Her Reaper's Arms (23 page)

“Jake here is gonna pass by your table with his sack and you’re gonna dump your

goodies inside.”

Bevyn and the women with him were sitting midway in the dining car on the north

side where the tables sat four people each. The table across the aisle from them seated

two—the unconscious woman and her husband who was fanning her with his napkin.

Another of the robbers leaned over to the man who apparently was the leader and

pointed toward Bevyn. For just a split second, there was fear in the leader’s eyes then he

straightened his shoulders.

“Well, whatcha know? Looks like we got us a genuine folk hero onboard, ladies and

gents,” the leader quipped.

Strutting down the aisle, the leader kept his gun leveled at Bevyn’s head though the

barrel shook.

“Don’t you try being a hero now, milord Reaper,” the leader said. “I’d hate to have

to put a slug between the eyes of that pretty lady sitting beside you.”

“What’s a Reaper doing sitting with two women anyways?” another of the masked

men asked.

The one the leader had called Jake was moving from table to table, the clink of

money and jewelry going into his the bag he carried. “Leave him be, Nate,” he warned.

“We don’t need that kind of trouble.”

“Ain’t gonna be no trouble, is there, milord Reaper?” the leader asked.

Bevyn didn’t reply. His gaze was steady on the leader, his hands in plain sight, not

giving the men reason to think he’d go for his weapon, but the look on his face boded ill

for those accosting the passengers.

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Her Reaper’s Arms

“How ‘bout you handing over your piece there, milord Reaper,” the leader

demanded.

Every eye except Lea’s was on Bevyn. No one was looking at the Amazeen so no

one but Lea saw the woman slowly beginning to fade until only a faint wisp of black

mist drifted behind the leader and out the dining car entrance. It took every ounce of

her willpower not to gasp as the woman vanished or to allow her stricken eyes to widen

and give herself away.

Not questioning the leader, Bevyn started to ease his right hand down from the

table.

“Uh-uh,” the leader was quick to say. “Use your left hand.”

The right side of the Reaper’s mouth lifted just a bit as though he might smile but

he reached across him and thumbed up the hammer strap on his six-shooter. He lifted

out his weapon and extended it butt first to the leader, who stuck the black-handled

gun into his belt.

“Now that whip I’ve heard tell so much about,” the leader said.

Bevyn smiled then—as cold a smile as any he’d ever bestowed on another living

thing. It was a slow stretching of his lips while his golden eyes gleamed with malice. “It

won’t do you any good,” he said.

The leader pulled the hammer back on his weapon, the barrel moving slightly so he

was pointing it at Lea. “Don’t make me tell you twice, lawman,” he snarled.

The Reaper shrugged and slid his left hand down to his hip to remove the
speal
.

Silently he handed it over.

Snatching the laser whip from the Reaper’s hand, the leader held it clutched in his

own, fingering the dragon claw handle. “How you work this?” he asked.

“You don’t,” Bevyn said. “Only a Reaper can. It’s worthless to you.”

Trying to find a way to activate the weapon, the leader finally tossed it aside.

“Where’s your money?” he barked.

“Gotta get up to give it to you,” Bevyn said with a steady grin.

“Don’t let him stand up!” the one named Jake said.

“You better be worrying about me and not the Reaper,” a feminine voice said

behind the robbers.

Lea would forever see what happened next in her dreams for as long as she lived.

She saw the leader’s head snap around at the Amazeen’s challenge, saw Bevyn scoop

up the laser whip in one rapid movement as he gripped the edge of the table in

preparation for shoving it against the leader’s legs. She would hear the shrill zing of the

weapon in Penthe’s hands as the Dóigra came alive—a bright, burning red pulse

shooting out from the glass-tipped head in a starburst that completely annihilated the

robber closest to the Blackwind. The stench of burning flesh was overpowering.

