Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
I need to believe that somewhere, under the dense clouds in his mind, he knows he’s comforting the granddaughter he loves.
So I cling to him, and while I cry, he murmurs soft words.
The sound of his voice and his warmth are enough.
The knowledge that, even if he’s not quite here, there’s still someone in this world who loves me without conditions, without regrets.
Slowly, my tears fade.
Sniffling, I rub at one eye.
Grandpa lets out a gentle, crooning sound.
“There you are,” he rumbles. “You just needed to let it out. Do you remember what you always told me when things were hard, dearest?”
I smile faintly, still hiding my face against his chest. Even his scent is comforting. He always smells like fresh-cut timber and the rougher, piney smell of bark.
“Why don’t you remind me?”
“That Francis Bacon quote you love so much.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present.” He gently pats my hair. “Whatever it is, dearest… if there’s such darkness today, it only means your light will shine like the sun.”
I wish I could believe that.
But it’s enough to remind me that I can get past this.
I barely knew my grandmother, but by all accounts, she was a resilient woman.
I want to be her worthy granddaughter today.
So I pull back from him, finding a smile as I stand, brushing my hair back and leaning in to kiss his wrinkled cheek.
“You’re right,” I say. “And it’s time to get started on the day, so I’d better go.”
His smile glows fondly. “You never could sit still, Lily darling. Where are you off to now?”
“Errands,” I say, smoothing down my shirt before picking up my bag from where I dropped it by my worktable yesterday. “Need to run by the bank, and I think we’re out of paper towels.”
He pats my cheek, then turns away.
“What did you want for dinner tonight?” he calls over his shoulder as he makes his way back to his lathe. “I thought I could make pierogis.”
I watch him with that hollow ache I get every time I remember I’m having a conversation with a lovely man who thinks I’m someone else.
“Pierogis would be great,” I tell him. “I’ll pick up everything you need. Be back soon!”
He waves quickly, already sinking back into his work. I linger on him for a few seconds before I step into the morning sun that feels far too bright for the darkness of my mood.
I’m lucky Mrs. Brodsky will be by in the next hour or two to check up on him.
As I walk down the street, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched.
For a second, I glance around, searching for the freaky scarecrow figure of Ephraim Jacobin or the black silhouette of his Iron Maiden wife.
But there’s nothing, just familiar faces moving down the street, soccer moms chatting with each other or babysitters herding toddlers while they do the household shopping. Old folks out for their morning power walks. A couple kids skipping school and pointedly avoiding the small police precinct station so they won’t get hauled back in for truancy.
I avoid it, too, turning one street sooner than I need to so I won’t have to walk past and see a flash of ivory skin and quicksilver eyes through the window.
My heart couldn’t take it today.
I’m trying to be steel.
But steel takes time to forge, and it’s been less than a day since the man I love threw me into exile.
I distract myself by Googling what I’ll need for pierogis as I make my way to the bank and step inside. The line’s short, and I’ve already got a grocery list by the time the teller beckons me forward.
I’ve already signed the check—nine hundred thousand dollars just for the first installment.
Who said a deal with the devil doesn’t pay well?
When I pass it over, though, the bank teller—a girl my age named Sarah—stares at the check with wide eyes.
I smile sheepishly.
“Um, it’s a deposit for a big contract,” I explain. “Mostly going to materials. I didn’t win the lotto or anything.”
I don’t know why I feel the need to explain.
I guess it just feels like that kind of money isn’t meant for me, especially with their name attached.
Once I’m done with this job—or Micah hauls Xavier Arrendell into custody, whatever comes first—I think I’ll stay away from that house for the rest of my life.
I fiddle with my bag strap and look around idly while I wait for her to finish, but when she clears her throat nervously, I glance back at her.
The look on her face makes my heart sink before she says a single word.
“Miss Grey?” She clears her throat. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but the check just bounced.”
20
DARK MINDED (MICAH)
I’m about to murder someone.