19. Raven
In addition to the unusual red of my hair, I had inherited another gift from my maternal side.
A rare gift we never spoke of openly in public, as it, at present, remained undocumented in the reaper’s handbook and could easily be misunderstood.
An ability I seldom used, if ever. But one I could utilize to slip past the castle’s outer defenses.
I shifted my appearance into a noncorporeal shape.
In the form of mist, I swept past the palace gate guards and…
Slam.
An electrical current jolted through my being. I wavered, my misty form widening for balance.
Like the citadel’s front gate, a protective barrier surrounded the palace. And unlike the one at the front, this barricade only repelled me. It didn’t transform me.
Thank the reapers.
I could have unknowingly, and rather stupidly, walked straight into a monster-morphing trap.
I need to be more careful.
My energy and form fluctuated and flickered.
I should probably retreat, but… I turned my attention to the palace far beyond the gate and fixated on the shimmer of distorted air flexing in the space between.
Magic. Powerful magic. Magic that would put my last reaper task to shame.
“What’s that?” yelled one of the gate guards.
The collection of them began shouting between themselves.
I grumbled under my breath and backed up a step. Then another, and another.
The shock from the barrier had started with a flicker of my form and then knocked me back to my physical state. With my mist illusion shed, I stood completely exposed in front of the palace gate guards.
“Halt.” The guards aimed their weapons at me.
I sighed.
So far, nothing about this day had gone to plan. Not that I had much of a plan.
I probably should have gone in search of the Valen person my father mentioned, rather than trying to find the key, solve the curse, and reap a royal. My strategy choice resembled a less-than-ideal work in progress.
My anger had gotten the better of me, had ruled my actions. But that ire no longer burned with the same intensity.
What’s done is done. I’m already here.
“Who are you?”
“What are you?”
“Where did you come from?”
“What kind of cursed magic was that?”
“Explain yourself.”
The shouts came from different directions, the questions falling on top of each other, revealing overzealous soldiers or a confusion in the chain of command.
Their actions quite possibly born of either, or both.
I suspected the guards had fallen out of practice in dealing with…
well, anything…and had likely become beyond bored with their jobs after living in a cocoon for a hundred years.
Outside of the rare exception when reapers happened to get into the citadel, had every day for the past century been basically the same? I grimaced at the thought.
Sharp, quick burns of new markings sliced across my arm. I winced and tightened a fist.
I didn’t need to examine the names on my skin to know that at least two of the soldiers’ checkouts were overdue. For five days I’d tried to complete my assigned tasks, and for five days I had failed, but that wouldn’t stop me from trying yet again.
The nightmare needed to end. So far, all of my reaper tools had failed individually, but a way to call the stuck souls home had to exist. Maybe a combination of tools? A winning discovery wouldn’t happen without trial and error.
I didn’t count the woman from that morning as a win because…well…I hadn’t reaped her, and I found the idea of me having caused the healing impossible to believe. Plus, her name hadn’t burned across my skin, Chace hadn’t succeeded in extracting her soul, and so…not on the reaping list.
With a blink, my collector’s eye ignited, and the fires of hell consumed my skull. I pushed the stare close to full power, and I knew the red-laced, violet flames burned in my eyes, likely looking otherworldly to the guards.
The internal fire caused a backflow that sent my hair into wind-whipping action.
After what happened to Aldine, and taking yesterday’s incident with the afflicted woman into consideration, I had practiced great care with regard to my reaper tools. But none of these soldiers appeared to be on the afflicted spectrum, and so I felt relatively safe giving my collector’s eye a go.
“Devil!” someone yelled.
All the guards advanced a step, their weapons still held high and at the ready.
I couldn’t blame them for their fear, nor did it surprise me. If I hadn’t been a reaper, I would probably fear me too…when I embraced my full on-the-job, intimidating state.
I yanked my scythe free from my belt and extended it with a quick shake. Besides opening the doorway for departing souls or releasing a soul from its fleshy prison, a gentle wave of the scythe blade could send a swell of calm forgetfulness through the air to help pacify an individual’s transition.
“Forget me,” I whispered and carved a Z in the air.
Waves of soul-soothing serenity slipped from the blade and wafted in their direction. Only I acted too slow to set the task into motion.
A scared soldier at the far end of the line released a horror-filled yell and fired.
