26. Raven #2
“What about the prince?” I asked. “What are your men going to do?”
General Beckett wordlessly led me to the edge of a long platform lining the front of the large space, and…
What the reaping hell?
My question, my previous worry, evaporated from my thoughts. From where we stood, we could view the rest of the wide-open interior, eight or so feet below, free of furniture and equipment, but filled…utterly filled…to capacity with afflicted.
They—the guards or whoever—had gathered together a warehouse full of zombified citizens. Basically shoved them all into a pit. And for what? To keep them separated from the general population, or something more nefarious?
I swept my gaze over the crowd. So many people, all in a less-than-alive state, like Earl and Myla. Although I didn’t see them, and I hoped that meant they weren’t somewhere in the horde.
“What’s going on here?” I turned back to the general.
Four guards flanked him, two on either side.
“The royal healer, by order of the queen, shared all your files with my team,” he said. “We have a theory about the first successful healing.”
“Do you now?” My information had been shared with more palace personnel than I had realized, but if they could steer me in the right direction to help lost souls like Earl, I would listen. “Let’s hear it.”
Beckett scratched his chin and regarded me. “You have been trying to recreate that first healing time and time again, have you not? Each time without success?”
I didn’t respond because if he had my files like he said he did, then he already knew, and the question…questions…were rhetorical.
He barely waited a breath before continuing. “We believe that you have been missing one major element.”
I tilted my head and pushed forward, my eyebrows arching. “Which is?”
“Your blood.”
I gasped. Drew back. Right into the grip of two guards. They grabbed my wrists and held me tight and steady.
“What the hell?”
I’d noted them moving during my little chat with the general, but I assumed they were trying to get a better look at the afflicted in the pit. I should have been more aware. Should have kept my beak and feathers sharp.
Should have never assumed.
Only, the general wasn’t supposed to be the enemy. Not if he worked for the Crown, and I had an understanding with said Crown.
I struggled against their hold. “What are you doing?
“Testing a theory.” A cloth dropped over my vision. “I apologize for the method, but it seemed to be the quickest and most productive. Or so we hope.”
My collector’s eye began to burn, yet the cloth prevented me from finding a target. Had they known about the reaper tool? Was that the reason for the blindfold?
Lines of fire cut across my palms, and I screeched, yanked against the guards’ hold. Sticky wetness ran over my hands, snaking lines down my arms. The drip-drip of the fallen drops upon the ground turned to cannon fire in my ears.
They’d cut me! Sliced open my palms.
My body began to vibrate, and wind whipped around me.
I could mist, like I had the first day I’d approached the palace wall. I wouldn’t be able to pass through the guards’ hold. I’d still have mass and would simply be invisible to them. Appearing as a sparkling black and red haze. But if they couldn’t see my physical body, I might gain the upper hand.
My entire body tingled with the transition kindling.
A boot slammed into my back, knocking me to my knees, shutting down my collector’s eye and sputtering out my misty shift.
“Stay with us, Ms. Gunn,” General Beckett said. “I understand that nifty ability was not part of the original heal, and we need all the elements to match.”
The guards pulled and spun my body around, likely to face the pit on some unspoken order.
“Think of what you did that day and repeat.”
The blindfold ripped away, and the vision of the warehouse full of afflicted came into view. And then, with a shove at my back, I plummeted into the pit. Into the midst of confused, undead citizens.
I screamed. Hit the ground face-first.
Bone and muscle cried out. Searing pain shot through both of my palms. And my face…reaping hell… My cheek burned, and a metallic wetness coated my teeth and tongue.
Feet kicked and bounced off my sides. Weight dropped on top of me, afflicteds tripping and falling over my body.
I rolled onto my back, attempted to shove them off, but they kept coming and coming, and I was drowning in bodies, forced into the ground.
Crushing my chest and pressing the air from my lungs.
The light from the windows above disappeared, obscured by the avalanche of flesh crashing down around me. Over me. Every push for space was met with a fist of knives and fire. The slip and slide of my blood-covered palms made it difficult to find purchase.
My muscles groaned, head pounded, and I couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe.
My collector’s eye ignited, and everything before me became swathed in a white canvas.