Sixth Grave on the Edge

But something wasn’t right.

“Reyes. Alexander. Farrow,” I said.

Seconds after I spoke his name, Reyes walked into his bedroom, and I looked across the open space directly from my room into his.

He waited for me to continue.

“I feel like there’s something missing from my bedroom.”

A dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t say.”

“Any idea what that might be?”

He glanced around my room as well, then shrugged. “I can’t imagine.”

“Oh, wait,” I said, stepping from my room into his, “wasn’t there something here? Like, I don’t know, a wall or something?”

He looked up. “You could be right. I do seem to remember a barrier of some kind here.”

“Yep,” I said, stepping closer, “I definitely remember a partition separating our apartments.” When his only response was a mischievous tilt of his full mouth, I asked, “Where did you put my wall?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against his doorframe. “What makes you think I took it?”

“It was there this morning.”

“And that means I took it? Maybe you just misplaced it. Where exactly did you see it last?”

I pressed my lips together. “You tore down my wall.”

The smile he wore could’ve charmed the panties off a nun. Completely unrepentant, he admitted, “I tore down your wall.”

I stepped closer and he locked his long arms around my waist. “My apartment isn’t a safe place,” I warned. “It gets broken into a lot, it’s haunted, and it has a terrible aversion to cinnamon schnapps. Long story.”

“And you think taking down this wall was a bad idea?”

“Well, now that there is no barrier here, the curse that has been cast upon my humble abode has now seeped onto your side, too.”

“This is a non-seepage opening.”

“Really? Because it looks pretty seepy.”

“Seepy?”

“Seepy. And now we have this really long bed,” I said, nodding toward our two beds butting up against each other, no headboards in between. Then all the wondrous possibilities took shape in my mind. I beamed at him. “We can play Twister on it!”

“Twister.”

“And we can have massive pillow fights. I will, of course, kick your ass.”

“Will you?”

“Wanna bet on it?”

“I think you’ve done enough betting for a while,” he said, referring to my pathetic attempt to cash in at the poker table.

“That was with a lying, cheating demon. You can hardly blame me for losing to someone who eats souls for dinner.”

“I think your friend is upset.”

I whirled out of his embrace to check on Pari. She was staring again, only instead of the reverence she had when looking at Mr. Wong, she was regarding Reyes with a wariness that, if I wasn’t mistaken, resembled trepidation. She was terrified.

She took a deliberate step back when Reyes looked at her, then another and another until she backed up against Sophie and could go no farther.

“Pari,” I said, inching toward her, “this is Reyes Farrow, my, um, neighbor.” I didn’t know how to introduce him. Was he my boyfriend? Lover hardly seemed appropriate. And he wasn’t my fiancé. Yet. Still, boyfriend just didn’t seem right. “Pari?”

She snapped out of it and began gathering her equipment. “I’ll get to work on this ay-sap.”

Garrett had stepped to the doorway and was inspecting the new construction. It was uncanny. No one would ever have known a wall was ever there. It had been finished and painted to match and simply looked like one long room.

He turned to Pari. “Don’t worry, Farrow scares everyone.”

I scowled at him as I stepped past. “Are you okay?” I asked her, but she didn’t look up at me.

“I’m fine.”

I realized she was panting, but the emotions pouring out of her were only partly fear. There was so much mixed in there, I couldn’t decide which one was causing her the most grief.

I put a hand on her arm. “Pari, hon, sit down.”

She looked up at last, cringed against the light, jammed on her sunglasses, then said, “No, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

I led her to my sofa anyway. “You guys play nice,” I said, my tone warning. Not that it would do any good with those two, but they didn’t always get along. Once we got settled, I spoke softly to Pari. She was not the type to get rattled. I didn’t think she could get rattled. “What’s wrong?” I asked her.

She pulled in her lower lip, then leaned over to me and whispered, “What is he?”

She was the second person to ask me that lately. I didn’t know how much to tell her. She knew what I was because she could see me, my light, but what was she seeing with Reyes? “What does he look like to you?”

“He looks like, I don’t know.” She dared a quick look over my shoulder. “Have you ever seen the sky at night when the stars weren’t out but it was crystal clear, the sky such a deep dark black that you were sure you could drown in it, it was so beautiful?”

I nodded knowingly. “Yes, I have.”

“He’s that.” She slammed her eyes shut as though picturing him in her mind, afraid to look again. “He’s the deep, dark kind of beauty that you’d sell your soul to have.”