Page 31 of Like Grim Death: Part One
I take another step.
Another fucking bird caws.
Another step.
I look at the ground, breathing in through my nose. Out through my mouth. But something feels off.
Something isn’t right.
Another step.
A pause seems to hover in the darkness. A moment of perfect stillness.
Then there’s a voice, to my left.“Salve.”
Helloin Latin.
My heart pumps violently fast inside of my chest as I turn my head, blinking in the dark. I see nothing but wet pavement, the shadows of dying trees. Then there’s the shuffle of feet, boots on asphalt.
AndAtlasappears seemingly out of nowhere from the inky night.
I should feel relief, but for some reason… I don’t.
He’s wearing all black, including the backward cap on his head, but as he steps closer, the lights from Lucifer and Sid’s garage illuminate the script in pastel blue on his black hoodie.
Who loves you in the dark?It’s written with a spiral, into a circle.
Normally, I might make fun of his fashion choices, but tonight, nearly midnight on Corpus Avenue and a day after we buried his girl’s brother, his presence unnerves something in me.
“What are you doing?” The words are out before I can think the better of them. It’s not as if he’s notallowedto walk our street at night. But where is he going? Certainly not to Lucifer’s. He’s dead asleep, like most people should be at this time. We’re growing out of all-nighters.
And the porchlight from my house… I look toward it now, gritting my teeth the longer the silence stretches between me and one of my brothers. When my eyes find his again, he’s closer, like he justappearedthe extra three steps he took.
It’s not possible, obviously. But Atlas moves like a snake. Fluid and graceful, every movement quiet, you’re likely to forget he’s in a room. You’ll underestimate him, and the next thing you know, his fangs are in your skin. His venom sliding in your veins, toward your heart. Just ask my sister about that. Still, it wasmewho chipped his fucking tooth, and while it’s been years, and Brooklin is back under our protection, he’d do well to remember the night I almost killed him on a merry-go-round. His blood painted the sleek metal red.
You haven’t forgotten, have you? What kind of secrets are you keeping? Can you not sleep at night, after what you saw? Why are you texting my fucking girl when you’re up so late? She’s not your distraction.
“What does it look like?” He smiles as he asks the question, dimples flashing in his smooth skin. He looks younger than the rest of us. A baby face, and he has no tattoos, except the U with the skull. Ourbrand.It’s on his chest, huge, there’s no mistaking it when he’s shirtless. I glance at his black hoodie, the blue letters.
“Did you stop by my house?” I lift my eyes to his, raising my chin. We’re close to the same height. The funny thing about Atlas though, is he always seems smaller in your mind, when you think back on him. Quiet, polite, funny, he can shrink in your memories. But here, toe-to-toe with him, I remember the punches he threw at me too, the night of Lover’s Death when he fucked with my sister.
His dark eyes slide from my house to me. “Why do you ask?”
I arch a brow, and I wonder if he can read my mind.That’s not a fucking answer.
He laughs at my expression, his white teeth flashing, and I catch the scent of spearmint. “No.” He slips one hand from the pocket of his hoodie and adjusts his black, backward hat, blond curls briefly visible before he pulls the cap back on then drops his hand to meet his other in his pocket.
He’s worn a hat for as long as I can remember. I know what his hair looks like, because of the things he does just like that, adjusting the brim. But he never takes it off. Not really. I wonder why.
Even as kids, I think he had one. I try to recall a flash of memory without it, or a reason why he’s worn it, but I come up short. We never really spoke about demons, and maybe I’m reading too much into it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s hiding something under that hat.
Right now, I think he’s hiding something else. I think it starts with the fucking corpse.
I flex my fingers in the pocket of my own hoodie and the movement makes me think about Malachi’s name. Sid’s on my hand. How much Ella hates it. She’s never said it outright, but I can tell.
I clear my throat and alongside it, the cobwebs of memories containing all the ways Ella is annoyed with me. All the secrets she seems to be keeping, and I’ve been too exhausted to force them out of her. “It’s late.”
Atlas’s brows furrow. “Is it,Dad?”
