Eighth Grave After Dark (19 page)

“You have five marks, and what you say is law. Only God can supersede your decision on any soul.” He looked up at me then, his brows knitting in suspicion. “Why?”

“I just want to know what I can do.”

“You will know,” Reyes said, “when you pass and you ascend to become the grim reaper. If you take the job.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Because you are a god. You have an entire universe to run.” He looked away from me. “Why would you stick around here?”

“Good point,” I said, teasing him yet marveling at how matter-of-fact they made it all sound. How everyday.

“What other marks?” I asked Osh.

Osh eyed Reyes a moment before continuing. “You can brand a soul for heaven or for hell. You can brand a soul for termination, which is essentially what you do when you mark one for me. It's kind of like free game. You can mark one as a wanderer, a soul with no home who must wander the wilds of the supernatural realm, forever considering their mistakes. And you can give the mark of designation.”

“Designation?”

“You can assign that soul a special purpose on earth, and no other supernatural being can argue with your decision.”

“Like when the president appoints a chief of staff?”

“Pretty much. That soul can no longer be touched.”

I was still confused on a couple of points. “So, if I marked a soul for termination and you weren't here to eat it, what would happen to it?”

“It would burn away over the course of a few days. It would be very painful. So, in a way, I'm performing a public service.”

“Of course you are. And when I found you, what were you doing then?”

“Hey, everyone has to eat, and I can only bargain for souls. They must be given willingly.”

“But you trick them into giving up their souls.”

He spread his hands wide, acquiescing. “That was the old me. This is the new.”

“You no longer trick them?”

“Oh, I trick them. Really, it's just too easy. But I only trick the bad ones, remember?” he added quickly when I scowled at him. “Child molesters and such. As per your request,” he mocked.

“And people who talk at the theater. Don't forget people who talk at the theater.”

One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I wouldn't dare.”

Reyes walked to the window and looked out over the lawn. Even as dark as it was out, we could still see the departed.

“I once ate this woman—,” Osh started.

“Dude, I don't think I should be hearing this.”

“I ate her soul,” he corrected.

“Next time, open with that.”

“And she tasted horrible, like an ashtray with kerosene in it.”

I fought my gag reflex. “No way.”

“Crazy thing was, she didn't even smoke while she was alive.”

“Then why? Surely she wasn't born bound for hell?”

“She was a very feared drug lord. Ruthless. Barbaric. She killed anyone who got in her way. A lot of people died in her crossfire. Even children. We are all tainted by the decisions we make.”

“And the taste of our souls reflects that?”

“It does.”

“Huh. I wonder what mine would taste like.”

“Cherry pie.” He grinned from ear to ear. “Very tart cherry pie.”

“How would you know that?”

He ignored the threatening scowl Reyes had cast him and winked.

“You've tasted me? Oh my God, I feel violated.”

“Please, it was just a nibble.”

“I totally should have paid more attention in Bible school.”

“I don't think they teach about the Daeva. We aren't important enough to merit a mention.”

I narrowed my eyes on him. “Somehow, I don't think that's true. Are there more?” I asked Reyes.

“Exponentially more.”

His shoulders took up the entire expanse of the window, so I nudged against him. He wrapped an arm around me and stepped to the side. He was right. Our shindig had grown exponentially.

“Do you think there are spies among them?”

“I do.” He looked down at me. “But they could be anywhere. Anyone.”

I nodded. “Is that what you and Angel were talking about in the clearing today?”

When he didn't answer yet again, I tsked. “Just remember, you brought on the wrath of the reaper all on your little lonesome. By the way,” I added, looking at Osh. “I was just kidding about the people who talk at the theater.”

“Damn it,” he said, feigning disappointment.

Now if I could only figure out a way to convince my husband to get some rest. Too bad there wasn't a mark for that.

I stood and walked to the door to check on Cookie, but before closing it, I offered Reyes one last chance to come clean. “This is your one last chance to come clean,” I told him, deciding not to mince words.