Blast. Bang. Zing.
Like the first pop of corn in hot oil, his action ignited explosions from his surrounding brethren.
I whipped my palm upward, set aglow as if to stop the projectiles coming straight for me. A ridiculous notion.
The vision of me clearly scared them even more because, despite the flow of serenity from my scythe, more shots filled the air. More projectiles aimed for me.
The bullets whizzed past me, skinning my arm. Ripping across my thigh.
I closed my eyes and breathed. Concentrated. Changed to mist.
Turning away from the guards, I dashed for cover. Even as nothing more than a dark haze to them, my physical form very much remained a target for their weapons. The shots fired would not pass through me. I would feel them, and they would do damage.
Running in a straight line would make me an easier target, so I darted to the side and raced along the edge of the surrounding buildings.
If more people milled around, maybe the guards wouldn’t have been so quick to attack. But the morning remained early, and from what I had learned these last few days, any inner citadel activity tended to take place once the sun had risen to its highest.
Walking straight to the palace gate hadn’t been one of my finer plans.
Rather foolish, actually. I had operated on anger and frustration, and I hadn’t taken the time to think through my actions.
Had I taken a moment, I would have gone looking for Valen in order to get Mr. Aldine the help he needed. Possibly heal his affliction.
My father would be so disappointed. He’d warned me what could happen if I allowed my emotions to rule. And I hadn’t listened.
Or I’d listened but failed to heed the advice.
A patchwork of pain sliced into my left shoulder blade, and another cut across…or through…the side of my waist. The force lurched me forward at a sideways angle. The front right side of my body slammed into a wall, the illusion of my mist form lost once more.
“There,” someone yelled.
I glanced back. The guards had not left their posts, but they now knew where to aim.
Hugging the brick of the building, I spun around a nearby corner and gasped for breath. The cuts from yesterday throbbed in my palm, everything else screamed in agony, and I…I couldn’t get enough air. My chest compressed, my throat clenching closed.
Ruthless Raven? More like Reckless Raven, if you ask me.
Chace’s earlier assessment rang in my ears, and I couldn’t argue with him with regard to my recent actions.
Returning to the pub and allowing him to see me this way was the last thing I wanted to do. After the incidences with my slide down the roof, the raven or crow, and then the woman, he had judged me enough already. I wouldn’t subject myself to his egotistic manner any further.
Plus Aoes. What cover story could I ever concoct?
A peek around the corner to the palace gate informed me of the guards’ status. Instead of pursuing, they leaned against the outer wall, their weapons lowered, talk and laughter exchanging between them. My scythe’s soothing must have finally taken effect.
A tad late to spare my now torn and burning body.
But…they didn’t pursue me.
I could allow myself a moment to suck in a deep and fulfilling gulp of air.
My muscles slack and lacking energy, I leaned against the wall, in need of support. The slight rub of the harsh wall against my damaged shoulder burned like a wire brush to an open gash.
I screamed and jerked forward.
How could I have allowed this to happen? I had acted too impulsively.
Chace was right—I was not ruthless but utterly reckless.
Pressing a shaky hand to the pain at my waist, I slowly, so insufferably slowly, slid down the wall until my weight rested upon my bent knees. Only the press of my lower backside supported me against the building. My body arched forward, holding my wounds away from a repeat of pressure pain.
Unable to see the damage to my shoulder, I explored the wound by touch. Razor blades and fire. Ragged skin slick with blood. I hissed, gritted my teeth, and ripped my hand back as black bled into the corners of my vision.
Maybe if I cleaned the wound, it wouldn’t hurt so much, and I wouldn’t have to let Chace know what I’d done. Or had allowed to happen.
The cuts of skin across my arm and thigh were nothing, comparatively speaking, and so I ignored them for now. My shoulder and waist were the areas that left my muscles weak and consciousness questionable.
Adjusting the press of my hand to the damage on the side of my waistline, blood oozed around my fingers and seeped down my hip. I needed to add more pressure, needed to stop the bleeding.
My vision blurred, then it refocused.
I needed to hold myself together.
Shifting my weight, I prepared to stand, and an aching quake shot through my left side. The world darkened and tilted. I whimpered. Slipped into a sit.
What am I going to do?
I had nowhere to go. And no one I could trust.
Aoes?
No.