“Okay, but the ones who are still alive, do you know when they’re going to die? Is it soon?”
“Not when. Only if.”
“But, is he floating?”
“No. Not floating.”
Well, this was like driving a supercharged Challenger on the highway to nowhere. I gave up and decided to choose another route. “Rocket, can I tell when someone is going to die?”
He stopped and regarded me with a look of utter puzzlement. “Of course you can tell when someone is going to die. It’s your job.”
I thought as much. I wondered when I was going to die. “Am I floating?”
“Miss Charlotte, you’re the grim reaper,” he said with a snort. “You’re always floating.”
“So, I could die for real? At any second?”
“Yep.”
“Oh.” That was disappointing. “Well, thanks for giving it to me straight.” I blew dust out of my bangs.
“You could be killed by a bicycle. Or crushed by a big rock. Or stabbed with a knitting needle.”
“Okay.”
“Or even pushed down some stairs.”
“Right, I got it. Thanks.”
“Or you might be shot in the head with a gun.”
“Rocket! I’m good. Seriously, no more elaboration needed.” But he grabbed my arm, and all the innocence drained from his face. He wasn’t a little boy anymore. He knew too much. Had seen too much. “Or,” he said, his voice taking on an eerie depth, “you could be killed by the one you love most. Along with everyone else.”
Well, that sucked more ass than liposuction.
He let go of my arm and stood to inspect the area. I knew what he was feeling. I felt the same thing even before Reyes materialized, and I wondered how long he’d been there. Never having been a fan of Reyes’s, Rocket disappeared the moment a sea of black robes burst into the room, undulating around me until they settled at Reyes’s feet. He spoke from the shadow of his hood, refusing to show his face. “You agreed to be tied up when there is a legion of demons after you?”
“Yes. I didn’t really think of it in those terms.”
He released an exasperated sigh and started forward. “Someday, I will understand how that mind of yours works.”
I snorted. “Good luck. It seemed like a good alternative to dying outright at the time.”
“When exactly was your life in danger?”
“Are you going to help me out of this or not?”
He kneeled beside me and pushed back the hood of his robe to reveal his exotically handsome face. A face that had fresh lacerations over its brow and cheekbone.
Startled, I asked, “You’re still fighting them? Hunting them?”
His head cocked to one side. “Did you actually expect me to stop?”
“How long can this go on? How many are there?”
He was inspecting the duct tape. “Only a handful now. There are very few humans on Earth who can see what these can see. My brethren are running out of options.”
“You’re not killing them, are you? They’re innocent. They’re just people who happen to be able to see the departed.”
“I kill them only if I have to. Are you going to question my every move while you are duct-taped to a chair?”
“Sorry. I was just hoping you’d stop hunting them.”
“They won’t stop trying to get to you, Dutch. Hedeshi lied.”
“I know. I just meant … You’re getting pretty beat up in the process.”
His sensual mouth tilted up at one corner. “Worried about me?”
“No.” I added a pfft just to emphasize how much I was not worried.
“You didn’t look worried with that guy’s tongue down your throat.”
Great. He did see that. “Jealous?”
“No.”
“’Cause you seem jealous.”
His lashes lowered as he narrowed his eyes at me, but the high-pitched voice of a departed nine-year-old with masochistic tendencies drifted down from the stairwell before he could reply.
“I found a knife!” Strawberry said.
Holy shit. “Get me out of this,” I said to Reyes, wiggling my fingers. “Hurry before she comes back.”
16
Don’t judge me because I’m quiet.
No one plans a murder out loud.
—T-SHIRT
After Reyes got me out of the restraints then did his usual disappearing act, citing an extreme need to be elsewhere, I exited the asylum and walked past a couple of bikers hanging out at Donovan’s. I wondered if they knew about the robberies. Or that he wouldn’t be back for a while. Mustering as much nonchalance as possible—and hoping that whatever was in my hair wasn’t too noticeable—I started down the street toward a convenience store nearby. This wasn’t the safest neighborhood to be walking through, even in the early afternoon.
I scraped my hair back into the hair tie, then dug my phone out of my pocket and texted Donovan, letting him know that I’d barely escaped with my life and my virtue intact. Then I called Garrett.
“Swopes,” he said, all business. He had caller ID, for heaven’s sake.
“I need a ride.”
“You need a therapist.”
“True, but I need a ride first.”
“Why? Where’s your Jeep?” He sounded winded, like he was running. Or having sex. Surely my timing didn’t suck that bad.