believed every word he’d said, but my heart was the organ that had gotten me in trouble most of my life. My head knew I’d done the right thing.
Falling to my knees, I let the exhaustion claim me. Sobs racked my body and I was sure I would cry until the end of time. Crawling to my phone, I texted Heather. Gideon was gone and Steve was still upstairs. I owed it to my dead husband to try to help him.
Gideon had said he couldn’t undo what he hadn’t done.
Maybe Heather could.
Heather stood in the doorway of my bedroom with an expression of shock on her face. She bent down and scooped up some of the black crystals. They slipped through her fingers and floated back to the floor.
“Can you do anything for him?” I asked hoarsely.
I’d cried so hard my voice sounded like I’d swallowed shards of glass. It had taken Heather a half an hour to get to the farmhouse. When she found me on the floor in the fetal position sobbing, she freaked out. Trying to explain to her what had happened was impossible. Instead, I took her to my bedroom and showed her Steve.
“Oh God,” she gasped out as she approached the bed and looked at him. She put her hand over her mouth and tried not to cry.
“I need your help.”
“You stopped the darkness,” Heather whispered, flabbergasted. “How?”
Gideon had asked the very same question. Had no one ever stopped the darkness?
“I quit my job,” I said. “I’m no longer a Death Counselor.”
“Yet you can still see Steve?” she asked.
My gut clenched in terror for a moment, and I thought I might throw up. Gram couldn’t see the dead since she was no longer the Death Counselor.
My head whipped to the bed. Steve was there—I could see him. My cry of relief was primal and guttural; it sounded foreign and strange to my own ears. But foreign and strange had become par for the course. All that mattered was that I could see him. I wasn’t sure what that meant as far as the rules went, but I didn’t care. I was grateful that I still had the ability.
“Yes,” I choked out. “I see him.”
Heather eyed me for a long moment and shook her head. “Daisy, there is no one like you. No one.”
“Not sure if that’s good or bad,” I replied, moving to Steve and sitting next to him.
He looked bad, but Heather didn’t comment or act repulsed. That was a relief. Even though Heather was one of my dearest friends, I would have kicked her ass. Steve could hear us. He was in enough agony. He didn’t need to be made aware of his revolting appearance.
“Can you help me send him to the light?” I asked.
Heather tilted her head and gave me an odd look. “Why would you think I could help you send Steve into the light?”
The cryptic games were wearing on me, but I would play along. Maybe this was how it worked.
“You’re the Angel of Mercy. You send people into the light.”
Heather paled and sat down on a chair. “I’m not the Angel of Mercy.”
“Yes, you are. You have to be,” I insisted, glaring at her. “You can see the dead and talk to them. You are the Angel of Mercy. Stop playing games. I need you to help me send Steve into the light. I’ll give you anything you want. I just need your help.”
“Oh God, Daisy,” Heather said, letting her head fall to her chest. “You have it all wrong.”
“Have what wrong?” I asked as a feeling of dread washed over me.
“Every good story has a major plot twist,” she said slowly, growing more agitated with each word.
“Go on,” I said, not liking the direction of the conversation, but knowing I needed to hear it.
“The Grim Reaper sends souls in question into the light, and the Angel of Mercy sends them to the darkness—opposite of what you might assume,” she explained. “It’s been that way since the beginning of time. It’s for balance and to eliminate conflict of interest.”
“Don’t,” I said. “Do not screw with me.”
Heather stood and began to pace the room. “I’m not,” she whispered. “I would never do that to you.”
The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. Gideon had not lied to me. Steve had tried to tell me, and I didn’t understand. Even John had warned me that everything was not as it seemed. Gideon had not sent Steve into the darkness—and I