He sat on the bed, leaned back, and folded his arms behind his head.

“I mean it. If you don't tell me what you and Angel were talking about, why you were meeting, I can't take responsibility for my actions.”

He grinned.

I tapped my toes in impatience.

He grinned wider.

“Okay, war it is. I have to warn you—”

Before I got much further into my intimidation process, a pillow slammed into my face. I stood there, eyes closed, mortified while the ball and chain laughed softly.

It was so on.

 

9

APPLICANTS MUST PASS AN ORAL EXAM BEFORE ADVANCING TO THE NEXT COURSE.

—NOVELTY UNDERWEAR

I went down to check on Cookie. Uncle Bob was still in the city. Working. On his wedding day. I felt so guilty, though I didn't know why. I had nothing to do with his working. Just Cookie's.

“Hey, you,” I said, watching Reyes in the kitchen from the corner of my eye. He was making us both a hot chocolate. God bless him. Chocolate had become my best friend in the absence of coffee, which I'd given up for Beep. Come to think of it, I'd given up a lot for her. I'd have to make sure she knew that. Remind her. Daily. “It's almost ten o'clock, Cook. You have to go to bed.”

There was a small couch in the office, on which Amber and Quentin sat. Well, Amber sat. Quentin slept, his blond hair hiding his face, one arm hanging over the side, the other thrown over his head. He had a massive shoe on Amber's lap, but she didn't seem to mind. She sat reading, completely content.

“I've been going through everything,” Cookie said, apparently ignoring my prime directive. That happened a lot.

Reyes brought my hot chocolate in. “Anyone else?” he asked, offering his own mug. A true gentleman.

“I'll take some, Uncle Reyes,” Amber said, her smile flirtatious.

He chuckled and handed her his mug. “What about you?” he asked Cookie.

She was so engrossed in her work, it took her a moment to blink up at him. When she did, she stopped, blindsided by the picture before her. He stood in a pair of lounge pants, black and red plaid, with a dark gray, form-fitted T-shirt. I felt a flush of heat radiate out of her—a feat, considering Reyes's heat knew no bounds.

When she didn't answer, he flashed her his famous lopsided grin and said, “Hot chocolate, it is.”

He winked at me before venturing back to the kitchen, and for a split second, I thought I saw odd lines across the back of his shirt, but I dismissed the thought when Cookie came back to earth.

“Did he say something?” she asked.

“He forgot the best part!” Amber said, scuttling out from under Quentin's enormous shoe and following after her uncle Reyes. “You forgot marshmallows!”

“He's getting you a cup of hot cocoa,” I told Cook.

“Oh, right.” She shook the fog out of her brain. “That man makes it impossible to concentrate.”

“He does, at that. So, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” She turned in her chair to face me.

“It's about your pre-honeymoon honeymoon.”

“Charley, really, it's no big deal.”

“I think it is, but not in the way that you are letting on.”

She shifted in her chair. “What do you mean?”

“It's like you were relieved that you didn't get to go.”

“What? There is a missing girl. There was nothing for me to be relieved about.”

“Which is exactly why I'm concerned.”

“Well, don't be.”

“Hey,” I said, using reverse psychology, “at least when all this is over, you two will get the honeymoon of your dreams.”

That ripple of concern shuddered through her again. “Absolutely.”

“Cook,” I said when she turned back to her computer, “what's going on?”

Her shoulders lifted as she filled her lungs before facing me again. After a quick glance down the hall, she said, “Robert is not my second marriage. He's my third.”

A jolt of shock rocketed through me. “Oh my God, I can't believe you didn't tell me that!”

She slammed an index finger over her mouth to shush me.

“I tell you everything,” I whispered loudly. “I even told you about that time Timothy Tidmore tried to use Virginia as a garage for his Hot Wheels.”

“I know.” She hung her head in shame. “I know. But my first marriage lasted all of two days.”

