering that’s worth even a quarter of that. Although, if you want to take your top off I might consider adjusting my fee.”

  My mouth dropped open as every curse word I had ever uttered fought to escape at the same time. Nothing came out, though.

  “If you want to just pull your shirt down and give me a little peek, I might consider it then, too.”

  This time, I didn’t even get a chance to consider responding. Cillian’s fist slammed into Fontaine’s face before the words had finished coming out of his mouth. The punch wasn’t strong enough to knock Fontaine down, but the hit was hard enough to catch him off guard and he stumbled to the side, slamming into the brick wall behind him.

  Cillian was on him with a flurry of fists and angry language, not giving Fontaine a chance to recover. Fontaine did what came naturally, and raised both of his hands to cover his face. I knew it wouldn’t take him long to recover, though, so I darted into the melee and slipped my hand into the pocket Fontaine had slipped his scepter in after collecting the soul.

  I rooted around the pocket for a second – praying I wouldn’t inadvertently grab onto any other rod in there – and then pulled the sterling silver staff out and took a step back.

  “I’ve got it. Let’s go.”

  Cillian was still working out his aggression and Fontaine was about done letting him. I grabbed Cillian’s ear and twisted it without mercy, pulling him with me as I moved away from Fontaine.

  Fontaine seemed surprised that Cillian was suddenly gone – no more than Cillian, though, when he realized what had pulled him off Fontaine. “That hurts!”

  I waved Fo
ntaine’s scepter in front of his face. “Let’s go.”

  Cillian looked impressed. “When did you get that?”

  “When you were smacking him around.”

  “I was pretty badass, huh?”

  “Deranged is more like it.”

  “When we tell this story to the others, you’re going to say I’m badass.”

  “Fine.”

  “Hey!” Fontaine was back on his feet and his hand was in his pocket. I couldn’t be sure, but I definitely felt I had tilted over into the ugly category where he was concerned. “That’s mine!”

  Cillian grabbed my arm, all traces of badassery gone. “Run!”

  “YOU BEAT up Fontaine?”

  Redmond looked both proud and doubtful.

  “I don’t know if beat up is the right phrase,” I hedged.

  Once we were in the car and safely on our way home, Cillian’s bravado had slipped under the weight of worry that accompanies pissing off Duke Fontaine. Once he was sure Fontaine wasn’t following us, though, he had turned downright boastful. I guess I couldn’t blame him.

  “I beat his ass,” Cillian said, sipping from a bottle of beer. We were all congregated in Dad’s office to regale the family with our tale.

  Braden turned to me. “How big of an ass beating was it? Was there blood?”

  “No.”

  “He wanted to bleed, though,” Cillian said.

  I patted his knee. “I could see that.”

  “I want to know what he is doing here,” Dad said, his elbows resting on the top of his desk and his expression serious. “Last I heard he was sticking close to his home turf in Las Vegas. Someone had to call him for him to come back to Detroit.”

  “He said he was getting five thousand for the soul.”

  “From who?”

  I shrugged and turned my palms up. “I didn’t have time to grill him on it. I took the opportunity to steal the soul back and then we ran.”

  “You ran?” Aidan asked, his gaze fixed on Cillian.

  “Well … Aisling ran,” Cillian said. “I took the opportunity to leave him there on the street with a little bit of dignity.”

  “You’re the one who told me to run,” I reminded him.

  “Drink your beer.”

  Cillian’s neck colored as our brothers chuckled.

  “He still didn’t hesitate to jump in and protect my honor when Fontaine asked to see my boobs.”

  The chuckling stopped.

  “Fontaine said what?” Redmond was on his feet. “You left that part out of the story.”

  Cillian slid me a look. “The guy is a pig. It shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

  “Still, to say that … to even think that … .”

  Cripes. “They’re just boobs, Redmond,” I grumbled. “It’s not the first time a guy has asked to see them.”

  “Who? When? Who?”

  “I think the better question is who hasn’t?” Aidan chortled. “Even gay guys want to see boobs. They’re like unicorns in our world. They’re cool to look at, but they’re mythical and scary to consider touching.”

  Dad cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to Fontaine.”

  “I agree,” Braden said. “I don’t want to hear Aidan compare boobs to unicorns. It’s going to give me nightmares.”

  I rolled my eyes and sent Aidan a sarcastic thumbs-up. He pushed his lips out and sent me an air kiss in response.

  “You guys are never going to get married if boobs scare you,” I pointed out.

  “I happen to like boobs,” Braden replied. “As far as I’m concerned, though, you don’t have any.”

  “Exactly,” Redmond pointed at Braden appreciatively. “You’re flat as a board and twelve years old where we’re concerned.”

  “Ah, it’s like middle school all over again, huh Aisling?” Aidan teased.

  “Stop talking about boobs!” Dad slammed his hands down on his desk.

  My brothers had the grace to look abashed. I didn’t bother since Dad refused to look me in the eye. I was twelve to him, too. You should see them when I bring up tampons.

  “Dad is right,” Redmond said after a beat. “We have to find out what Fontaine is doing in the area.”

