Grave Dance by Kalayna Price

awake?”
    Death shrugged. “I could watch anyone sleep.”
    But only I could see him. Wel , that wasn’t completely true.
    Any grave witch could see and talk to soul col ectors if the witch straddled the chasm between the living and the dead, but I was the only grave witch I knew who could see col ectors while not in touch with the grave. And, more important, I was the only grave witch who could physical y interact with col ectors. Death had been visiting me since I was a child.
    Forcing myself awake, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and fought to untangle my feet from the sheets. I frowned when I realized I was stil wearing yesterday’s jeans and tank. Right, I spent most of the night watching old movies with Holly. Caleb, my landlord and third housemate, had urged me back upstairs after I’d fal en asleep on his couch. Changing had seemed overrated by the time I’d made it to my bed.
    After a few fruitless kicks at the ensnaring sheets, which didn’t free me, I reached down to unwind them from my legs. Death watched, his expression losing some of its playful edge.
    “Nightmares again?” he asked, his voice serious.
    I shrugged off the question. I’d had nightmares every night since my final confrontation with Coleman. Facing off with a madman and final y destroying him by accelerating the decomposition of his body and cannibalizing his soul?
    Yeah, that was nightmare inducing, but I real y didn’t want to think about it.
    Yawning, I stretched, trying to work the kinks out of my back. The night of poor sleep—to say nothing of the nights before it—had left me sore and stil exhausted, but a glance at my clock told me it was past time I should be getting up. I couldn’t remember when I was supposed to meet today’s client, though I was pretty sure I was scheduled to raise a client, though I was pretty sure I was scheduled to raise a shade. I’d check my calendar as soon as I got some muchneeded caffeine. Snapping my jaw shut, I shuffled toward my kitchenette.
    Death watched me, amusement once again lifting to his dark eyes. Unlike me with my bedraggled clothes and knotted hair, he looked good in the morning light streaming into my apartment. Okay, actual y, he looked exactly the same as when I’d first seen him when I was five years old, but recently I’d come to appreciate the way his black T-shirt pul ed tight over the expanse of his shoulders and his faded jeans hugged his ass. Not that I was looking, of course. I mean, he was Death.
    Yeah, he was Death, and a month ago, when I lay dying under the Blood Moon, I was pretty sure he’d said he loved me. Neither one of us had mentioned it since. In fact, for the first week after that night, whenever I’d catch sight of him, he would vanish without saying anything. Then he’d started visiting again as if nothing had changed between us. Wel , almost nothing.
    “You want coffee?” I asked, riffling through my cabinet.
    “Among other things.”
    And there went my pulse rate.
    When I’d been in academy I’d discovered I could make the objects I interacted with tangible to Death, but the trick worked only if we both remained in contact with the object in question. As a teenager, when I’d first offered him coffee, I’d been flirting. Since I had to hold on to the mug for him to touch it, sharing a cup of coffee put us in close contact, but over the last few weeks he’d taken the flirting to a whole new level.
    I focused on scooping coffee grounds into the filter.
    Never in my life had I measured my grounds more meticulously, though with the way my fingers trembled, I was surprised I didn’t miss the coffeemaker. Come on, Alex.
    Get a grip. Death was my oldest friend. The one constant in my life.
    my life.
    And he’d said he loved me.
    I hit the BREW button on my coffeemaker harder than needed. Then, after taking a deep breath, I turned back around.
    Death stood directly behind me, much closer than I’d expected. He fil ed my space, his wide