by Cecy Robson
I slow my movements. It’s a shame I’ve already allowed him into my heart.
Ryker watched out for me, protecting me with his prowess and driving me with his fortitude. Even when I bled, even when I could no longer rise, he didn’t fail me or allow me to fail myself.
But he’s Death.
“Death is the start of a new life.”
I whirl around to find Tobias, the little gremlin who helped me escape. The glamour covering him is that of a little old man with glasses perched on the tip of his pointy nose. He drops several envelopes onto my desk and shuffles along, pushing a small wire cart.
I look to Jane. The small twinkle in her black beady gaze says it all. Death is only the beginning.
“I can’t, Jane,” I reply.
My little druid priestess simply turns away, lifting her two crooked fingers over her keyboard to resume her typing.
Marco storms by, straight into his office and slams the door shut. That’s my cue.
I tuck the documents that require his signature beneath my arm and reach for the flowers and coffee.
I don’t bother knocking. Instead, I walk into Marco’s office and place the flowers beside the beautiful photo of he and his wife.
“What the hell is this?” he mutters.
“It’s Marion’s birthday,” I say. “But you already know that.”
Marco takes the coffee. He doesn’t bother taking a sip. I lay out all the documents, explaining each in detail.
The moment I’m done, I charge his iPad and scroll through his unanswered messages. “Mrs. Shuster caught Mr. Shuster taking a bath with the new maid. She sprayed tub cleaner in his eyes and set his clothes on fire. Mr. Shuster says that he’s had it with the psycho and is in love with the maid.” I pause. “Never mind, that was Wednesday. Friday, the maid dumped his sorry ass. Now he wants said psycho back.” I hurry along, focusing on the calls from the Hudson County Prosecutor’s Office and six calls from Jersey City’s mayor. A pal of the Mayor is in a bit of a mess.
I finish quickly, taking notes of what Marco needs to have done first, who he wants to call back, and who he wants to avoid. Mr. Shuster tops the “avoid” list. I email my notes from his iPad to my computer. I’m ready to start my day, just as soon as I remove the elephant in the room.
My fingers skim over the front of Marco’s desk. “About what you saw back there, between me and Mr. Scott.” Okay. Why am I calling Ryker Mr. Scott? “I want you to know that nothing that happens or doesn’t happen will affect my work. I apologize for my, ah, indiscretions. It won’t happen again. I―”
“Do what makes you happy, Olivia,” Marco tells me. “Eat good food. Enjoy a decent glass of wine. Talk for hours with someone who can’t get enough of your voice and walk with him along the beach, even when you’re tired.”
Marco sits quietly, his stout body angled in the direction of his wedding photo. “Life’s too short,” he says, his heartbreak reflecting in the glass. “Just be happy.”
I sniff and wipe my eyes. Marco doesn’t need my pity. He needs my help and my care. Just as he had from the first moment I walked into his office and he yelled at me to get out.
“You’re due in court at ten thirty for the San Tomasso hearing,” I say. “I’ll send for your suits at the cleaners.”
I return to my desk, jumping when Stevie drops several packs of copy paper beside me. “Oops. Sorry, Olivia. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. “I just figured you’d need this stuff now that you’re back.”
Like the little gremlin, Bill took Stevie under the protection of his powerful wings. Sebastian was sentenced to a life of imprisonment between realms. Until a new guardian can be appointed, Stevie will live with Bill.
I smile, taking in my little fire and ice dragon. “Thank you, Stevie.” I don’t mean for the paper. I mean for his kindness. I “outed” his father to the Fae community and he still helped me when I needed it most. Despite his age, Stevie is more courageous than Fae twice his lifetime.
Stevie leans against my gray cubicle, keeping his head low. “It was wrong. What my dad did. I know he was trying to protect me and all, but it was stupid.” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have done it. You have to sacrifice for the greater good, you know, Livvie?”
Black eyeliner smears the edges of his soft baby browns and tiny ruptured blood vessels crawl along the scleras. He’s cried a lot and probably hasn’t slept well in a long time. “Your father was desperate, Stevie. He didn’t want to lose the only family he had left.” I think back to the night I lost Dahlia. “Who knows? Maybe I would’ve have taken the same path.”
Stevie lifts his head, smiling softly. “No, you wouldn’t, Liv.”
He taps the edge of the cubicle, snagging Jane’s attention. “Your filing’s finally done,” he tells her. “You need anything else?”