In her nightmares there would be the screams of the women in the dining car as

Penthe twirled her weapon in her hands then slammed it against a robber’s head, the

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

hissing glass end taking the top of the man’s cranium completely off. She would see the

leader stumble back as Bevyn upended the table toward him, sending the leader

crashing to the floor. She would hear the sizzle of the Reaper’s
speal
as it powered up

and the loud snap of it as Bevyn flicked it over his shoulder then forward to decapitate

the man named Jake before taking a mortal bite out of the fourth man on the backswing.

The leader—no doubt realizing he was going to die anyway—leveled his gun on Bevyn

and while bellowing with rage, fanned six shots dead center into the Reaper’s chest.

“Bevyn!” Lea screamed as her man pitched backward, the bullets slamming into his

body. He landed heavily on the empty table behind them, collapsing it beneath his

weight, and falling with it in a heavy thud to the floor. His black blood pumped out

against the pristine white tablecloth beneath him as he lay staring up at the ceiling of

the dining car, his hands to either side of his head.

“You son of a bitch!” Penthe howled, and the Dóigra sang as a blast of fierce red

lightning sparked from the star-shaped bulb at the end to engulf the leader in flame.

Shrieking in agony, the leader ran toward the back of the car, passengers

scrambling to get out of his way. He’d almost made it to the door when the Dóigra

flared still again and the burning man simply ceased to be in a pulse of red mist.

Beyond the windows of the train, a sixth man was holding the horses of his fellow

robbers. As soon as he realized what had happened inside the train, he wheeled his

mount around and took off like a shot, whipping his horse and drumming his heels into

the poor beast. A shout from toward the front of the train told everyone there was at

least one other robber.

Lea would always remember how she had moved as if in slow motion, throwing

herself to the floor beside Bevyn, her knees landing in a widening puddle of his ebontinted blood. She would see him slowly blink, his gaze wandering to hers. She would

hear a strange rattling sound in his chest as he tried to speak to her.

Penthe would come rushing to them, going down on one knee beside the Reaper,

scooping her hand under his head, lifting it up, half lifting him to a sitting position.

“He’s drowning in his own blood!” the Amazeen hissed, bracing Bevyn against her.

One moment Bevyn was looking at Lea—still trying to speak as a trickle of his black

blood eased from the corner of his mouth—and in the next, his head fell backward, his

eyes wide.

“No!” Lea would scream over and over again.

The other passengers were gathering around except for the young couple with the

children. They had tried to shield their offspring from the horrific sights as best they

could and were now huddled together in the corner of the dining car, their bodies

blocking the ghastly scene.

“Is he dead?” a man asked. “I didn’t think Reapers could die.”

“He’s not dead,” Penthe said. “He’s unconscious, but these bullets have got to come

out of him if he’s to heal.”

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“Don’t you touch him!” Lea shouted, her eyes wild. She was trying to take Bevyn

out of the Amazeen’s arms but the other woman shoved her back.

“Someone take this fool out of here,” Penthe snarled.

“Come on, lady,” someone said, and reached for Lea’s shoulder. She hissed,

knocked the hand away but the man persisted.

Lea fought the two men who reached down to drag her to her feet. She cursed them

and twisted violently in their hold, but they pulled her away and out of the dining car

despite her thunderous shrieks.

“How can I help you?” the man beside Penthe asked.

“Are you a healer?” Penthe demanded, eying him suspiciously.

“No, ma’am. I make my living dealing cards so I’m no stranger to violence,” the

gambler said.

“I need a sharp knife,” Penthe said as she lay the Reaper flat on the floor and put

her hands to his silk shirt, ripping it open to reveal the six puckered red holes where the

leader’s bullets had entered.

Snagging a hand into his coat, the gambler pulled out a dangerous-looking blade

from a holster under his arm and extended it hilt first to Penthe. “You need it

sterilized?’ he asked.

“Won’t make much difference to him,” Penthe said. She looked up. “Somebody

better check on that other robber.”

“There were two more of them,” the young pregnant woman said. “I saw them

jumping on their horses and hightailing it with the other guy.”

