16. Raven #2
Before I could complete a full investigational turn, three citizens bumped into me.
Each one afflicted—touched by the disease that rotted the citadel.
Despite their death-type state, they appeared to have retained enough of their original senses to band together and work as a team.
A newly revealed, far-from-awesome aspect of the task we’d have to deal with.
I stifled a groan.
The afflicted knocked me to the ground, slamming my back against the hard, uneven stone. One of them reached for my scythe, something I couldn’t allow.
Twisting, I grabbed the tool and pulled it to my chest, the blade’s razor edge scratching at my hand. A hot sting burned across my unbruised palm, flooding my hand with sticky warmth.
Great. Now both my palms will be tender.
Garbled words slipped from my attackers’ lips, sounding much like pleas for help.
Were the zombified citizens, on some level, aware of their circumstances? Using Earl as an example, I’d answer yes. They very much could be.
Chace yanked one of the afflicted away, his expression fevered. He reached for the second, but the first one he had pulled free returned, clutching and pulling at him.
“Hel… Hel…” Unfinished words tumbled free from the afflicted.
“Yes, you’re going to hell. The underworld awaits you,” Chace grumbled, his words filled with obvious irritation as he thrust another away with more force than necessary.
I didn’t believe hell was the word the subjects tried to communicate. I suspected the appropriate word might be help.
One of the afflicted pressed me to the ground, her tormented face inches from my own. The attacker’s weight grew heavier and heavier, as if she intended to push our bodies into one.
My scythe became pinned between us, and I couldn’t use it in any helpful manner. With a grunt, I wiggled, tried to work my arm free and secure a solid grip upon the tool. My actions only resulted in another cut, another slice of pain. I gritted my teeth against the new sting.
“Hhhellp.” The afflicted’s forehead swung forward, connecting with mine in a hard thump.
I shrieked, sprang my hands free from my hold upon the scythe, and whipped them against her face, pushing her away. Blood pooling on my palm slid across her skin, making a solid purchase strained.
Out of reflex…or a twinge of panic…my collection’s eye and reaper’s grip activated simultaneously. My eyes seared, and my palms, damp with blood, tingled and pulsed. Energy deep within my core vibrated.
My breath quickened―in-out, in-out, in-out.
The tip of the afflicted’s soul tickled my receptors—the first sign of hope since Chace and I had begun attempting to reap souls named on the collection list.
“Exit the vessel and move on,” I yelled to the soul lingering within the zombified citizen.
The woman on top of me blinked, but her action appeared more coincidence than a response to anything I said. Because a second later, she drew her head back and crashed it forward. Again.
I willed my eyes closed in preparation for the coming headbutt, but I couldn’t. My collection’s eye had taken control, and it refused to let me blink, much less close my lids and sever the connection.
I tensed, anticipated. And the crash… It didn’t come.
The afflicted moved up and away, tossed to the side by Chace.
“What are you doing? Have you learned nothing?” His glare narrowed and filled with condemnation. “Do you want to end up like Aldine?”
Not in the slightest.
The question fell deep into the well of idiotic. Chace knew I didn’t want to end up like our fallen chaperone. I hadn’t planned what happened. I’d merely reacted, knee-jerk style. Like jolting away from pain, I’d jumped straight into the reap.
My eyes cooled, and my hands calmed; my natural reaper tools powered down. The vibration within my core melted into nothing.
Not trusting myself to speak without stabbing at Chace with my words—or my scythe—I simply shook my head and pushed to my feet.
My body felt raw, my muscles aching and worn. Plus, the rough stone of the street had scratched against my skin, leaving my flesh torn and bloody.
Today had gone sideways so incredibly fast. If only I had a reset button…or a bed within which to hide beneath the covers.
A bed. That seriously sounded beyond splendid. Exhaustion seeped into every muscle…into my very soul.
Chace collected my scythe from the ground, snapped it into its compact form, and handed it back to me. My hand still stung with the cuts, but it didn’t matter. On the job, I would remain all business. I extended my palm, up and open.
At the sight of my bloody gashes, Chace cursed under his breath. He shook his head as an expression I took for frustrated acceptance slowly spread across his features.
He tilted his head in the direction of the pub. “Come on.”
Scuffles sounded behind me, drawing my attention over my shoulder. The three afflicted clambered to their feet and fumbled toward us, continuing to expel the H-word from their lips.
“Enough!” Chace barked, spinning and grabbing his scythe faster than the eye could track. “Leave her alone, or you will all find me using this scythe against you in the worst possible way!”
My jaw loosened. Was he displaying some sort of overprotective nature?
And if so, why did that make my stomach somersault?
Not that I needed him to stand up for me. I could handle myself.
In a flash, Chace had his scythe extended and swinging. Arcing dangerously across the afflicteds’ forward path. In its wake, the tool left a trail of shimmering air…not unlike the magical barrier surrounding the citadel. The cursed citizens stumbled backward and paused.
He had opened the doorway to the beyond, but rather than step through, they shied away.
A sneer curled the edge of his lips. “Don’t follow us.”
Shivers raced up my spine. His words expressed both a threat and, if not heeded, a promise of violence. He whipped back in the direction of the pub and started walking, leaving the magical doorway to time out and self-close.
My feet remained planted in place. I lowered my gaze to the largest gash in my palm and the flowing blood encompassing my hand in red, the steady drip-drip-drip of blood splattering the stone below. With a blink, I shifted my attention from the damage to the afflicted I had attempted to push away.
I knew, without a fraction of doubt, that my blood had smeared all over her cheek. And yet…
The woman’s skin, although marred with grime, now appeared clean of any signs of our skirmish.
Where did the blood go?