Her Reaper's Arms by Charlotte Boyett-Compo (ebook pdf reader for pc TXT) 📕

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

113

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.”

114

Her Reaper’s Arms

“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