Grim Rising (Aisling Grimlock Book 7) Page 2

  “You’d better be.”

  Dad winked. “Right back at you, kid.”

  1

  ONE

  PRESENT DAY

  “Absolutely not.”

  Serafina York crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me, screwing up her pretty face into a grotesque imitation of something straight out of a horror movie. Sadly for her, she was trapped in her own horrific version of Friday the 13th, even though she refused to admit the obvious.

  “You don’t have a choice.” I tugged on my limited patience and feigned friendly interest. “I know this comes at a bad time for you … .”

  Serafina cut me off with an indignant screech. “Bad time? Bad time!” She gestured wildly, her ethereal spirit floating next to the kitchen table where she had died. Her body remained at the table, her face planted in a plate of egg whites and tomatoes, and the room was starting to smell.

  Okay, I could’ve been imagining the last part. Whenever food is involved in a death, I can’t stop myself from thinking about potential bugs and scavengers. It’s a mental thing that I can’t explain.

  “Fine. It’s a terrible time,” I conceded. “You had your whole life in front of you. You were … what … twenty-nine?”

  Serafina narrowed her eyes. “I am twenty-five.”

  That didn’t sound right. I lifted the iPad I carried – the reaping business was going completely green these days, so I didn’t have to worry about leaving behind one of those pesky files I always had to tote around – and tapped the screen to scan Serafina’s file. She had died only thirty minutes earlier – although it felt longer – yet I was already running behind. I had a full slate of souls to collect. I knew better than to engage in conversation with the recently deceased, but apparently I never learned.

  “This says you’re twenty-nine,” I countered, ignoring the way Serafina’s spirit glared at me. She wasn’t a threat. There was nothing she could do to hurt me. Even if she screamed and carried on – which she’d been doing since I turned up and told her she was dead and it was time to chart a course for the other side – the neighbors couldn’t hear. As a reaper, I could hear, but no one else had the ability. That was both a blessing and a curse in this instance.

  My name is Aisling Grimlock and I’m a reaper by trade and birthright. I wasn’t always part of the family business, but a downturn in the economy forced a change in professions and now I suck souls for a living. It’s honestly not that bad – other than complaining spirits, annoying brothers to work with, my anal-retentive father breathing down my neck when he’s determined I did something wrong or purposely courted danger, and the occasional wraiths and monsters that try to kill me on what’s turning into a monthly basis. Other than that, things were peachy keen.

  Wait … did I just use the term “peachy keen?” That couldn’t be right. That was a Jerry saying. Clearly we’d been spending too much time together. Wait … what was I supposed to be doing again?

  “I am not twenty-nine,” Serafina scoffed, bringing me back to reality. “Clearly your file is wrong.”

  “Possibly, but that rarely happens.”

  “And yet it’s happened this time. I’m twenty-five.”

  She said the words, but I had trouble believing her. Ever since introducing myself to Serafina York – the daughter a rich real estate developer in Detroit – I’d rather abruptly come to the conclusion that she was a total pain in the butt and most likely a pathological liar.

  “You should probably go back to your office and make sure I should really be dead,” Serafina suggested. “I’m assuming they’ve made a terrible mistake and you’ll have to return and resurrect me.” The longer she talked, the wider she smiled. “Yes, that’s it. I’m accidentally dead. I’m sure you’ll realize the paperwork error quickly and get me back on my feet as soon as possible.”

  Serafina slid a sidelong look toward her body, tsking as she shook her head. “Speaking of feet … I’m due to get a pedicure today. If you could hurry this along I’d be forever grateful. I’m supposed to have fresh toenails for the big day.”

  I pressed my lips together as I regarded her. She really was a piece of work. I was used to souls trying to bargain their way out of death, but Serafina was tackling it in a new and unique way. I had to give her credit for trying.

  “I don’t give and take life,” I pointed out, doing my best not to stare at the way her body shifted a bit, internal gasses dispensing and making things worse (if that was even possible). “I collect souls. There’s a difference.”

