Grim (8 page)

“You would tell me, Jeremiah,” Erika said. “Wouldn't you?” Her voice came out low and sad. He nodded his head.

“I would tell you anything you asked me, Erika. It's just who I am.”

She knew that he was playing her. That he was beautiful and he was playing her.

 

“She's causing problems,” said Jeremiah as he jogged down the steps to where his brother stood, observing Kala in all of her caged glory.

“Of course she's causing problems,” Jegud said. He was dressed in a trim black suit, cut just to size. Of all the king's sons, Jegud had taken to Limbo's latest dictated century with the most ease. The brothers used to joke that it had been tailored for him. “She's with you, isn't she? She must be a quick learner.”

“Jegud, you have no idea —”

“I have every idea, Jeremiah. How hard this is for her. How easy it must have been for you.” He shot his little brother a look to cut diamonds. “I hear you struggled with her in the Passing Woods. Rumor wants to know why it took so long for young Jeremiah to crawl through this time. Rumor says he's wounded.”

“And maybe he is. I had to get back in, Jegud. Michael would've killed me.”

Jegud jerked his head at the staircase. “And this was the first thing you could think of? Kidnap the nearest single mother?”

“I didn't know she had kids.”

“Is that supposed to make you look better?”

“I have to fix this,” Jeremiah said. “Will you help me?”

Jegud turned back to Kala, still asleep for all the bickering.

“She's going to fall in love with you,” he said. “A soul shouldn't be with their guide for this long.”

“I know,” said Jeremiah. “But what can I do?”

“You can try not to make it worse.” Jegud gave his brother a pointed look.

Jeremiah cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. “Thank you for coming, Brother. You always let me feel more myself.”

Jegud glanced away. “I'll find someone on staff to do your guide work. For now.” He slid back into his woolen coat and ran a finger around the brim of his top hat. At the door, he paused. “Jeremy, I —”

Kala stirred and fluffed her feathers before settling back to sleep. The brothers watched her, sharing a sad smile.

“I'm glad you're home,” said Jegud, and went out.

 

Erika stayed in bed for another hour at least, lulled by the steady
drip, drip, drip
of the bathroom faucet, which had developed a leak. Martha came in with a tray of bread and fruit and left it, without a word, on the seat of the armchair.

After Martha closed the door, Erika crawled out of bed, her skin cold on the wooden floor, and looked through the bureau for something suitable. Skirts and dresses, linen and lace; she slipped into black chiffon, the plainest piece in the wardrobe, and took her other earring out. She ran a finger down the chain of her necklace and closed her eyes. When she hooked her fingers around the emerald, Megan stood out in her memory, clear against everything else, and Shawn with her, and Rebecca looking happy, for once. The air smelled of cinnamon. Erika turned away from the dresser.

Despite her lack of hunger, she nibbled at the food for want of something to do. The grapes and peaches were unripe, the bread salty. Afraid of making Jeremiah worry, she brought the plate to her window and let her breakfast fall into the bushes.

There were two men standing outside the manor gate, both dressed in clean suits and carrying flowers that seemed out of place within the city walls. Just a few feet away, a gardener on a tall A-frame ladder battled with the dead limbs of an old oak tree, each eager
snap
of his clippers forewarning a falling branch. The men watched him intently, and he must have seen them, but neither party said a word to the other.

After a few seconds, the shorter of the men outside the gate tapped his colleague on the shoulder and whispered something without turning his head. Erika caught the unchecked glance at her window and pulled back, hiding her face behind the heavy curtains. From her viewpoint, she could see the shorter man smile as wide as the Cheshire cat before he tipped his top hat to her empty window. The two of them walked toward the gate, beyond the window's frame. Erika smoothed the skirt of her dress in one quick movement and headed out of her bedroom to find Jeremiah.

When she walked into Jeremiah's study, she was confronted with a portrait of herself. She froze. There she hung above the fireplace, dressed in a rich blue gown that clung to her shoulders. A lush garden sprouted all around her.

“My mother,” said Jeremiah, and Erika started once more. She turned and found him behind a stocky rosewood desk, his expression as intent as the first time she'd met him. His study was a long, narrow room lined with glass-front shelving. Thousands of black and brown leather books waited behind the dusty panels, intermixed with brass and wood knickknacks. Jeremiah gave his mother's portrait one last glance and then set aside the book he had been reading.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

“A little.”

“Good.”

Jeremiah didn't get up from his seat, so Erika came forward by herself.

“I was lonely,” she said.

He motioned to a pair of plush chairs across from his desk. Erika hesitated, but gave in.

“I feel like I'm in a law office,” she said.

“Oh?”

“It reminds me of my divorce.”

Jeremiah folded his arms and studied her.

“Can I help you with anything, Erika?”

She looked up from her hands. “I think so.”

“And what would that be?”

“I …” She shrugged. “I need my children, Jeremiah. I need to see them. To know that they're okay.”

“They're fine, Erika. You
have
seen them.”

“Not really.”

“You
have
. You know that they're fine.”

“That's not good enough.” She leaned forward in her seat, her fingers knit together in her lap. “I need you to bring them here, Jeremiah. To me.”

