“I expect you groveling on your knees for forgiveness when I get there,” she hissed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE FRONT PAGE of the newspaper was a blast of fear and terror about how the Spine was now under the control of Firemoor two mornings later. It knotted Sam’s stomach enough that he pushed away his breakfast. After the two deaths he’d had to deal with overnight, he was already nauseous, and thinking about an army on his border wasn’t helping.
“Who was it last night?” Rolfe asked as Sam silently drank his coffee.
Luna jumped on the table and sprawled out in the middle, ignoring Rolfe swatting at the feline’s tail that had just landed—probably purposefully—in the blueberry jam on his toast. Rolfe snarled, and the cat just stretched her front legs toward Sam.
“Remember old man Taylor?” Sam said without turning away from the newspaper.
“Ah, damn. Really?” Rolfe replied.
“His son, actually,” Sam continued. “Marty.” Sam flipped down the paper to meet Rolfe’s gaze. “Heart attack.”
“Fuck,” Rolfe muttered. “Find him too late?”
Sam nodded, and Rolfe slumped back in his chair. “The other was a child,” Sam said softly.
Rolfe stilled, and Sam couldn’t stop the line of tears in the bottom of his eyes as that memory flooded him. How he’d sat on the floor with the girl and plucked rose petals with her for a while, let her play with Luna and hug her before she began to get curious, and Sam had explained to her what was happening. The only thing the girl had asked once she understood was if Sam would check on her mother and her dog.
“Yeah,” Sam whispered, pushing a blonde curl off her young face, his fingers brushing the scrape from the car accident she’d been in. “I promise. Anything for my brave girl,” he told her, trying to give her a reassuring smile and hating himself that there was nothing more he could do.
It was at times like this that Sam cursed himself for who he was.
“We don’t give children enough credit,” Sam said as he looked at Rolfe.
Rolfe nodded in agreement, sadness taking over his entire body. “What happened?”
“Drunk driver from uptown,” Sam answered.
Rolfe’s eyes hardened. “You have his name?”
“He’s on the list I left for you on the foyer table,” Sam said.
Rolfe chewed his food slower this time, like he was taking a moment to plot out how he might take care of this new threat.
“Cathedral is all set,” Rolfe said after a few minutes.
They’d spent the entire day before down the hall inside the grand room. Pulling down curtains, removing pews and sheets and anything else that might get in their way. Sam swore he had cobwebs in places he couldn’t reach, no matter how many times he bathed.
“Have you talked to Millie?” Rolfe asked.
Sam shook his head. “I don’t know how long it will take Damien and his people to get those to the border. Could be days.”
Rolfe ran a hand through his hair, sadness in his eyes. “I remember that,” he muttered.
“Three days, wasn’t it?” Sam asked.
“Three days, eight hours, twenty-nine minutes under that fucking house,” Rolfe sighed, speaking of the days he’d sat at the edge of his life. “Felt like my mind was hoarse from screaming out by the time you found me.”
“Back then, I did it all manually,” Sam muttered. “It’s no excuse. I should have figured out how to call souls like I can now.”
“You were angrier back then,” Rolfe said.
Sam huffed, finding the statement amusing. “Angry at the world. At myself. At—“ he waved a hand in the air to signal everything around him “—all of this.” He met Rolfe’s eyes then. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”
But Rolfe waved him off. “Wouldn’t change it for anything, boss,” he said. “You have a date tonight?”
