Page 6 of Ashes and Lilies
My temper swelled, and I narrowed my eyes at him.
But he was no longer looking at me. Instead, he glared at his clenched fist. “What kind of moronic family would allow—”
“Well, you’re dead.”
Mr. Weaver gave me a cynical look.
“That’s right!” I pointed at him accusingly—as if being dead was a condemnable offense. All my previous intentions of diplomacy were forgotten. He was too rude. “The police are wandering around your house right now. I saw them touching all your things.”
He still watched me in the same manner, but his bushy eyebrow slowly rose. Uncouth as my delivery was, I didn’t care.
But then I remembered why it was important to be nice, and my throat closed. I had doomed us all.
I might have a few more minutes. There could still be time to run inside and save Damen from being squished. Mr. Weaver obviously didn’t believe me.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He began to study his hands—only now noticing their almost-sheer state. “I’m dead. This is…”
Curse my lack of control. I’d allowed his grumpy feelings and my sensitivity to overcome me. Should I try to comfort him? Would it help? The poor man seemed to be in shock. When would the explosive anger start?
“This is…” he repeated, clearly dazed.
Any moment.
I should have run for it, but I almost felt bad for Mr. Weaver. Even so, living people came first.
I had to warn Damen.
“This is a rather unexpected development,” he said.
I’d already sprinted to the door before his words registered. The doorknob was in my hand, and I looked over my shoulder, confident I had misheard.
Out of all the possible reactions… Where was the anger, the crying? He didn’t appear remotely upset. Instead, he seemed intrigued, almost put out.
“Oh, this timing is terrible,” he pouted. “I hadn’t planned on kicking the bucket for another twenty years or so. Quite a few things still needed doing.”
He was still watching his hands in awe. “Still, it might be easier to do some in this state. This could be interesting.”
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I remained silent, watching as he discovered his floating abilities and began to sway in the wind.
He appeared to be genuinely fascinated.
“Oh well.” He shrugged. “I suppose there’s no helping these things. It does make sense. My only regret is that I didn’t finish my Rocky Road. One of those shithead cops better not have taken it.”
I dropped my hand to my side and turned to face him.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Why are you surprised? You killed yourself.”
“Are you simple?” Mr. Weaver wrinkled his nose, offended. “I wouldn’t harm a soul. And certainly not my own sweet self.”
I found that hard to believe. “You were about to shoot a cat.”
He sliced his hand through the air. “That thing doesn’t count. It’s not like it can feel pain.”
I barely held back my gasp. What a terrible man. “How can you—”
“I wonder what did me in? I have quite a few enemies, not discounting that beast,” Mr. Weaver mused.
What was his problem with cats?