At that, he raised his chin and sank back in his own chair. She watched him for a few long seconds, and he watched the edge of his desk where the light from the window behind him glared silver-white.

He opened his mouth. “Do you know what you're asking for?”

“I do.”

“No, you don't,” said Jeremiah. “But you won't give up, either, will you?”

She didn't answer.

“Are you sure about this, Erika?” She could tell from the set of his jaw that the question was merely polite and that he already knew the answer.

“I am,” she said, also out of politeness.

“Then, for you, I will try.”

“Do you promise?”

His eyes flicked up to her, and she felt a little prick of irritation in his glance. “I said that I would, didn't I?”

She didn't drop his gaze. “I just need to know.”

Jeremiah spun in his chair to face the window. “Everything,” he said quietly. “For you.”

“Thank you.” She got up from her seat and saw that he didn't stare at the yard, but at a bowl of flowers. Balsamine, zinnias, and eglantine roses, all twisted together with thick myrtle branches.

“Are those from the men at the gate?”

Jeremiah didn't turn, but she could feel the tension in his words: “How do you know about the men?” he asked.

“I saw them from my window,” she said. “Who are they?”

“Unimportant.” He seemed to think over the statement. “No,” he said after a few seconds. “Very important. Just very petty as well. I'd rather not talk about it.”

“Fine.”

“I need you to promise
me
something now, Erika.”

“What?”

Jeremiah kept his eyes on the flowers.

“That you won't try to look for your children again,” he said. “Until I see whether or not I can bring them here.”

“Look?” she asked. “I would never find them anyway.”

His voice came cold. “You know what I mean.”

“All right,” Erika said. “I promise.”

“And I need to know that you would do anything for them.”

“Anything.”

He swiveled to face her.

“Just to see them?” he asked. “You would do
anything
just to see them?” His face was so sharp, so darkly serious that Erika wavered.

“You're scaring me.”

Jeremiah smiled. His shoulders relaxed and he leaned forward to pick up his book. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. But you should know that sacrifices will have to be made.”

“I love my children,” Erika said.

“I know. Of course.”

“Please don't do anything stupid.”

“Oh, Erika,” Jeremiah said. “It's all stupid.”

He took up his work again and Erika understood that she'd been dismissed.

 

Again, Jeremiah crossed Gabriel's retaining room. He had traded his comfortable jeans — his reaping clothes — for the starch of a three-piece suit. It was his attempt to play by the rules; all grown up and still desperate to fit in. Over the past few hours, he'd watched the light through the line of arched windows change from the bright, clean heat of midafternoon to the crystallized honey of early evening. He'd begun to wonder whether his eldest brother was even at home.

After a few more minutes of pacing, Jeremiah sank down onto the rich white velvet of one of the parlor's chaise longues and stared at the sheer curtains, gone amber with sunset. A few feet away, an old grandfather clock metered out time. Jeremiah glanced at its mother-of-pearl face and made up his mind to leave. He started to rise when the door on the far wall swung open and Gabriel appeared, with his hand on the polished knob. When he spotted Jeremiah, his face broke into a wide, honest smile.

“I didn't realize you were waiting, Brother,” he said. “I'm so sorry.”

Michael, the second prince, strode out of the office, top hat in hand, dark hair pushed back behind his ears. He was taller than any of his brothers and slender in his close-cut suit. He gave Jeremiah a cold look as he passed by. Jeremiah nodded but held his tongue. It had been a long time since the two of them had spoken.

Gabriel didn't miss the exchange, but he also didn't comment on it. He ran his fingers through his thick wheat gold curls and tipped his head at the open room. “Come in, come in,” he said. “It's been too long.”

Jeremiah followed him inside and waited until the door latched behind them both.

The crown prince still smiled — his smile always came too easily — but he looked tired. Perhaps his preparations to take the throne were finally getting to him. “What brings you home, Jeremy?” he asked.

“Michael,” said Jeremiah. “He's become quite the hunter.”

Gabriel said nothing as he slid behind his favorite ebony desk. He motioned to a chair but Jeremiah shook his head.

“I'll only be a moment,” he said. “I have a favor to ask.” He couldn't tell whether this surprised Gabriel or not, or whether it disappointed him. As the next to the throne, Gabriel had trained hard to keep his emotions in check, especially around rogues. All emotions except for his buoyancy, which Jeremiah doubted his brother would ever be able to rein in.

“I'd be happy to grant it,” said Gabriel. “If I can.”

Jeremiah rolled his hat slowly between gloved fingers.

“There are some children,” he said. “Some human children. I need them brought into the Kingdom.”

Gabriel tilted his head and leaned a little more heavily against his desk. He picked up a thick ballpoint pen and began to play with it, somersaulting it back and forth across his knuckles.

“An odd request,” he said. “Whatever for?”

“A friend,” said Jeremiah. “A new friend. Who deserves it.”

“You know that it isn't our place to play reaper. I won't allow for anyone to lose life when it isn't their time. Especially not children.”

“You misunderstand me,” said Jeremiah. “I don't want them dead.”

The pen stopped bouncing. Gabriel replaced it on his desk with a little too much care and concentration.