Page 101 of Mortis

I wasn’t sure they’d have been quite so understanding if they knew the full story, but I wasn’t going to argue.

Neither was Grandad.

Instead, he’d asked Arlo to tell me to continue preparing Mr Simpson exactly as I had before the incident. It stung that he couldn’t bring himself to tell me directly. That he’d sent Arlo to deliver the message instead. Something he’d done every time he needed to communicate with me over the last two days. And if it wasn’t Arlo acting as our unwilling carrier pigeon, it was Kael, who looked at me with wide, guilt-filled eyes whenever he passed along whatever Grandad needed me to know.

But I told Kael the same thing I’d told Sebastian.

I would protect him with everything I had. And if that meant shouldering the blame for something that wasn’t his fault in the first place, then so be it.

I think Kael wanted to argue. But his capacity for empathy and his understanding of human emotions had grown enormously since coming to live with Arlo and me. So he stayed quiet, instead showing me in small ways that he was there if I needed him. That I could lean on him.

Trust him.

He held me tighter at night, curling his body around mine and nuzzling into the back of my neck while I drifted into restless sleep.

He made me an extra coffee after I yawned one too many times while patching up the sigil on Mr Simpson’s chest with embalming putty.

It wasn’t strictly necessary. His clothes would conceal the mark. But I’d done it anyway. After everything that had been done to him, Mr Simpson deserved to leave my care without any trace of their disrespect carved into his body.

I’d spent most of the late morning alone. Kael was helping with Mr Syed’s service that afternoon, and Arlo had stolen him from my side about an hour ago so they could run through everything that needed doing before they left.

Grandad wanted Kael to become more involved in other areas of the business. Ones outside the embalming room. He said it would help both him and Arlo to have another strong pair of hands around when they needed them. I suspected it was my grandad’s way of preparing for the day he couldn’t do everything anymore. A day he’d put off for as long as physically possible, despite my protests. But it would come eventually. And it made sense to have the extra help in place before it did.

Even if that help came in the form of a seven-foot cryptid with horns and hooves masquerading as a perfectly ordinary human.

More importantly, Kael helping out meant there was less chance I’d be dragged into assisting with a service myself. Where there were people. Living people. Lots of sad, crying, emotionally unpredictable living people.

I shuddered.

Definitely a win-win.

I was almost finished painting Mr Simpson’s face when a knock sounded at the door. I paused, brush hovering above his cheek. I couldn’t imagine who it would be. Everyone else on staff simply barged in whenever they felt like it, usually forgetting at least one piece of PPE in the process.

So, imagine my surprise when the door opened to reveal Grandad. He wore a mask, which meant I couldn’t tell whether his usual smile was back in place. The thought that it wasn’t, that I might’ve wiped it away for good, made my stomach churn.

“Grandad.”

He said nothing at first. Didn’t move from the doorway. He simply stood there, watching me with cool blue eyes so similar to my own. I wondered if he was still angry. If he’d come in here to yell at me again and was currently planning what to say. Maybe even thinking through how to raise his voice, since he had so little practice.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted, desperate to fill the heavy silence. “For keeping things from you. I didn’t mean to lie, I just—” I put the brush down and stepped away from Mr Simpson, tugging off my gloves and mask. “I didn’t want to stress you out. I thought I could handle it on my own. Because that’s what I’ll have to do one day, isn’t it? And maybe I thought this was good practice, or something, but⁠—”

I was rambling. The words poured from my mouth like vomit, and I couldn’t seem to stop them.

“But I was wrong, and I hurt you, and I should’ve told you what was happening, and⁠—”

Grandad chuckled and the sound stopped me dead. He stepped into the room and removed his mask, revealing the warm grin I’d known since childhood. The one that belonged on his face. The one I’d spent the last two days terrified I’d somehow managed to erase.

“I didn’t come in here to tell you off, lad.”

“Oh.”

Grandad shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked slightly on his heels. I wasn’t much better. My fingers twisted together against my stomach while I waited for him to say something else. But he didn’t. And I wanted to ask why he’d come in, but now that I’d finally stopped talking, I couldn’t seem to start again.

We’d never really fallen out before. And it turned out I could handle corpses, demons, and ancient cults, but two days of Grandad being disappointed in me was the worst kind of torture imaginable. If I ever ended up suffering for eternity in Hell, this was how they’d break me.

I cleared my suddenly dry throat. “I preferred it when I thought you were physically incapable of being angry.”

Grandad raised an eyebrow. “I’d say you tested that theory admirably.”