  A normal freelancer is cause for worry when you’re in the reaping business. Duke Fontaine is a whole other story. He was coming on the scene just when Dad was retiring from day-to-day operations and moving into a management position in the organization. He had stolen two souls from Dad – something unheard of at the time, if you believe the stories – and my father had hated him since. They had come to blows and – ultimately – Fontaine had agreed to relocate his services. I never quite understood what had gone down, just that Dad considered it a win. Something had obviously changed on that front.

  “Don’t worry about Fontaine,” Dad said. “I’ll handle Fontaine.”

  “How are you going to handle him?”

  All eyes in the room turned to Dad for an explanation. We were all equally curious.

  “Don’t you worry about that.”

  “Are you going to handle him the way you handled him before?” I pressed.

  “Aisling, why don’t you give me Fontaine’s scepter,” Dad changed the subject, holding out his hand expectantly. “I’ll handle the soul transfer and then make sure Mr. Fontaine gets his property back.”

  That didn’t sound like Dad, but I didn’t argue. I handed the scepter over and then followed my brothers out of the office and toward the dining room. There was nothing a home-cooked meal couldn’t fix. I just hoped the cook wasn’t serving chicken breasts – or unicorn.

  Seventeen

  Three days later Dad insisted everyone had to go to a “work function.” Attendance was mandatory. I assumed it was one of those lame charity events that his boring co-workers and their wives attended each month so they could gossip, swill wine and donate money to help the “little people.”

  I was right.

  And wrong.

  “I’m glad you made me come.”

  I glanced over at Jerry, not bothering to hide my grin. This wasn’t what I was expecting either. It was a charity event, it just happened to benefit the Detroit Police Department.

  “You’re happy because there are so many men here.”

  “Men in uniform,” Jerry corrected. “I’m happy because there are so many men in uniform here.”

  “You know not all of them are gay, right?”

  “Don’t ruin my fantasy, Bug.”

  “Sorry.”

  I reached over and brushed a small piece of lint from Jerry’s tuxedo, marveling at how well he cleaned up. Jerry caught me looking at him and smiled down at me. “You look nice tonight, Bug.”

  My smile faded as I glanced down at my dress. I’m not one for getting all gussied up and putting on heels. I had settled on a simple black dress with a dangerously high slit up the right thigh – just enough to make Dad wish he hadn’t made attendance mandatory.

  “How long do you think we have to stay?” I asked.

  “We just got here. We haven’t had dinner or danced yet.”

  “I’m not dancing.”

  “Yes you are. You made me come to this shindig.”

  “You wanted to come,” I shot back.

  Jerry brushed off my argument. “That’s not the point. I’m here. This is your thing. You’re going to dance.”

  “You’re going to have to dance with all of us,” Redmond interjected, joining us around a bistro table with hors d’oeuvres spread out on top of it.

  “You didn’t bring a date?”

  “You don’t bring a date to a sausage fest,” Redmond explained. “That’s how you lose a date.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Women love a man in a uniform,” he said, “especially when those men carry guns and put their lives on the line to keep the general populace safe on a daily basis.”

  One glance at the hundreds of men – only a handful of which had women on their arms – told me he was probably right.
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  “How long do you think we have to stay?”

  “Already looking for an exit, sis? I’m shocked. Usually you love dressing up for a party.”

  “Like you aren’t looking for an exit?”

  “I’m fine,” Redmond argued. “I like making nice with local law enforcement. You never know when it might come in handy.”

  Realization washed over me. “That’s why we’re here. I couldn’t figure it out.”

  “What?” Jerry hadn’t caught up yet.

  “The police are investigating us,” I reminded him. “This is Dad’s little way of reminding them of what a big donor he is.”

  “Plus,” Redmond added, “by making sure you and Aidan are here, he’s also saying that we have nothing to hide. Murderers don’t go to police balls.”

  “So, he’s lying,” Jerry said.

  “Pretty much,” Aidan said, sidling up to the table next to Jerry. “We’re just all law-abiding, normal citizens enjoying dinner, dancing and as many disapproving stares from Dad and his friends as possible.”

  “Aren’t you the cheery one in your dashing tuxedo,” Redmond teased.

  “Why should I be?” Aidan asked, preening under the compliment.

  “Because you’re the reason we have to be here,” Braden offered as he and Cillian joined our group.

  “Aisling is the reason we have to be here,” Aidan corrected.

  “Aisling wasn’t in charge,” Cillian pointed out.

  I sent Aidan a triumphant smile.

  “It was your job to make sure she didn’t do something stupid,” Braden agreed.

  My smile faltered and I shot Braden a pointed scowl.

  Jerry wrapped an arm around my waist in a comforting manner. “Don’t listen to them, Bug. I think you’re doing great.”

  Jerry is always on my side. Even when I don’t have a side, he’s on it.

  “You don’t even know what she really does,” Redmond challenged.

  Jerry is an honorary member of the family, so Redmond’s position in the hierarchy doesn’t daunt him. “I know enough.”