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Secondhand Souls (Grim Reaper 2)

Page 38

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“I guess I thought you were older because of how you dealt with that jumper.”

Was he trying to say something? She didn’t need anyone else judging her and she wished she had worn something low-­cut so she could accuse him of looking at her boobs, which he totally was not, which was annoying. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“You were so calm, unconcerned. I mean, that guy died.”

“You think I’m unconcerned? That I don’t care? Do you know why I’m cynical and snarky on the crisis line?”

He shook his head.

“Because it works. It’s normal. They need normal, fast. They need out of the spiral they’re in, so if they’re suddenly offended by me, or horny for me, I don’t care. What they’re not focused on is their own pain, they’re not alone, there’s someone else on the planet with them who is annoying and possibly sexy, and it gets them to put the pills or the gun down, it gets them off the bridge in a safe way. That’s my jam. It used to be being dark and mysterious, but you can’t out-­dark the ­people I was hanging out with, and if I get the least bit drunk or high, I tell everyone everything I know, so I’m a fucking loser at mysterious. Yeah, we lost that guy, but I saved five others this month. I’m good at what I do.” Five and half, bitches! she thought.

“I know, that’s why I called you,” Mike said.

“Wait. What?”

“And because she told me to.”

“Who told you to?”

Their coffees came before he could answer and he waited for Dread Girl to leave before he answered her.

“This is going to sound really strange,” he said. “I can

’t quite believe I’m going to say it—­”

“If you start talking about your ex, I will knock you out of that chair—­”

“A ghost. The ghost of Concepción de Arguello, daughter of the governor of Alta California.”

“Where is that? I don’t even know where that is,” Lily said. He was doing that big lie with a little detailed lie to give it the credibility thing.

“It’s here,” Mike said, gesturing to the street and around them. “This is Alta California.”

“This is the Marina. This is where you go between the fraternity or sorority house and your first divorce. Look around, except for our waitress, who I guarantee doesn’t live in this neighborhood, it’s all ­people who are completely self-­absorbed without a shred of self-­awareness.”

“Wow, that’s harsh,” Mike said.

“You haven’t served them,” Lily said. She smiled, not a lot of teeth but a sparkle of mischief in her eye, then sipped her hot liquor through the straw.

“Ghost,” Mike said.

“So?” Lily said.

“This was Alta California in the early 1800s.”

“You’re not going to just forget you said that, then? I’m willing. I mean, to be honest, you’ve probably lost your shot with me, because I have a rule about not boning the mentally disturbed, but we can be acquaintances, and I promise not to cock-­block you with the waitress—­she seems into you. But don’t you think that was disrespectful, her hitting on my date like that.”

“I’m not your date.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

“You told her that.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“She said that you knew Death and could help with the Ghost Thief. That I should call you.”

“The waitress?”



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