Page 6

Chapter

Six

M y eyes frantically search the pub, but it’s too late. Calf aching, I shoot up from the table, ignoring the reaper as I head for the back exit. Rushing through the narrow hallway, I squeeze past a couple who are locked in a passionate embrace against the wall.

Pushing the flimsy door open, I slip into a nearly pitch-black alleyway. The light from the streetlamps has flickered out, probably due to a lack of oil. It’s not surprising since the king tends to skimp on those kinds of necessities in the Lowers. Tonight, the district must rely on only the glow of the moon to illuminate the darkness.

After spending the last several hours inside the stuffy pub, I welcome the brisk air despite the unpleasant smell. Lynal stands with his back to me, several feet away. He balances against the wall with one hand, leaning his head against the cool brick building. Based on the steady hissing sound of liquid hitting the ground, I can easily guess what he’s doing.

The establishment has a lavatory, but there’s something about alcohol that makes men long to empty their bladders outdoors. Lynal, like so many of his brethren before him, is partaking in this sacred male ritual. Not wanting to interrupt, I wait until he finishes and begins to lace up his breeches before I approach.

“Lynal,” I whisper through the darkness.

“Who’s there?” He whips around clumsily, impaired from the evening’s activities.

Moving further down the dimly lit alley, I call his name again. “Lynal.”

“Whoever’s doing this, it’s not funny,” he slurs, his face turning red with anger.

His eyes widen as I release my illusion and step out of the shadows, into a pool of moonlight.

“Don’t you want to play with me, Lynal?” I crook my finger, luring him deeper into the alley.

His gaze shifts over his shoulder, settling on the pub door that stands about ten feet behind him. For a moment, I worry he will do the smart thing and return inside. But when his head swings back to me and his lips pull into a slimy smile, I’m reminded that Lynal isn’t very bright.

“Where did you come from?” he asks, swaying a few steps closer.

“I followed you. I’ve been watching you all evening,” I confess, the shy tone of my voice at odds with the bold words. “Is that alright?”

“Depends on what you want, sugar.” His gaze travels over my body. He can’t see much underneath my cloak, but based on the way he’s leering, I’m sure his imagination is filling in the gaps.

“I wanted to be alone with you.”

It’s not a lie—I prefer not to have witnesses. My fingers deftly remove my sword from its sheath, still keeping it hidden within the cloak. Because of its size and weight, it’s not the most convenient weapon to carry around, but it’s necessary for what I must do.

“It’s my lucky night then.” He rubs his palms together as he moves close enough for me to smell the stench of sweat and alcohol.

“No, Lynal.” I shake my head. “I don’t think it is.”

As he reaches out to touch me, my sword cuts through the air, coming down on his wrist. His severed hand smacks against the ground with a wet thud, a pool of red forming around it. The metallic scent of his blood floats in the air, pushing me to make the final blow.

For a moment, there’s silence. His eyes pinch in confusion as he stares at the bloody stump, his mind unable to process what’s just happened. His gaze falls to the severed limb as understanding dawns, followed quickly by pain.

Lynal sinks to his knees, instinctively covering the gushing wound with his right hand to try to stop the bleeding. His mouth opens on a scream, but it fades into a shocked moan as I grab a fistful of his hair and force him to look at me.

“You will be dead in the next five minutes, Lynal.” My sword rests against his throat. “If you try to scream again, I’ll make them the most painful minutes of your life. Understand?”

He blinks rapidly as his mouth opens and closes, trying to form words.

“W-Why?” he manages to stutter.

Bending down, I rip free the coin purse tied around his belt, impressed by its weight.

“Heavy.” I toss the bag up into the air and catch it. “But you should know better than to brag about silver in a place like this. It puts a target on your back.”

“It’s yours!” he offers, his eyes wide and pleading. “Take it!”

“I will, thank you.” I smile at his generosity as I slip it into my pocket. “Tell me, Lynal, how did you acquire such a large sum?”

His gaze shifts back and forth, searching the alley for the right answer. “I found it.”

