Grave Visions (Alex Craft, #4)(14)

Pushing back, I stood. The second I lost contact with Death, my innate planeweaving ability stopped pulling him into reality and he scrambled after me before the bed became unsubstantial under him. I turned from him, wrapping my arms over my chest, my hands balled into fists. The movement must have been too sudden because black dots gathered in the corners of my eyes, a wave of dizziness crashing over me. I’d have fallen if Death hadn’t caught me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and once my vision cleared, I could see the concern written across his face.

I shook my head, but didn’t push out of his arms. “I think I’m coming down with something. Don’t worry about it. Now what will happen if the Mender finds out you’ve been with me?”

His frown matched mine. “You know many of our secrets already. Our relationship hasn’t been expressly forbidden recently.”

Which so didn’t mean it wasn’t forbidden. Nor did it answer my question. “What will happen?”

“He might reassign me to a different area. Somewhere that will make it harder for me to see you.”

Might? I stared into his face, searching for what he was hiding. “And worst-case scenario?”

He sighed. “He might strip my powers and I’ll move on like any other soul.”

I swallowed and forced my nod to be slow, controlled. To not let the frantic panic show even though he’d just admitted being with me might be a death sentence for him. He’d pass on and be gone forever.

“Alex . . .” He started, but trailed off. His gaze flickering over my face as if he was memorizing every pore in my skin.

Then colors swirled in his irises. Once I hadn’t known why that happened or what it meant, but now I did.

“You have to go,” I said, and even to my own ears, my voice sounded distant, guarded.

His nod was reluctant but definite.

Somewhere, one of the souls in his care was at a pivotal moment in their life, or their death. His eyes did that when he saw possible lines of the future, at least one of which would lead to a soul that needed to be collected.

I lifted up on my toes and kissed him, but it was a chaste kiss compared to all the ones that had come before. When we broke apart he wove his fingers into my hair and pressed his forehead against mine. It was more friendly than intimate, with a hint of sorrow that hung like an albatross between us.

“I’ll return when I can,” he whispered into the heavy silence. “No running.”

He didn’t give me time to protest, but in the next instant vanished, leaving me alone, staring at the darkness where he’d been. I stood there a long time. Until PC whined from the bed. Then I slid back under the covers, but it was a long time after that before I finally fell back asleep.

? ? ?

When I woke next it was to the sound of bells. Wedding bells. Coming from my phone . . .

I totally hadn’t set that ringtone. Which meant it was likely the work of my self-appointed ghostly sidekick. He was getting poltergeist good at manipulating objects on the living plane.

“Roy, when your insubstantial butt appears again, I ought to . . .” I muttered, rolling to the edge of the bed, but I didn’t finish, suddenly winded just from the effort of moving and attempting to fish my phone out of my purse. My body felt heavy and sluggish with more than just clinging sleep. I was exhausted. If not for the thick block of sunlight peeking around the curtain alerting me to the fact I’d overslept, I may have believed I’d gotten no rest last night at all. I felt more tired than when I’d gone to bed. I definitely caught something. My hand finally landed on the phone, and I pulled it free so I could read the display.

Tamara.

Well, at least the wedding bells made more sense. She was getting married this weekend. I hadn’t missed any duties, had I? There were no more dress fittings, and all the prep work that could be done beforehand had been finished. All that was left was the rehearsal dinner tonight—and a glance at the clock proved I hadn’t slept that late.

I hit the TALK button.

“Hey, Tam, what’s up?”

“I can’t go through with it.”

Please don’t be talking about the wedding. Because I was so not the person to give advice on committed relationships. “With what?”

“What do you mean, ‘with what’? What do you think, Alex? The wedding, of course.”

Oh, shit.

“What happened?”

Tamara sighed, the sound rushing through the phone. A slight catch at the very end betrayed that she was either on the edge of tears, or she’d already been crying. “Nothing, exactly. Everything. Oh, hell, I don’t know.”

This was not good. I slid out of bed and padded across the floor to the guest room door, hoping I could enlist some girl-talk reinforcement from Holly. I stepped into the hall, but found it quiet, both Holly’s and Caleb’s doors open and their rooms empty. Holly was a morning person and had probably left hours ago. Which meant I was alone. I slunk back to the bed and sank into the mattress.

“Well, you have until you exchange vows to back out of the wedding,” I said, and Tamara made a strangled sound that was probably a sob. Crap, I was no good at this. Why hadn’t she called Holly?

Tamara was one of my best friends. We’d met on the very first case John had brought me in on, and while we’d been far from instant friends—she’d just been appointed head ME at the time and was less than thrilled about some college freshman with no credentials being brought in to examine a murder victim—she was a witch as well as a scientist and eventually mutual respect grew into a friendship. But while we had many shared interests, our view on relationships was drastically different. She’d been with her fiancé, Ethan, for about as long as I’d known her. If all she was suffering from currently was pre-wedding jitters, I definitely didn’t want my relationship-phobic advice to influence her into something she would regret for the rest of her life. Which meant I needed to proceed with extreme caution.