“I do hope you aren’t here to find a dress for your cupid for the event,” Morticia says dryly, plucking a flute off the counter and sipping it elegantly. “You wouldn’t want to upstage the Head Reaper’s new cupid girlfriend.”
Mors swallows. “Baby, maybe we should get you something from Cupidale,” she suggests.
Juliet happily shrugs and gives me a wave as they turn around and walk out of the shop.
I throw a look of confusion at Morticia and she sighs. “One of the few perks of working for Mortem is throwing his name around. I like it when they scurry away with fear in their eyes.”
“Are people really that afraid of him?”
She takes a heavy swig of her sparkling wine and looks around the shop.
“I’ve worked for Mortem for centuries. No one around here knows who he really is, just his legacy, just his power. He’s actually sweet when you get to know him.”
“You don’t have a crush on Mortem, do you?” I say, my heart sinking in my chest. How could I ever compete with Morticia?
She throws her head back, her dark hair falling behind her back as she laughs so hard it brings tears to her eyes.
“Oh, I like you, cupid. You’re funny.”
“Why would that be funny?”
“You think after doing his bidding all fucking day, having to deal with his complaints, that I would be physically attracted to him? He is far from my type.”
“Well, what’s your type?”
“I like men who shut the fuck up and do as they’re told. Very hard to come by,” she says as she grabs a chiffon dress. “Try this one on. It will show just the right amount of cleavage.”
I try on the dress, and sure enough, my boobs look awesome. The dress flares at my hips, but not enough to seem like a prom dress, just the right amount of elegance.
To be honest, I feel great in black. The contrast against my pink skin is bright, and it is very flattering.
“See? Why wear anything else when black is already the perfect color?”
“Misery, put this on Mortem’s tab and have it delivered with the black fuck me pumps to Mortem’s home,” Morticia says—no thank you or anything—as she grabs me by the wrist, popping ablack umbrella open and walks us down the streets of Purgatory with her head held high.
Once we reach the river, reapers are setting up black tents that take up a ridiculous amount of space.
In a few days, this place is going to be filled with beings of the veil, and they’re going to see exactly what I see when I look at Mortem.
“There is something I must ask of you,” Morticia says, her tall frame towering over mine.
“Of course,” I reply.
“Be patient with him, and please don’t break his heart.” She clears her throat, like she realizes she’s being vulnerable. “Working for him under those conditions would be a fucking nightmare,” she says, schooling her features.
“I don’t intend to.”
“Very well. I figure black everything with a few touches of gold. What do you think?”
“I think that would be beautiful.”
“You know? This party planning business isn’t so bad, especially with your help,” she says, ending the conversation as she walks me to a massive black building.
The windows look like mirrors as we enter; the doorman taking Morticia’s umbrella as we head to the elevator.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to Mortem’s.”
