Page 18 of Death and Do-Overs

I grabbed the pair of thick work gloves I’d taken with me from the shelter. Usually they protected me from the teeth and claws of feral kittens. Now they’d protect Nie from me.

I lifted Nie and took a better look at the wound on her neck. The texture reminded me of pork jerky. While gross, it meantthat Nie was dried out enough that I didn’t have to worry about any fluids leaking.

That was all I could stomach of that. I placed Nie into my messenger bag.

There. Now I could touch her if—when—I needed to, without making the mistake of doing it too soon.

I told myself I was being pragmatic instead of cowardly.

I told myself this was a calculated decision instead of an emotional one.

Clearly these were lies. But when my excuses wore thin, Nie would be by my side, ready. And I’d find her murderer…so long as he didn’t find me first.

CHAPTER 5

MAR

By the time I stepped out onto the tiny porch, the dark clouds had thinned. The air remained as cold as it had been in the middle of the night, but it had a fresh punch of dampness to really make that chill hit down to the bone.

Rose greeted me with a warm, yet slightly concerned smile. She was sitting on my swing, scratching Imogen’s sheep namesake behind his ear.

She was wearing a knit hat that she hadn’t worn earlier. It was green with white bolts sticking out of the sides, giving it Frankenstein vibes. I wondered if it was a seasonal choice for Halloween, a play on her having risen from near death, or both.

“My daughter Heather knitted it for me.” Rose quirked her head slightly to the side. “Are we going somewhere?”

I blinked and refocused. “Nie purchased a train ticket. I need to know where she went.”

Rose stood and stretched, releasing a series of cracks and pops. “Let’s go.”

The drive to the train station was slightly awkward. Rose and I had never spent time alone together. I was content to sit in silence. Given her squirms and glances, I assumed Rose was not.

“I have this habit of imagining unrealistic scenarios when my mind isn’t occupied,” she said.

“Maybe you should be a writer.”

She laughed. “No. They aren’t compelling imaginings. They’re just weird. I was thinking that if I was in your position, I’d have a bunch of wild ideas of what happened.”

Curious, I asked, “Like what?”

“Supernatural organized crime. A head in a box feels like a mafia type of message.”

Perhaps Rose had picked up useful knowledge of the magical world from Andrew. “Is there a supernatural mafia?”

“Not that I know of. There could be.”

She glanced at me. I could feel it, even with my attention on the road. Her need to fill silence reminded me of Imogen.

I said, “So you believe Wendy has crossed this supernatural mafia?”

“All of this is hypothetical.” Rose’s gaze lingered, turning into flat-out staring.

“Except it isn’t.” I glanced back at her and squeezed my fists on the steering wheel.

Rose twisted her lips.

“Any thoughts on the reaper theory?” I asked, not remembering her commenting on that part of the group conversation earlier.

“Like even though Bernadette could just kill all of us, she has instead chosen to only kill the one of us who can’t really die, the clone you can remake?”

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