“My, how lucky you are,” I pause, bringing my free hand to my chin as my brow furrows. “Now, was that before or after you sold your daughter to a wealthy lord this afternoon?”

His eyes widen comically as he shakes his head back and forth. “No! No, I didn?—”

“Don’t lie to me, Lynal.” The blade digs into his neck, nicking his flesh.

“Please, don’t,” he begs, his jaw quivering as he weeps.

“You might be interested to know that your daughter never made it to Lord Ruston’s estate. Unfortunately, their carriage was intercepted by bandits,” I tell him, leaving out the fact that those “bandits” work for Della. “You can’t be too careful these days.”

His face drains of what little color it has left.

“Mer-mercy,” he pleads. “Please, have mercy.”

My head tilts to the side, as I pat his ruddy cheek.

“This is mercy, Lynal. Just not for you.”

A burst of fury blazes behind his eyes as he realizes I have no intention of letting him go.

“You filthy bitch!” he spits the words at me. “You whore! I will fucking kill?—”

“Your five minutes are up,” I say, cutting off his tirade as I swing my blade.

Twisting at the waist, I rely on the strength from my core to help me slice through his neck and tendons. His head tumbles across the ground, landing face up with his hateful eyes staring at the night sky. As always, I force myself to memorize his face. A small punishment for my crime. There’s no use waiting for the guilt to overwhelm me. I know from experience that it won’t.

Not that I don’t have more than my fair share of remorse, I simply prefer to reserve it for my regrets.

Dipping a finger into the pool of warm blood, I drag it across the wall like paint. The swooping red letters create a haunting mural against the dark stone. Once I’m finished, I step back, admiring the message I’ve written.

One word.

Mercy.

“Impressive.”

I jump as a deep voice cuts through the silence. Turning around, I raise my sword defensively, only to find the reaper watching me from the other end of the alley.

“Fuck off.”

“I spoke too soon,” he says blandly as he saunters toward me. “It seems your vocabulary is rudimentary at best.”

Painting on a patient smile, I speak in my most saccharine tone. “Dearest Reaper, won’t you please promptly vacate the vicinity? Or in other words, fuck off. ”

“No, but thank you for asking so politely,” he mimics my sweet tone, stopping only a few feet away.

I can hear my bones grinding against the pommel of my sword as I squeeze it in frustration. “Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“It’s dangerous to walk around this part of the city at night,” he admonishes me.

I bring my sword up to his chest, letting the tip sit over his heart. Instead of stepping back, his gaze falls to the weapon with amusement.

“Is that why you continuously seek my company?” I ask. “Because you’re afraid of the dark?”

His eyes widen innocently. “There’s safety in numbers.”

I arch a brow. “You just watched me kill a man.”

“Eh.” He shrugs, waving off my recent homicide. “Three’s a crowd.”

I apply slightly more pressure against his chest, causing a tiny bead of blood to appear on the tip of my blade. He catches it on his gloved finger before bringing it to his mouth and my lips part as I watch his tongue dart out, licking it away.

“Vicious,” he chides.

“What do you want, Reaper?” I ask, my voice strangely breathless. “Why are you following me?” He opens his mouth to offer what will surely be another deflection, but I cut him off. “And don’t say you aren’t.”

He sighs. “I need your help.”

A laugh bursts from me at the simplicity of his answer. “I’m not interested.”

“You know who would be interested?” Fire dances in his eyes, making him resemble a cat playing with its food. “King Baylor.”

My amusement dies as I note the seriousness in his tone. Using two gloved fingers, he easily pushes my sword away from his chest and takes a few steps back.

“I bet he’d be extremely interested to learn about your activities tonight.” His gaze flashes to Lynal’s dead body before returning to me. “I imagine he doesn’t know you’re dismembering his citizens?”

I move one hand to my hip as I shrug my shoulders.

“What makes you think I’m not acting on his orders?” I bluff.

He gives me a flat look.

