Sixth Grave on the Edge

“I owe you,” he said, matter-of-fact.

“You do? Cool. And just what do you owe me for?”

The seriousness in his eyes hit me hard. “Because you said yes.”

I blinked in surprise. “You think because I agreed to marry you, you owe me?”

“You don’t realize what that means. You are literally royalty, born to the king and queen of your kind. Your marrying me will be like a beloved princess marrying a street urchin.”

I snickered, but his expression remained severe.

“But again, you are more special than any of your kind. More powerful. I’m beginning to understand you have a much higher purpose than I’d ever realized. For us to marry … let’s just say your celestial, for lack of a better word, family would not approve.”

“I would love to know more about them,” I coaxed. When it became clear I wasn’t getting any more out of him where that was concerned, I pressed him about his own. “What about your family? Are you ever going to try to contact them? I still believe they would want to know you are alive and well.”

“Perhaps. Just as your parents would you.”

I rose onto my elbows. “What do you mean?”

“Their sacrifice was a great one. Once one of their kind is sent, they lose all contact until the reaper’s physical form passes. They have no idea how you are doing, what your life has been like.”

“Wow. Our parents are more similar than I thought. Do you remember being born?” I asked him out of the blue. I’d always wondered about how he came into the world, both in the supernatural realm, when created by his outcast father, and here on earth.

“The memory of my human existence isn’t like yours. I remember bits and pieces.”

“What about your creation? What about when Lucifer created you?”

He lay back and rested an arm on his forehead. “That I remember well.”

“Can you tell me about it?” I asked, resting my chin on his shoulder. He pulled me closer against his side.

“I remember the pain of creation,” he said, his thoughts far away. “The heat of the fire. The color of my skin as it smoldered, as the muscle and tendon beneath it formed and solidified. I remember the being that created me—my father, as it were—and from the moment I took my first breath, I knew he had no love for what he’d created. He had dark machinations. He had a plan and I was a big part of it. But first I had to prove myself. And so the tests began.” He came back to me and kissed the tip of my nose. “My childhood was not the stuff of fairy tales.”

“I would love to hear about it.”

“Then you’re going to be disappointed. I can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“Any love that you have in your heart for me would vanish.”

“Reyes—”

“Dutch,” he said, cutting me off. “Please do not ask that of me. It is a darkness I cannot share. I would lose you forever, and I’ve only ever wanted you. You are literally the light in my darkness, the redemption of my past. I waited centuries for you to be born on earth, for me to be able to bask in your glow. You are like a gravitational force that lures me closer with each breath you take.”

I lay rather stunned.

“Imagine a canvas bathed completely in black. Only black. There is no shape. No purpose other than to bring darkness. Then splash on a brilliant white. Add some reds and blues, some yellows and greens. Suddenly it has meaning. It has a reason to exist. That is what you have done to my world. You brought me purpose. Light and color to fill the void of oblivion. Without you, there is only the darkness.”

I pulled him closer and kissed his neck. He ran his fingers through my hair.

“That will be my gift to you on our wedding day.”

I rose and regarded him with a questioning expression.

“The name I caught on the air as you were being brought into this world. The angels all whispered it, each and every one, but only once. They are forbidden to mention it again until your passing. Then one angel will have the honor of telling you and only you. I’ve kept it safe, locked away. It will be my gift to you on our wedding day. The power behind it is immense. The light it holds.”

“I— I don’t know what to say.”

“I think we should work together.”

“What?”

His eyes glistened in amusement. “With the Twelve coming, I’ve decided to hire a manager for the bar and work with you full-time.”

“Um.”

“I know,” he said, ruffling my hair. “Your gratitude is all I need.”

“Reyes—”

“No arguments. It’s not safe to leave you alone anymore. If we work together, who will question it?”

Wow, my partnerships were multiplying like bunnies on Viagra. I guess I could take on three partners: Aunt Lil, Garrett, and Reyes.

We could be the Fearsome Foursome!

Or not.

“But I do have one question,” he said, patting my head to his chest to let me know he understood how grateful I was that he would deign to work with me. Such a nice, humble guy.

I giggled under his playful arm and said, “Just one?”

“For now. Why a spork?”

It took me a moment to remember my response to the utensil question I’d asked him earlier. “Because!” I said, shocked he’d even ask. “Sporks multitask. They look unassuming, but pack a powerful purpose. Like a Swiss Army knife, only not quite that useful.”