Jane glances up and blinks her beady eyes. “That sounds good, Jane. I’ll pick some up at lunch. Did ya know they have a new raspberry flavor?”
Jane is so excited she shows three of her teeth.
“Package for Olivia Finn.”
A postal carrier in a brown uniform jogs toward me when one of the law clerks points in my direction. I lift my hand and wave. The box he carries is big. Opposing counsel must have sent everything they have on―
The carrier drops the box as he pulls out a gun. I dive beneath my desk.
Swip. Swip. Swip.
He fires in quick succession. My computer screen shatters. Screams blast from down the hall followed by the trampling sound of feet hauling serious ass.
A shotgun blasts as I reach for the whip in my purse. As my fingers grip the hilt, my mind screeches to a halt. This isn’t a Reaper. This is a human who can easily kill me. I whirl around, searching for something to use.
“Jane. Get your wand!”
“Wha?” she crows.
She can’t hear me over the sound of a cocking shotgun and another heart-rendering blast. Rapid fire sprays across the floor. There’s a pause and a clip being loaded.
I cower behind my cubicle. I’m going to die. This time, I mean it.
Marco’s portly body flies over my desk and ker-plunks beside me. He rustles through his pockets and loads two more bullets into his shotgun, rising into a crouch a-la Rambo as he fires another round.
The delivery guy hollers. At least, I hope it’s him.
Marco swoops back down, pumping his fist and his rifle. “Got ‘em!”
“M-M-Marco?” I stammer.
He frowns at me with those crazy caterpillar eyebrows. “I’m a criminal defense attorney,” he barks. “Do you think this is the first time a client’s tried to kill me!”
Marco’s expression is startling and bright with anticipation. With the skill of someone very, very familiar with guns, he digs into his pocket for two more bullets. My stars, I’ve never seen him so alive. I cover my ears just as Jane’s magic charges the air.
Papers fly in all directions only to freeze. Marco stops in the middle of rising, one leg bent only slightly.
Jane shuffles to me. “Come,” she rasps. She points a crooked finger down the hall. “Know.”
I rise on wobbly legs and step around the cubicle. Ryker has the shooter pinned to the floor. The shooter gapes at Ryker, begging Ryker to spare him.
A ribbon of azure mist entwines Ryker’s fist. He strikes, punching through the chest to grip his victim’s heart. The shooter’s breath withdraws. His eyes cave inward, and his body shrivels into a disintegrating mass of muscle and bone.
Whether through Ryker or Jane, this time, I see something more.
Images of the shooter’s life flash before me. He was an abused child, a loner, someone who learned to kill because he wasn’t good at anything else. I watch him slash the throat of a shrieking woman and beat a man’s head in with a bat. It’s all I can stomach.
I ram my eyes shut and cover my ears, trying to spare myself from the horror this man committed throughout his life.
Ryker doesn’t just eat souls. He en
dures the darkest aspects of those he consumes. It’s not enough to hurt as he does. He gets a front and center view of every last sin.
My hands fall away as Ryker stumbles into a standing position. His murderous gaze shifts my way before he storms toward his office. I follow without hesitation, rushing past everything frozen by Jane’s enchantment.
Ryker leans over his desk, breathing hard. I shut the door and draw the shades carefully, trying not to cause a stir. Ryker’s nerves are already on edge. How can they not be? I couldn’t find the strength to bear through those flashbacks. I closed my eyes and covered my ears because I can. Ryker doesn’t have that option. For him, there’s no escape.
Even knowing what awaited, Ryker faced his victim’s demons to spare me.
I trail my hand along his spine and curl it at his shoulder. He turns his head, revealing the single tear that cuts a line down his face. As I watch, his black eyes dissolve into the ice blue that never fails to capture me. It’s all I can do not to join him in his sorrow.
I carry the power to fight Death, yet nothing in my arsenal can lessen the brutality of those memories. I swallow the lump hardening in my throat. “Ryker . . .”
“Death knows who you are now, and where to find you,” he says, speaking quickly through his ragged breathing. “They will continue to hunt you, using humans and Reapers alike. I swear, I will protect you―”
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. “Shhh.”
“Olivia . . .”
I shake my head, brushing my face against his. “Not now,” I whisper.
Loss of life brings pain and misery beyond repair. Except these past few months have demonstrated that those who live are not the only ones who suffer. I feel it in the Reaper that waits beneath my touch.
I adjust my arms and tighten my embrace over the being capable of causing incomprehensible torment.
What can I say? Even Death needs love.
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