“No way.” I wiggled closer, suddenly very intrigued. “What happened?”

“Well, I was in Vegas with my aunt and uncle. It was my eighteenth birthday and they were there for a trade show. Anyway, my cousins and I had a lot of free time and, well, I met a guy by the pool and we had a really great day and we … um … got married.”

I blinked, unable to reconcile the vision of a carefree wild child and Cookie.

“That night.” When I didn't interrupt—I didn't dare—she continued. “So, we're in his parents' hotel room later that night, on what we were calling our honeymoon, and his … pants … kind of—” The longer she spoke, the softer her voice became.

“His what did what?”

“His pants caught on fire.”

“Of course they did. He was eighteen.”

“No, I mean, literally.”

“Oh, like,
on fire
on fire?”

“Yeah. He'd spilled wine on his pants while we were having a candlelight dinner, at his parents' expense, naturally, and when I jumped up to help him, I knocked over the candle and … well, you get the idea.”

“Oh, man. That had to hurt.”

“I'm sure it did, but he was never the same after that. He was actually quite a jerk. Thankfully, his parents had the marriage annulled as soon as he told them what we'd done.”

“Okay, so your first honeymoon didn't go so well. But surely you had better luck with Amber's father.”

“My second honeymoon was worse.”

“No,” I said, intrigued again.

She nodded. “We lived together a whole year. Everything was wonderful until the day we got married. Everything changed.”

“Cook, what happened?”

“Well, it started out okay. We had the wedding. It was a huge event. All the crazies from my side showed up, and his family numbered in the thousands. It was nice, but not really me, you know?”

“I do.”

“I was so nervous that I drank a little wine before the wedding.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Oh, the ceremony went off without a hitch. I slurred my vows a bit, but other than that, perfection.”

“Okay,” I said, growing wary nonetheless.

“So, we had the reception and I drank some more.”

That was never good.

“And we did the whole rice thing and left in a limousine for the hotel. We were going to stay the night, then fly out the next morning to Canc
ú
n.”

“Awesome. Loving it so far.”

“Well, I'd had a bit too much to drink, we both had, and Noah decided to moon the people on the freeway.”

“Wait, who's Noah?”

“Amber's father,” she said, suddenly annoyed.

“Oh, right, I knew that. Okay, so he's mooning everyone.”

“Yes, but I started to get sick.”

“Understandable.”

“And I just reached for the closest door handle.”

“No.”

“Yes. I opened the door while he was mooning everyone. He fell out of the limo on I-25.”

I sat stunned.

“South,” she added.

I still sat stunned.

“Near the Gibson exit.”

“Cookie,” I said at last, “what happened?”

“He suffered multiple fractures, a ruptured spleen, and a mild concussion.”

I slammed my hands over my mouth.

“I know. Things just changed after that. Even after ten years of marriage, we never found what we had again.”

“I'm sorry, hon.”

“I just don't have the best luck with honeymoons.”

“No, that's not true. Those were total coincidences.”

She smiled sadly. “You don't believe in coincidences.”

I squeezed her hand. “I do now.”

“This is so much better,” Amber chimed as she skipped back to her seat.

“I can't believe you're that girl,” I said softly as Amber tried to get back under Quentin's shoe and balance her hot chocolate at the same time.

“What girl?”

“The one who meets a guy and marries him twelve hours later.”

“Nine.”

I stifled a grin.

“And a half.”

I leaned forward and gave her my best hug. “But now you have Uncle Bob. Nothing is going to change his mind about how unbelievably perfect you are.”

She giggled. “You might be surprised.”

“Never.”

“What are you guys whispering about?” Amber asked, her hair in her face as she shimmied up the back of the couch under the weight of an anvil.

Cookie leaned back and wiped at her eyes. “We're talking about the boarding school we're going to send you to if you don't start earning your keep.”

Amber blew her bangs out of her face. “You have to come up with some new material, Mom. That hasn't worked on me since I was three.”