as hell didn’t want to find out.
I’d heard that if you saw a Reaper, you saw what you expected to see, what you thought the agents of Death would look like. Personally, I wanted to see little, fuzzy pink bunnies, but apparently my subconscious visualized tall, scary, and skeletal. My subconscious and I needed to have a long talk.
Roughly man height and shape, the Reaper had the translucence of a jellyfish, with filmy tendrils flowing gently around it like the ragged edges of a long, tattered robe. I knew from experience that those tendrils turned into constricting coils when they touched you. Yes, those tendrils could be soft and soothing, but a Reaper was also death in its purest form, eternal cold, and I do mean eternal. Its touch made you want that cold more than you’d ever wanted anything, to step into it with open arms, eager to embrace the darkness. Reapers used that lure to draw the souls of the wandering dead into themselves.
Like the souls in the Saghred.
I dimly heard Mychael and Vidor Kalta shouting orders.
The Reaper in front of me wasn’t getting any closer; it just hovered there. This many Reapers weren’t here to collect just one wayward specter. A few weeks ago when I’d escaped the Reaper in the tunnels under the island, I knew that it would be back, and when it came it would bring reinforcements.
Dad stood at the top of the stairs, not even twenty feet away.
“Run!” I screamed at him.
Dad knew the danger. From the expression on his face, he wasn’t running from anything.
Dammit.
Anyone who had died and been brought back to life was fair game for a Reaper. If you had only been dead a few minutes, you were still theirs. The young Guardian whose body my dad’s soul inhabited had died. As far as the Reapers were concerned, coming back to life was my dad’s problem, not theirs.
He ran toward me, darting around the Reaper. A tendril snapped out, lashing Dad across the back. His breath hissed out in pain, but he kept coming until he was at my side.
I couldn’t believe him. “Are you insane?”
He flashed a crooked smile. “I’ve heard that question a lot.”
To everyone watching, he was a twenty-year-old Guardian either brave or stupid enough to tangle with a Reaper. To me, he was a dad trying to protect his newly found daughter.
“I’ve dealt with them before.” His words came quickly and in near silence.
I caught a flash of another face under the young Guardian’s skin, that of Eamaliel Anguis, my dad. I knew it was an illusion—at least I thought it was. Dad’s elegantly pointed ears marked him as an elf, a beautiful pure-blooded high elf. His hair was silver, and his eyes were the gray of gathering storm clouds. Eyes identical to my own.
Eyes that could see the Reapers just as clearly as I could.
Sudden movement caught my attention. Vidor Kalta. I didn’t think he could see the Reapers, but he knew exactly where they were, surrounding us. Then he saw my dad and his black eyes widened in realization and disbelief.
Oh no. He knew.
The body that housed my dad’s soul had been murdered, dead for only a few minutes, but dead was dead and Kalta knew it.
The Reapers were coming out of the walls. I felt two of them rise from the floor behind us. Dad went back to back with me, his entire body suddenly aglow with the same incandescent white power that had covered Mychael’s hands.
He was going to fight.
“Tell me what to do,” I asked as my eyes tried to look everywhere at once. The Reapers were too damned fast.
“Tamp down that rock!” he growled. “They can’t eat what they can’t find.”
“I’m standing right here,” I snapped. “It’s not like I can—”
“Just do it. Leave the rest to me.”
“How are—”
Dad took my hand and his thoughts instantly passed to me.
My mouth fell open. “You’re kidding?”
“It’s worked before. Take care of the rock and leave the beasties to me.”
No doubt my dad had plenty of experience keeping Reapers
I’d heard that if you saw a Reaper, you saw what you expected to see, what you thought the agents of Death would look like. Personally, I wanted to see little, fuzzy pink bunnies, but apparently my subconscious visualized tall, scary, and skeletal. My subconscious and I needed to have a long talk.
Roughly man height and shape, the Reaper had the translucence of a jellyfish, with filmy tendrils flowing gently around it like the ragged edges of a long, tattered robe. I knew from experience that those tendrils turned into constricting coils when they touched you. Yes, those tendrils could be soft and soothing, but a Reaper was also death in its purest form, eternal cold, and I do mean eternal. Its touch made you want that cold more than you’d ever wanted anything, to step into it with open arms, eager to embrace the darkness. Reapers used that lure to draw the souls of the wandering dead into themselves.
Like the souls in the Saghred.
I dimly heard Mychael and Vidor Kalta shouting orders.
The Reaper in front of me wasn’t getting any closer; it just hovered there. This many Reapers weren’t here to collect just one wayward specter. A few weeks ago when I’d escaped the Reaper in the tunnels under the island, I knew that it would be back, and when it came it would bring reinforcements.
Dad stood at the top of the stairs, not even twenty feet away.
“Run!” I screamed at him.
Dad knew the danger. From the expression on his face, he wasn’t running from anything.
Dammit.
Anyone who had died and been brought back to life was fair game for a Reaper. If you had only been dead a few minutes, you were still theirs. The young Guardian whose body my dad’s soul inhabited had died. As far as the Reapers were concerned, coming back to life was my dad’s problem, not theirs.
He ran toward me, darting around the Reaper. A tendril snapped out, lashing Dad across the back. His breath hissed out in pain, but he kept coming until he was at my side.
I couldn’t believe him. “Are you insane?”
He flashed a crooked smile. “I’ve heard that question a lot.”
To everyone watching, he was a twenty-year-old Guardian either brave or stupid enough to tangle with a Reaper. To me, he was a dad trying to protect his newly found daughter.
“I’ve dealt with them before.” His words came quickly and in near silence.
I caught a flash of another face under the young Guardian’s skin, that of Eamaliel Anguis, my dad. I knew it was an illusion—at least I thought it was. Dad’s elegantly pointed ears marked him as an elf, a beautiful pure-blooded high elf. His hair was silver, and his eyes were the gray of gathering storm clouds. Eyes identical to my own.
Eyes that could see the Reapers just as clearly as I could.
Sudden movement caught my attention. Vidor Kalta. I didn’t think he could see the Reapers, but he knew exactly where they were, surrounding us. Then he saw my dad and his black eyes widened in realization and disbelief.
Oh no. He knew.
The body that housed my dad’s soul had been murdered, dead for only a few minutes, but dead was dead and Kalta knew it.
The Reapers were coming out of the walls. I felt two of them rise from the floor behind us. Dad went back to back with me, his entire body suddenly aglow with the same incandescent white power that had covered Mychael’s hands.
He was going to fight.
“Tell me what to do,” I asked as my eyes tried to look everywhere at once. The Reapers were too damned fast.
“Tamp down that rock!” he growled. “They can’t eat what they can’t find.”
“I’m standing right here,” I snapped. “It’s not like I can—”
“Just do it. Leave the rest to me.”
“How are—”
Dad took my hand and his thoughts instantly passed to me.
My mouth fell open. “You’re kidding?”
“It’s worked before. Take care of the rock and leave the beasties to me.”
No doubt my dad had plenty of experience keeping Reapers
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