First Grave on the Right

“Cookie?”

Just as I was about to check for a pulse, she whispered, “Death incarnate?”

Oops. “Oh, that,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “He’s not really death incarnate. He just looks like death incarnate. Come to think of it, he looks like death.” I glanced up in thought and decided to ignore the cobwebs on the light fixture for the time being. “He kind of looks like, well, a grim reaper. Except I’m a grim reaper and he looks nothing like me. But if I didn’t know what grim reapers really looked like, not that I’ve ever met one besides myself, I’d say that’s exactly what he resembles.” I glanced back at her. “Yep. Death incarnate should just about cover it.”

“Death incarnate? There really is such a thing?”

Perhaps I was going about this the wrong way. “He’s not really death. He’s kind of cool, I guess, in a terrifying way.” She whitened further. Darn it. “When you eventually have to seek therapy, will I have to pay for it?”

“No,” she said, straightening her shoulders, pretending to have everything under control. “I’m good. You just took me by surprise, that’s all.” She waved me on with a wiggle of her fingers. “Go ahead. I can handle this.”

“Swear?” I asked, suspicious of the blue around her lips.

“Pinkie swear. Crash course. I am so ready.”

When she gripped the arms of the chair as if preparing for an aerial assault, my doubts reemerged. What the bloody heck was I doing? Besides scarring her for life?

“I can’t do this,” I said, reevaluating my telling her everything just so I could tell her about Bad in the warehouse to get her opinion on the whole thing. I couldn’t do that to Cookie. “I’m sorry. I should never have mentioned any of this.”

She peeled her hands off the arms of her chair and looked at me, purpose glimmering in her eyes. “Charley, you can tell me anything. I promise not to freak out on you again.” When my gaze turned to one of utter doubt, she clarified, “I promise to try not to freak out on you again.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said, bowing my head. “There are some things people are better off not knowing. I can’t believe what I almost did to you. I apologize.”

One of the consequences of my being honest with those close to me was the effect it had on their psyche. I’d learned long ago that, yes, it hurt when people didn’t believe me, but when they did, their lives were changed forever. They never saw the world the same again. And such a perspective could be devastating. I chose very carefully who I let in. And I’d told only one other person on Earth about Bad, a decision I’ve regretted ever since.

Cookie edged back into her chair, picked up her cup, and gazed into it. “Do you remember the first time you told me what you are?”

I thought back a moment. “Just barely. If you’ll recall, I was into my third margarita.”

“Do you remember what you said?”

“Um … third margarita.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘Cookie, I’m the grim reaper.’ ”

“And you believed me?” I asked, incredulity raising my brows.

“Yes,” she said, coming to animated life. “Without a shadow of a doubt. By that point, I’d seen too much not to believe you. So what on Earth could you tell me now that would sound worse?”

“You might be surprised,” I hedged.

She frowned. “Is it really that bad?”

“It’s not that it’s bad,” I explained, trying to allow her to keep a little of her innocence and possibly her sanity, “just maybe a little less believable.”

“Oh, right, because there’s a grim reaper on every street corner these days.”

She had a point. More often than not, however, my abilities got me into trouble and took away people whom I’d believed I could trust. Those facts alone made me hesitant now, no matter how much I thought of Cookie. Honestly, what had I been thinking? Sometimes my selfishness astounded me.

“When I was in high school,” I said, angling for the old it’s-for-your-own-good spiel, “I told my best friend too much. Our friendship ended badly because of it. I just don’t want that to happen to us.”

Not that I could place all the blame on Jessica. Past experience and my mad skill at reading people should have stopped me from telling my ex — best friend more than she could handle. Still, her sudden and complete hatred of all things Charley Davidson struck hard. I simply couldn’t comprehend where her hostilities were coming from. We were best friends one minute, then mortal enemies the next. It was such a shock. I still thought about it often, even though I realized years later she’d just been scared. Of what I could do. Of what was out there. Of what my abilities meant in the grand scheme of things. But at the time, I was devastated. Betrayed, once again, by someone I’d loved. By someone I’d thought loved me.

Between Jessica’s hostilities and my stepmother’s indifference, I sank into a very deep depression. One that I hid well with sarcasm and sass, but the incident sparked a cycle of self-destructive behavior that took me years to crawl out of.

Oddly enough, Reyes was the one who knocked me out of the depression itself. His situation made me appreciate what I had, namely a father who didn’t kick my ass for the sheer joy of it. I had a dad who loved me, a commodity Reyes lacked. Yet he wasn’t wallowing in a cesspool of self-pity. His life was a hundred times worse than mine, but he didn’t feel the least bit sorry for himself. Not from what I’d seen, anyway. So I’d put my little pity party on hold.

Trust, however, was another issue. Trusting the living had never been my strong suit to begin with. But this was Cookie. The best friend I’d ever had. She’d accepted everything I ever told her without doubt or contempt or instantaneous musings of monetary gain.

“And you think I won’t be able to handle what you tell me?”

“No. That’s just it. If anyone can handle it, you can. I just don’t know if I want to do that to you.” I put a hand on her arm and leaned forward, willing her to understand. “It’s not always better knowing.”

After a long pause, she gathered the files with a weak smile on her face. “Your abilities are a part of you, Charley, a part of who you are. I don’t think there’s a thing you could tell me that would change my perception of you.”

“It’s not your perception of me I’m worried about.”

“It’s late,” she said, slipping papers into a file folder. “And you need to get to bed.”

Had I hurt her feelings? Did she think I didn’t want her to know? Sharing every part of my life with a very best friend whom I could confide in would be like finding the pot of green chili stew at the end of the rainbow. Did I dare? Could I risk one of the best things that had ever happened to me?

It was late, but as wonderful as slipping into unconsciousness sounded, the thought of telling Cookie everything — of her knowing the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth — had my adrenaline pumping. It would be nice to have someone to trust in, a confidante, a comrade in arms and hair gel, despite the fact that it was almost two in the morning and I was exhausted and sore and near comatose. I just prayed neither of us was biting off more than we could chew. I did that once with bubble gum. It wasn’t pleasant.

Maybe I could take a chance. Just this once. Maybe she’d come out of it unscathed and as sane as she was going in. Not that that was saying much, but still.

I ran a finger along the edge of my coffee mug, unable to meet her gaze. I was about to change her life forever. And not necessarily in a good way. “He’s like smoke,” I said, and I felt her still beside me. “And he’s powerful. I can feel it pulse off him in waves. It makes me weak when he’s near, like he absorbs a part of me.”

She sat quiet for a few stunned moments, then placed the files back on the desk. She’d crossed a schism, a gap between two worlds that few people even knew about. As of this point in time, Cookie Kowalski would never be the same again.

“And that’s who you saw today?” she asked.

“In the warehouse, yes. But this morning as well, when Reyes appeared in the office.”

“This being was there?”

“No. I’m beginning to think he and Reyes are the same kind of being. But Reyes is real, a human, and then I keep seeing these blurs lately and having unimaginable sex in my sleep, and then he shows up in my shower —”