Page 9 of Stolen Hours

I roll my eyes. “Not that long ago. If you really want me to annoy you, I could talk like they did in the 1600s, my lady.”

“I do not want any such thing. I just want you, the boys, and a bed.”

“Ah, the boys have been chasing the ghost squirrels from last summer out in the lawn.” I whistle, and a mighty thumping comes from the exterior wall of the house, rapidly turning into skittering claws on tileinsidethe house. “Your babies missed you today.”

Molly winces as something tumbles and falls in the kitchen, but whatever it was doesn’t sound as though it shattered, so we stay put.

With a wry smile that melts me like an overheated candle, she coos, “I missed my boys, too. Musketeer! Come to Mama!” Molly whistles, and my cerbie (corgi-cerberus cross) comes bounding over to the couch, his short, stubby legs and wiggly fluff butt racing and scrambling to jump up and get into Molly’s lap. Three panting mouths and pink tongues clamor to lick her hands and chin as she pulls our three-headed munchkin into her arms. “Do you want to curl up with me? Did you stay up so late waiting for Mama? Did you? Yesss!” she squeals, ruffling their fur and kissing each little noggin.

I fall in love with Molly more every day, partly because this little ritual happens every day, too. But watching Molly is something I never tire of. Watching her be happy in her job, and our home, and with our pet (well, pet-slash-Reaper’s Assistant) is something that makes my heart race with joy. My mind spins when I think of how we could have lost one another, how close she came to dying, and how close I came to losing my soul and my standing as a Reaper in good standing for her. Five hundred years alone sounds like it would spelldisaster for a relationship, but five hundred years alone is also the best recipe for not taking your partner for granted.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” I say, scooping Molly and Musketeer up in my arms.

“But... But it’s almost Halloween in a town full of reapers, vampires, morrigans, and werewolves. I mean, okay, not full of, but maybe... What? A hundred paranormal people in a town of around five to ten thousand?” Molly gives me a sleepy but puzzled look. “Shouldn’t there be... I don’t know? Isn’t there going to be a big event?”

“Yes. The parade will be around noon, all through the town proper, then the kiddies have until four to trick-or-treat. Schools and civic offices are closed. Most offices will end the workday early. And all of us who mingle with the mortals in the know will be over at White Pines Estate for the annual Halloween ball. Dancing. Punch. Costumes, or come as you are.” I don’t bother to correct Molly on just how many paranormal types could be in Pine Ridge, though most of us strongly suspect dozens more live in the woods, waters, and mountains, hidden out of preference or necessity.

“Wow,” Molly whispers. “So fancy.” Her head snuggles into my shoulder. I can tell sleep is winning after a hectic week.

The 1920s mansion truly is a masterpiece.

But we won’t be there tomorrow night.

“You sleep as late as you want tomorrow, sweetheart,” I whisper as Molly’s head droops forward. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she mumbles as I put her down on our bed and close the door.

WHEN I WAKE UP, IT’Sto the sound of a ringing doorbell and Musketeers excited yipping. Happy yipping.

“Holy smokes!” I gasp, sitting up and looking at the pretty mantle clock my Aunt Gail gave us for our wedding. It’s almost three.

And I have to pee so bad.

I race to the ensuite bathroom and try to comprehend being awake.

Halloween. Doorbell and happy barks. Musketeer seeing kids. Toby giving out candy.

What time does the ball start? I don’t know. Didn’t ask.

I’m sucking at being a reaper’s wife. Well, no, I’m great at that, but I’m not really doing much to blend into the paranormal community. Sera, the morrigan, is my bestie, and I like everyone I’ve met... I just selfishly crave time with Toby when we’re not working. Time to be home.

Time to be in bed, because I think I’ll be in the newlywed stage for a long, long,longtime.

“Not gonna be selfish to literally the best guy in the universe,” I hiss, propelling my sleeping self into the shower.

While I’m in there, I shampoo, condition, and scrub like I mean it, as well as do some shaving and smoothing. I want tonight to be perfect. Glamorous. Toby deserves a night with his buddies—and a later night with his sexy wife.

I could wear that little white slutty-nurse outfit with the red heels.

Is that disrespectful to my profession? I don’t know. I don’t want to give that impression.

But it’s so sexy.

I rinse, wrap in a towel, and peek out the bedroom window.

There’s a tiny brigade of costumed kiddos out there, everything from miniature firefighters to fairy princesses and frogs.

Maybe a costume like Nurse Hottotrot would be too juvenile.