Page 72 of Living with Death

We walk toward the stairs, and a sudden sadness comes over me. I can’t explain it. Azrael doesn’t let go of my hand until we reach the top. I put my clothes on, and he gathers the leftover food and wine. I’m staring at the books when he says, “Are you ready?”

I want to say no.

I want to say let’s stay here forever. We can fix this place, grow a garden, hang lights outside, and read these lovely forgotten books.

But I know that’s not reality.

And whatever sense of dread I’m feeling, I know I must face it. Perhaps it has to do with my grandpop's letter.

“Yes,” I say. The fire vanishes, and any flames left on the candles disappear.

We leave the bed and the sheets, but something tells me those will be gone after we are, too. We exit the manor, and Azrael flies us back. The morning is crisp. Cold air blows from my mouth as we walk down the overgrown pathway. Smoke rolls out of the tailpipe of the black town car.

We have a long drive ahead, and we have things to discuss. We both climb in, settling into the warm seat. The driver does a U-turn, and I think of how lonely the halls are, how the fireplaces won’t have another fire burning in them in probably forever. The books will go unread. The piano will sit in silence. I look back, seeing smoke drifting from the treetops.

But I know that’s all it is.

Smoke.

Chapter Twenty-Three

We ride for a long while before sleep takes over. When I wake, Azrael is looking at me.

“Hey,” I say softly.

“Hey,” he replies with a closed-lip smile. It causes my stomach to turn. “We’re almost back.”

I nod, stretching and adjusting my legs. I sit up, looking out the window at the silver sky.

We sit in silence as I ponder how to ask him about the letter. It has been on my mind for days except for last night. Nothing was on my mind last night but him. A shiver licks my spine as I recall the feel of his hands running over me, his burning touch, and his powerful body on mine. I’ll never want anyone else the way I do him.

He’s ruined me.

Regardless, I need answers. I can’t ignore the letter. There’s a reason Grandpop sent it, and it’s not something I can dismiss.

I turn to Azrael, looping my hair behind my ear. “Before we left, you said you knew I needed to talk to you about something.”

“Yes,” he says with his elbow resting on the edge of the door. He runs a finger over his chin. His pale skin appears gray and glowing in the darkness of the car.

I bite the skin on my lip. “My grandpop sent me a note.”

“I’m aware.” His black eyes show no glimmer of light.

“How?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, I don’t guess it does, but I’m curious.”

He smiles. “Of course, you are.” He runs a hand over his thigh, flicking a piece of lint. “I spoke with Michael, my brother. He informed me of the letter.”

“How is that possible?” I ask.

“That’s what I said.” He inhales, blowing out a rush of air as if the conversation is taking a toll on him. “He told me it was because He allowed it.”

“He as in…?”

“Yes,” he confirms.

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