  Serafina wasn’t ready to give up. “Well, you need to go to your boss, tell him there’s been a mistake – I mean, I do not look twenty-nine – and have whoever handles death reversal come to the house and fix me up.”

  I stared at her for a long beat, dumbfounded. “I know you think you’re fooling everyone with the Botox or whatever else you’re getting – and you really didn’t need it because you were already pretty – but you look your age. I’m sorry, but … it’s true.”

  “I do not!” Serafina shrieked, stomping her foot on the floor. Because she lacked corporeal form she didn’t make a sound when her foot struck the carpet. Instead of pitching a fit, she looked as if she was rhythmically challenged and had been selected to line dance to a rumba on Dancing With the Stars.

  “Whatever.” I was in no mood to put up with a meltdown. I had my own issues to deal with and none of them – other than the obvious strain she was putting on my time management skills – revolved around Serafina York. My eyes drifted to the stack of magazines and the over-sized binder sitting on the counter. “You were getting married, right?”

  “I am getting married,” Serafina countered. “I am getting married in a few days to the most wonderful man in the world.”

  “Hmm.” Given Serafina’s attitude, I had my doubts anyone halfway decent would put up with her. “What’s his name?”

  “Skylar Worthington.”

  I stilled, flicking my eyes to her, incredulous. “I thought Skylar was a girl’s name. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all about sexual equality and stuff. My brother and best friend are gay. In fact, they live with each other. I was weirded out at first – not because they’re gay, but because we all grew up together – but now I kind of like it.”

  Serafina worked her jaw but no sound came out. I figured that meant she wanted me to continue talking.

  “So how does a lesbian wedding work?” I asked, flipping open the binder and glancing at the organized items inside. “Holy crap! Are these your wedding plans?”

  “They are,” Serafina confirmed, floating to a spot behind me so she could look over my shoulder as I paged through her binder. “Don’t mess anything up. I’ve been planning this wedding for more than a year. If you mess it up I’m going to mess you up.”

  I wanted to remind her that she couldn’t make fists so she had no way to mess me up, but now didn’t seem the time. “You’ve been planning your wedding for a year?” My stomach somersaulted at the thought. “Why?”

  “What do you mean?” Serafina was haughty. “A year is the bare minimum to plan the proper wedding. You need to think about caterers, a location, a minister, music, the perfect dress, which bridesmaids you want to reward and which ones you want to punish … it’s a lot of work.”

  It sounded like a lot of work. “And your girlfriend left everything for you to plan?” That didn’t seem fair.

  “Skylar is a man,” Serafina shot back. “He’s a very rich and powerful man.”

  I noticed she didn’t say “sweet” or “handsome” when describing her intended. Heck, she didn’t even say he was “loyal.” That had to be on purpose. “Skylar and Serafina, huh? That sounds like a very milquetoast union.”

  Serafina openly glared at me. “Our napkins are beautiful thanks to the alliteration. I can’t wait to use them.”

  “You can keep saying that all you want, but it’s not going to change the fact that I don’t have the power to bring you back,” I said. “I’m sorry but …
you’re dead. It’s done. There is no reversal department.”

  Serafina’s mouth dropped open as abject horror washed over her features. “That cannot be right. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been working toward this day? Heck, I snagged Skylar Worthington, for crying out loud. It’s a big deal.”

  “Why is he so important?”

  “Because his father owns the new skyscraper complex on the Detroit River.”

  That meant absolutely nothing to me. “So … he’s rich?”

  “He’s extraordinarily well to do,” Serafina corrected. “Only crass individuals would say ‘rich’ like you just did.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m fine with being crass.” I unconsciously flexed my left hand, the one that boasted my new engagement ring. I was still getting used to the weight even though Griffin had slipped it on my finger weeks before. It made sense to say yes when he proposed – my family looking on and smiling – but once the novelty wore off the terror took hold.

  I had absolutely no idea how to plan a wedding.