“I’ll go check with the driver,” the conductor said, motioning the steward to come

with him.

As Lea was thrust into a seat and made to stay there, her hands over her face as she

sobbed hysterically, she began doing something she hadn’t in years—she prayed.

The Amazeen worked methodically and with sure hands as she dug into the

Reaper’s chest to extract the bullets, one of which was lodged close to his heart. He lay

still beneath her ministrations, barely breathing and his chest barely rising.

“He’s gonna need to drink,” the gambler said. He shucked off his fancy coat and

unbuttoned his sleeve. As he rolled it up, he met another man’s horrified look. “A lot of

something to drink.”

Everyone standing above the Reaper glanced down at the blood in which he lay

and which soaked the knees of the strange attire the tall woman was wearing.

“Can’t we just put it in a glass?” someone asked.

“I imagine he’ll take it however we give it to him,” the gambler replied. “As much

as these men do for us, this is the least we can do for them.”

Penthe looked up and locked gazes with the gambler. “What’s your name?” she

asked.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Riley,” he answered. “Riley Butler.”

She looked back down as she probed for the bullet that lay beside his heart. “You’re

not afraid of him biting you, Butler?”

“He’s not going to turn me into one like himself, ma’am,” Riley replied. “There’s a

sight more to it I’ve heard than that.”

“You have to have one of the worms what’s inside him,” another man spoke up.

“That’s what makes him a Reaper.”

“You a female Reaper?” someone else asked.

“Going to be,” Penthe stated. “We are on our way to the Citadel for that very

thing.”

“More power to you, dear,” one of the elderly women said. “If’n I was a day or so

younger, I’d do it myself.”

Penthe smiled at the brag. She handed the knife to Riley then stuck her finger inside

the Reaper’s chest. Her frown slipped away. “I can’t quite get to this last one and it’s too

close to the heart for my liking.”

“Can you just leave it?” the pregnant woman asked. “Won’t his creature maybe rid

him of it somehow?”

“I don’t know,” Penthe answered. She removed her finger and sat back on her

haunches, wiping her arm across her brow.

“Will you look at that?” a man asked in a voice filled with shock.

Three of the wounds on the Reaper’s chest were already closing, the flesh sealing

itself as though there had never been a hole there. The fourth had ceased to bleed and

the red striations around it were fading.

Riley glanced around at a couple of the men. “Find us something we can lay him on

as a stretcher. We need to get him to bed.”

“Right away,” one of the men agreed, and he and another passenger left in search

of something on which to carry the Reaper.

The gambler gave Penthe a hard look. “Are you gonna keep on trying to take out

that last slug?”

Penthe shook her head. “I should but my fingers are too big. I can’t get…”

“I got little hands,” the pregnant woman said, and shushed her husband when he

tried to get her to be quiet. “If’n you tell me what to do, I’ll try it.”

“Eloise!” her husband gasped. “Don’t—”

“Come on down here, Eloise,” Penthe said, picking up on the name. “There’s no

way you can hurt him any more than I already have.”

Riley and Eloise’s husband helped the very pregnant woman to her knees. Penthe

instructed her and without so much as a qualm, the young woman leaned forward and

put her index finger into the wound.

“Holy Merciful Alel!” Eloise exclaimed. “I can feel his heart beating!”

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“Can you feel the bullet?” Penthe asked to keep the girl on track.

A thoughtful expression filtered over the young woman’s face and she pursed her

lips as though in deep thought. “I think I feel it,” she said, and gently slipped her

middle finger into the hole. “Aye, I feel it.”

“If he were a normal man, we’d have sure as hell killed him by now,” one of the

elderly women commented.

Penthe looked up at the woman. “Lucky for us he isn’t normal.”

“They are good men, those boys,” the woman said. “Hard men, I reckon, but good

men. Don’t know what we’d do without them.”

“Treat them a sight better so they’ll keep on being good men,” Riley said softly.