Eighth Grave After Dark (Charley Davidson, #8)

by Darynda Jones

I was not a nun. Not by a long shot. Proof resided in the ever-expanding girth of my midsection.

And I’ve learned a lot about why I never became a nun: no closet space.

Reyes leaned down to me and whispered into my ear. “Your nearness isn’t helping my condition.” I glanced at his crotch. The fullness caused a flush to rise in my cheeks. But he was right. Now was not the time. “Sorry,”

She wanted princesses in her wedding, and by damn, we were going to be princesses. I refrained from telling her princesses didn’t wear glitter. Pole dancers wore glitter.

He handed me a water with a wink. He’d showered, but had yet to shave. Or comb his hair. Or groom himself in any way. Gawd, he was sexy.

“You have to stop looking at me like that if we’re going to make it through the day without losing our clothes.” I turned to kiss him back. “I have no intention of making it through the day with you fully clothed.” He grinned again. “Do you need anything else?” “Pitocin?” One corner of his mouth rose. “What’s that?” “It induces labor. It’s about time for Beep to move out. Cut her hair. Get a job. I need a flat belly.” “Have you tried crunches?”

Why can’t we have one of those quick pregnancies like Bella and Edward?

I only liked being poked and prodded by one person, and his name was not Katherine.

“What’ll happen?” Cookie asked, incredulous. “Are you crazy? If you push too early, you’ll— You’ll—” She stopped and stared into space. “Did you just have a seizure?”

He had the best attention span.

and she’d gathered her bangs into a pointy ponytail. She’d always loved unicorns growing up, but this was taking it a bit far.

“I work. I can’t very well have her hanging out at my office all day, scaring my clients away.” “So she has to come here and scare all the dead people away instead? I have clients, too.”

We’d secretly put him in a broom closet, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

He did give an incredible toast that only once mentioned the fact that Uncle Bob had wrongfully convicted him of murder. So that was nice.

He sobered, staring at the phone a solid minute as the woman described her hip replacement surgery.

“We watch movies while Uncle Reyes makes cockporn.” Everyone in the immediate area stilled while Reyes and I pressed our mouths together, trying not to crack up. This was a serious situation, and cracking up now would just be wrong. “Popcorn, honey,” Amador said. Then he looked at Bianca. “Hon, she really needs to learn how to say that word.”

I said as I hurried—aka waddled faster than usual—past her.

Fear seized my lungs for a solid ten seconds before reality sank in. I looked awful with a blue face.

“You aren’t going to kill anyone with that, are you?” “That’s certainly not the plan,”

“What were you talking to Angel about?” When he didn’t answer yet again, I stepped out of his grasp and pointed in the general direction of the living room. “Go stand in the corner with Mr. Wong.”

Even though I weighed 1,014 pounds, he carried me with ease to the stairs and up to our room.

ANXIETY GIRL! ABLE TO JUMP TO THE WRONG CONCLUSION IN A SINGLE BOUND.

“Oh, good. That’s good. Hey, how do you have a cell phone, anyway? I thought cloistered nuns had to give up worldly crap.” “I’m not a cloistered nun, and I have a cell phone because, in my position, it’s beneficial. It’s all been approved.” “I’ll need to see those documents.” “No.”

“Dinnertime,” Osh said with a wolfish grin, and what happened next made me pee a little.

“I tell you everything,” I whispered loudly. “I even told you about that time Timothy Tidmore tried to use Virginia as a garage for his Hot Wheels.”

And that was when I decided to take up gardening as I planted my face in the floor behind him.

DEAR DIARY, HAD TO CUT A BITCH TODAY

I ended up curled into a recliner and watching an episode of Andy Griffith when my husband walked in. I eyed him. Yep, I could do him again.

“What can I do?” she asked. Either that or she said I needed to dye my hair. Maybe it was time. I was getting older now. Had a family and a kid. Almost. I needed to be more adultlike. Dye my hair. Get my nails done. Go to water aerobics.

“Katherine the Midwife is here,” Amber said. “Can I hold her?” she asked me. “You’ll have to ask Katherine, hon.” She laughed. “I meant Beep.”

I tiptoed up to the door to our bedroom. Quentin and Amber were in there with Beep. Quentin held her much the same way Reyes had, like a crystal football in danger of cracking should he hold her too tight, while Amber taught him how to give her a bottle, an expert after only a day. I longed to breast-feed Beep, but I was out for so long after the whole well incident that they’d had no choice but to bottle-feed her. I didn’t know if she’d take me now, but I wanted to try. Not, like, right at that moment. Quentin might get embarrassed.

“Your mother is like everyone at the nuthouse rolled into one. She’s a nut roll. Can you say ‘nut roll’?”

Then she and Gemma took turns feeding then burping her all while I sat waiting for Reyes to go do something. He was spending all his time with Beep and me. What the hell? Did men do that?

I HAVE COMPLETELY MASTERED THE RIGHT WAY

OF DOING EVERYTHING WRONG.

He was probably off dragging hellhounds around. I bet they hated that.

Osh pressed his forehead against the wall, his chest heaving, his muscles weak, while I stood in a convent, in a house of God, with the most impure thoughts I’d had in a while. Boy-on-boy action. “I need a shower,” I said, suddenly warm. Osh glanced over his shoulder at me. “You know what goes well with shish-kebabed Duff?” “I don’t want to know,” I said as I started for the door.

“Cherry pie,” he called out after me, laughing softly. “Tart cherry pie.” “Asshole.” He knew how sexy that was. He was freaking doing it on purpose.

Hoping Reyes was okay and wondering if he would suck a guy’s soul like Osh so I could watch—because, day-um—

“One was never found. Naughty boy. Did you eat my mapmaker?”

but then one day, I was minding my own business, melting the faces off a few thousand humans,

“You would give up your life for his?” Lucifer asked. “Of course, you idiot.” He smiled. “Rey’aziel is very, very unhappy about that.” “Yeah, well, he would be.”

He wrapped his arms around me, leaned in, put his mouth at my ear, and whispered my celestial name.

And I remembered my decision to shift onto this plane. Though Reyes had seen me centuries ago, I saw him first. Knew he was capable of greatness. Called dibs.