“You’re saying this was a sanctioned kill?” He points to the messy crime scene. “See, I have a theory that the king’s wraith has gone rogue. And I’d be willing to bet it’s not the first time.”

My breath catches at the implication in his words. “You have no proof.”

“Charming little note you left behind.” He gestures to the message I wrote on the wall. “Memorable. Should we go visit the king right now and ask him what he thinks of your penmanship?”

I scoff. He said that as if questioning a monarch is a simple matter. “You think you can simply walk into the palace and ask for an audience with the king?”

He nods. “I do, actually.”

Taking off his right glove, he holds out his arm to show me a tattoo on his wrist. A single red rose engulfed in flames.

Death’s sigil.

A triumphant gleam enters his eyes. “This tends to gain me entry to any court I wish.”

Only those in the God of Death’s most trusted circle bear the mark. Reaching for his hand, I try to get a closer glimpse at the intricate symbol, but he pulls away. I scowl at him as he puts his glove back on.

“I can’t wait to see what the king does when he learns his trusted wraith is the infamous Angel of Mercy.” He smiles wickedly.

The truth of his accusation is a gut punch. I know exactly what Baylor would do if he found out I was betraying him. Pushing those thoughts away, I search for something to turn the tide of this conversation.

“You’re searching for the whisperer,” I announce, wanting to shock him.

The smile slides off his face at the mention of the item he and Darrow were discussing.

“What do you know of it?” he demands.

Nothing, but I’m not telling him that. We stand in silence for several minutes before he releases a sigh, likely realizing I have no intention of answering him. His head cocks to the side as he observes me, the silence stretching on until he finally breaks it.

“I could use someone with your peculiar talents.”

“Don’t pretend you know anything about my talents, Reaper.”

“I’d be interested in finding out.” His eyes glimmer with challenge. “You appear to have a knack for remaining unseen.”

“Is that what you’re after?” I ask, putting the pieces together. “You want my help finding your weapon?”

He waves me off. “Weapon is such an ugly word.”

“Then what would you call it?”

He rolls his lips, thinking for a moment before answering. “A unique object.”

I laugh without humor. “I’ve had bad luck with men who abuse such objects.”

He cocks his head, questions forming in his gaze as he studies me. “What if I swore to you that’s not my intention?”

Discomfort blooms under his inspection, causing me to shift my weight back and forth. “In my experience, people only seek such objects for two reasons. To avenge an injustice. Or to commit one.”

He takes a careful step closer. “And if I claimed the former?”

I lift my chin. “I’d remind you that no one is as honorable as they pretend to be.”

“Including you?” he asks, his voice softer now as he snares my gaze with his own.

“Especially me,” I admit.

His pupils dilate, the darkness nearly covering his blue irises completely. “What motivates you, then?”

“Guilt.”

The word tumbles out before I can stop it. A far too honest answer to offer someone I don’t trust.

I shake my head, retreating backwards. “It doesn’t matter what you want with the object. I won’t help you.”

Disappointment flickers across his handsome features, and when he speaks again he sounds resigned. “Then I’ll tell the king what you’re up to.”

“Do that and you ruin any chance of ever using my ‘peculiar talents’ to your advantage,” I remind him.

“I guess we’ll see.” He nods. “Get home safe, my lady.”

The reaper turns, his cloak billowing around him as he moves swiftly down the alley until the shadows swallow him whole. I stare after him for a moment, considering how likely he is to follow through on his threat. Did I make a powerful enemy tonight?

“What happened to your fear of the dark?” I mutter as I turn in the opposite direction.

“Your warm presence cured me of it.” His gravelly voice drifts through the night, startling me.

I scowl into the darkness, considering what I’ve learned this evening as I let an illusion settle over my skin. The reaper works for the God of Death, and he’s desperate enough for this whisperer to ask for my help stealing it. Whatever it is, it’s important to the powers that be, which makes it something I’m now deeply interested in.

The sound of flapping wings follows me through the city as I make my way back to the palace. Just before I reach the gates, the reaper’s amused voice reaches me once more.

“See you soon , Angel.”