Call Me Grim by Elizabeth Holloway

Author:Elizabeth Holloway [Holloway, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: teen fantasy, young adult fantasy, teen fantasy and science fiction, grim reaper, death and dying, friendship, creepy
Publisher: Month9Books, LLC
Published: 2014-10-01T07:00:00+00:00

17

As I approach the last curve in the tracks, I realize I’m exactly two minutes and thirty-three seconds late. The time-telling power. Aaron must be close if I can tell time this accurately without a watch. I glance down at my hands to see if my skin has the same bright glow it had yesterday when we were together. As if on cue, my arms, hands, and fingers surge with eye-burning light.

Shared light, shared abilities. I can use his powers now, and he can use mine.

The crisscrossed supports of Jumpers’ Bridge slowly appear from behind the trees. Aaron leans against a pile of half-rotted railroad ties at the edge of the forest, watching me.

I smile and wave as I step off the tracks and skid down the gravel hill to the grass, but he scowls. What did I do now? Is everyone in my life pissed at me?

“You’re late,” he says when I’m close enough to hear him.

“Only by a couple of minutes,” I say. I tug at the front of my T-shirt and hot air billows my face. I should have worn a tank top. It’s only nine o’clock in the morning and sweat already drips down the middle of my back and wets the waistband of my jean shorts.

“Only a couple of minutes?” His frown deepens and he crosses his arms over his chest. “As a Reaper, it’s your job to be on time, Libbi.”

His icy eyes bore into me and I know I’m supposed to apologize and grovel at his feet or something, but I won’t. I’m only a few minutes late. He needs to get over himself.

“Give me a break, Aaron. It’s my first day,” I say. “And I don’t have that handy-dandy time-telling thingy when you’re not around.”

“I suggest you get a better watch then.” He fixes me with a disapproving stare.

“All right, all right.” I pull my hair away from my face and off of my neck and twist it into a loose bun. “I’ll be on time next time.”

“Not just the next time. Every time.”

“Fine. Every time,” I say. “I’ll even be early.”

“Good.”

He gives me one last glare, pushes away from the wood pile, and marches along the base of the gravel incline, heading toward the bridge. I jog to catch up.

This morning, as I followed the rails to Jumpers’ Bridge, I had decided to confront Aaron about Mrs. Lutz and his sister and the murders. Even now, as I watch him angrily swipe the dirt from the seat of his jeans, his brow wrinkled by a deep frown, I repeat the words I plan to use in my head.

I talked to Mrs. Lutz and I know about Sara and the murders. I talked to Mrs. Lutz and I know about Sara and the murders.

My lips part, the words ready to spurt from my mouth.

“So, I guess being on time is really important to the job,” I say instead, and I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the tense, angry curve of his lips. Or maybe it’s the sadness that pulls at the corners of his eyes.

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