  I grew up with four brothers. My mother died when I was a teenager, long before things like this appeared on my radar screen, although she was back and straddling the line between human and wraith these days. She was possibly eating people, too, but that wasn’t something to dwell on now. Sure, my best friend was diving in and planning the cake and shopping for dresses – he had the Bridezilla role down to a science – but I wasn’t exactly certain what I should be doing.

  “So where did you start when you decided it was time to plan your wedding?”

  Serafina’s expression was hard to read. I couldn’t tell if she wanted to answer the question or strangle me with my winter scarf. Winters in Michigan are brutal, so the scarf was necessary. Serafina’s attitude was not, even though I had a feeling she knew much more than I did about matters of marriage.

  “I see you’re wearing a ring,” Serafina noted, inclining her chin toward my hand. “It’s cute. Quaint, but cute.”

  I flicked my eyes to the ring and scowled. It was beautiful. Griffin Taylor, the man who gave it to me, did a bang-up job when he selected it. The ring was everything I ever wanted – solitary stone, platinum setting, not overbearing – and yet the idea of what came next was enough to freeze me in my tracks.

  I was afraid … and I had absolutely no one to admit it to.

  “I can help you,” Serafina offered. “If you spare me, I can help you.”

  “That’s sweet, but I still don’t have the power to save you.” I flipped through her wedding binder. “What the heck is this?”

  Serafina made an annoyed sound as she focused on the binder. “That’s the seating arrangements for the reception.”

  “You have to do your own seating arrangements?” That sounded awful. “Why?”

  “You can hire someone to do it if you have enough money … .” Serafina broke off and surveyed my outfit, taking in my simple jeans and Ugg boots with mild distaste. “I’m guessing money will be an issue for you, so scratch that.”

  Was it? Would money be an issue? As Cormack Grimlock’s only daughter, I didn’t think that was true. We’d never really talked about it, though. Perhaps that was something I should do before making decisions. Except … I was a grown woman. I should pay for my own wedding, right? Isn’t the idea of expecting your father to pay for a big wedding old and antiquated?

  Ugh. I’m so confused.

  “Money isn’t the issue,” I gritted out. “Money is the least of my problems. It’s … this. How do you know to do this?”

  Serafina’s expression was blank. “What?”

  “This!” I tapped the binder for emphasis. “You’ve got everything in here from the caterer to the decorator. You have different designers for the wedding dress and the bridesmaid dresses.”

  “Well, they’re my friends, but I don’t want them to look nearly as good as me,” Serafina sniffed. “Trust me. That’s non-negotiable. When it comes time to pick bridesmaid dresses, make sure they’re ugly. Then tell everyone they’re cute and they can wear them again. That’s the only civilized thing to do.”

  That sounded fairly diabolical. “I don’t even have female friends,” I admitted. “How am I supposed to have bridesmaids if I have no friends?”

  “You said money wasn’t an issue.” Serafina was in pragmatic mode. “I’m sure your father can pay someone to stand up for you.”

  “That sounds just … lovely,” I muttered. In truth, the only reason I let Serafina York start yapping in the first place was because I saw the wedding gown hanging on the back of the kitchen door. I needed someone to talk to, and while I was certain she was a total narcissistic nightmare within thirty seconds of her opening her mouth, that didn’t change the fact that I was a bit lost. “I don’t know how to do any of this.”

  “Tell me about your fiancé,” Serafina prodded. “What is he like?”

  I smiled at mention of Griffin, remembering the way his tousled hair accented his face when I rolled over to find him staring at me this morning. “He’s perfect.”

  “No one is perfect,” Serafina countered, dismissing my comment with a wave of her hand. “My Skylar is as close to perfect as possible, but he still has a third nipple.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s true.” Serafina bobbed her head. “He’s pasty, pale, and has a third nipple. He’s also sickly. And I’m pretty sure he’s banging his secretary.”

  “How is that perfect?”

  “He’s rich.”

