Page 1 of Til Death Duke Us Part
1
IT’S RAINING MEN
Deep graves were lovely until bodies filled them. Cool earth on all sides, the rich scent of soil. Persephone could close her eyes, rest her aching limbs, and imagine death.
It would be quiet, peaceful, and somehow, not so lonely.
She sighed, six feet under, weight leaning against her shovel, and opened her eyes in just enough time to see the man fall into the grave she was digging.
He landed on his belly with an “oof” and laid there groaning.
She kicked him. And in such a narrow space, she didn’t have to swing her leg far. “Don’t think this one’s reserved for you. Unless you’re early.”
The man rolled over, shoulder hitting one long side of the grave, and he slowly brushed the soil from his face and chest. “Did you fall in, too?”
“No. Dug my way down here.” She heaved her shovel onto her shoulder. “What are you doing in the Alchemist Graveyard past midnight?”
He sat up, and in the dim light of the fairy orb glowing near her shoulder, he gave her a look. Ha. She knew that expression. He was the kind of man unused to being questioned.
“I could ask you the same,” he said.
“I’m the grave digger.”
“I doubt that.”
“Why else would I be down here with a shovel?” You great lumbering nodcock.
Narrow eyes but no answer. He stood, dusting off his knees.
“You do not have a shovel,” she said, “so you have no reason to be here.” She wished he wasn’t here. He was interrupting her work, but also, there was no room in a grave for two. The tight space she loved to be alone in felt much too crowded now. He wasn’t a small man, and the large outline of him was almost all she could make out, even with her little bobbing light. Taller than the grave, shoulders wide, hair bright in the dark. He was dressed plainly but fully from his cravat to his greatcoat. Probably had a pocket watch tucked away in a waistcoat pocket. And that pocket was well-stretched over his muscled chest. “I’d need a wide hole.”
“Pardon me?” He swung around, eyes wide, lips rolled back to shape the tone of distaste that had dripped across those two words. “What in the devil are you talking about? A… wide hole?”
Persephone waved her arms at the grave. “What you’re standing in. You don’t fit very well. If I were digging your grave, it would have to be wider. To accommodate your shoulders.”
He blinked like he was trying to knock her over with his unfairly thick and dark lashes, then he straightened and brushed off his trousers. “Ah. Yes. That hole.” He turned his attention to the sky, to the shelf of ground at his eye level. “How do I get out?”
She kicked at a nearby bucket. “Use that.”
“Makes sense. You being so small.”
No reason to bristle. She was short. She came up only to this man’s shoulders.
“Why are you digging at night?” he asked, kicking the bucket upside down and into place for a quick escape.
“It’s cooler. And it doesn’t bother the daytime visitors.” And she didn’t have to hear the wailing of the newly bereaved. Or the innocent chatter of a child talking to the air, pretending it was their mother or father so recently lost.
He grunted. “Good to know.” Then he placed one foot on the overturned bottom of the bucket, pressed his palms into the ground, and launched himself up. A few competent movements, and he was out, brushing his hands on his trousers.
She whistled. He probably didn’t even need the bucket.
He leaned over and looked down at her. The light from her orb shone up at him, illuminating his face. She wanted to whistle again. A fine-looking man with arrogant cheekbones. Full lips and thick, dark brows. His nose was crooked, like he’d broken it once.
“Well, then… Good evening.” He gave her a little wave and walked off.
She pocketed her orb and scurried up after him. Using the bucket, of course. “Wait!”
He did not. He walked with long, confident strides into the maw of the darkness. Not even the huge yellow moon, heavy in the sky, could follow him there.