  Serafina’s answer was so succinct and matter of fact that all I could do was shake my head. “Griffin is none of those things.”

  “Griffin Walters?” Serafina perked up. “Are you engaged to Griffin Walters?”

  I had no idea who that was. “Taylor,” I corrected.

  “I’ve never heard of him,” Serafina said. “Is he one of the Grosse Pointe Park Taylors?”

  “He’s a cop,” I supplied, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking when Serafina’s face fell. “He’s a police officer who doesn’t make a lot of money and puts his life on the line every day. He also puts his life on the line for me because I always find trouble, but I’ve been good for weeks and we’ve decided not to talk about it.”

  “Oh, well, how great for you.” Serafina was quickly losing interest in the conversation. “Why would you marry a cop?”

  “Because I love him.”

  “Why else?”

  Someone like Serafina would never understand true emotions, real love, but I gave it a shot anyway. “Because he’s a good guy who listens when I talk, always tries to make me laugh, and never makes me feel bad when I do the girly thing and cry.”

  “I always cry to get my way,” Serafina said. “If you want the perfect wedding, you’d better learn to cry so you can manipulate your father. You said he has money, right? You’ll need it if you’re marrying a cop. Start negotiating your future allowance now.”

  “I don’t want the perfect wedding,” I countered. “I just want a nice wedding. I don’t want to screw it up. I’m not sure how to do that, though. I’ve never been the type of girl who dreams about a wedding.”

  “Why is that?” Serafina seemed legitimately curious.

  “Because I never thought I’d find someone willing to put up with my lifestyle,” I replied, opting for honesty. “Griffin actually accepts the fact that I am who I am, that my family is what it is, and he doesn’t ever ask me to change. He deserves a nice wedding, right?”

  “Honey, he’s a cop.” Serafina didn’t bother hiding her disdain. “Give him a hot dog and a beer and call it a day. He’ll probably be thrilled with that.”

  Sadly, I had a feeling she was right. Still … I wanted the wedding to be pretty and memorable. I wanted it to be a day Griffin and I would always look back on and enjoy. That meant I had to make sure I didn’t screw up things before the fact. That seemed out of my wheelhouse.

  “So, where did we land on you calling the reversal team?” Seraf
ina asked, her eyes bright.

  I forced a smile for her benefit as I dug in my pocket for the scepter that would absorb her soul. “I wasn’t lying about not being able to help you. Believe it or not, I’m sorry. I wish you’d lived to see your big day.”

  Serafina was positively apoplectic when she saw the scepter in my hand. “But … I can’t be dead. I’m young. I’m twenty-nine, for crying out loud.”

  “I thought you said you were twenty-five.”

  “I lied. Sue me.”

  I chewed my bottom lip to keep from laughing. “No harm, no foul. Continue.”

  “I can’t die,” Serafina lamented. “I’m not ready. I haven’t gotten everything I wanted yet.”

  “There’s no going back. I’m sorry.”

  Serafina heaved a sigh. “Can you at least tell me how I died? I deserve at least that.”

  “Sure.” I smiled as I turned back to the iPad, momentarily wishing I’d kept my big mouth shut for a change. “Oh, well … .”

  “Was it a tragic heart condition?” Serafina looked hopeful. “That will read well in my obituary.”

  “No, your future mother-in-law slipped poison in your coffee creamer.” I faked a bright smile. “Apparently she didn’t think you were destined for happily ever after with her precious Skylar. It’s over and done with, though. There’s no reason to fret. Are you ready to go?”

  I hoped I’d be able to slip that one by Serafina, but her screech told me otherwise.

  “I knew that old bat hated me,” Serafina bellowed. “I can’t believe she murdered me!”

  “Yes, well, we all have struggles. Come on now, you’re going to a better place.”

  Serafina didn’t look convinced. “I need to talk to your boss.”

  Yes, this is why I’m supposed to suck and run. Conversation – especially with belligerent spirits – is highly overrated.

  2

  TWO

  “There’s the love of my life.”