faces, I thought the old guy was going to have a heart attack. He slapped his right hand to his chest and fell back in his seat, his hat flying out the rear of the carriage as his wife screamed and screamed.
“Shut up, you old bat!” Wyatt kicked his horse forward so he could slap her across the face, leaving a thin line of blood on her cheekbone.
It didn’t work. She just shrieked louder. “Run, Joshua, run! It is Satan made flesh!” They rolled out of their seats onto the floor of the carriage. From there they dropped to the ground. But Wyatt hemmed them in with his horse, edging those sharpened steel hooves close enough to keep them pinned beside the back wheel.
“I feel I must correct you,” he said. “I am, in fact, only a servant of the Great Taker. Though we reavers are his favorites.” He chuckled fondly as he dismounted. I expected the horse to wander off, but it stayed close, dripping globs of sweat and stringy bits of spit all over Joshua’s bald head. The reaver went to the old gal and lifted her by the scruff of the neck.
“Now, you stop flailing and shut it tight, or I’ll rip your lungs out and call it self-defense,” he said, throwing her back into the carriage and returning for her husband.
The picture froze just as Wyatt sunk his hands/claws into Joshua’s chest.
“I fainted then,” said the tired, hopeless voice of Joshua’s widow. “The next thing I knew . . .”
Wyatt had remounted. Joshua’s body lay across his legs, his chest torn open, his soul struggling for freedom as the reaver bent to run his spiked tongue over it. As I’d just witnessed, the soul slowly drained of color even as the reaver’s third eye filled. In the end, the husk of Joshua’s soul disintegrated, falling back into his body, which jerked eerily at the impact.
Another fade to black, this time with no accompanying narration.
When she came to again, the woman had been moved, along with her carriage, to the site of an old, abandoned cemetery. Tombstones peered through long tufts of grass. Most of them leaned hard to the left, as if a gigantic pissed-off chess player had tried to clear the board before stomping off into the hills beyond.
Wyatt spurred his horse to the middle of the stones, reached into the corpse’s chest, yanked out the heart, and fastballed it at a vine-covered tree stump. When the vines blackened and crumbled, I realized the stump was actually a tall, spire-shaped monument.
The woman hadn’t made a sound since the reaver’s threat to her life. In fact, I figured she was nearly catatonic by now.
But when the heart hit that stone and shattered, and the etchings began to ooze thick gobbets of blood down the white marble, she moaned like a dying animal. I reluctantly acknowledged a growing feeling of we’re-so- screwed as my hands itched for my playing cards. I’d left them in the RV.
As soon as the blood touched the ground it solidified, growing, building into a fence, a wall, an arched doorway that pulsed like a gigantic aorta. The reaver rode up to it, tossing Joshua’s body aside as he went. A smaller, fist- sized door within the door appeared in the middle about three-quarters of the way up. Wyatt leaned toward it, his saddle creaking eerily as he moved. The small door flew open with a
Eventually the eye gave and the tentacle retreated with it, slamming the small door behind it. Wyatt leaned his bleeding forehead against the big door for several minutes while the stunned old woman looked on. Then it turned to her. “I cannot take your life,” it said in a fearfully joyous voice, “but I find I have need of your eye.”
The picture faded as he advanced on her, grinning malevolently.
But we weren’t done. Next came a slide show narrated by a woman whose delivery reminded me of all the times I’d slept through Environmental Biology.
“This is the only visual record we have of a reaver,” the professor said blandly as a still shot of Frederick Wyatt appeared. “Our research tells us they are parasitic fiends, which must find host bodies in order to move among humans. The reaver’s sole purpose is to rip souls from hapless victims and transfer them to the netherworld. This is not a random occurrence, but one governed by rules wherein the murder must either be commissioned by an enemy of the victim, or perpetrated by one human against another. In the latter case, the reaver acts as a scavenger, snagging the soul before it can release.
“Reavers are known to run singly and in packs and can often be found traveling on the shirttails of human evildoers. The reaver is extremely difficult to vanquish. In fact, all sources recommend the wisest tactic when encountering such is to retreat. Quickly. Please note: True Believers are somewhat immune to their powers. See also, Holy Dagger of Anan. See also, Reaver Pack Tactics.”
The picture faded to black this time. Bergman watched the
“I do not think there is one,” said Vayl.
“Why?” demanded Bergman.
“Because if there were, we would have been attacked by now.”
“Oh. Well, if you don’t mind, I’m still going to set up the security system I brought for the RV. Just in case the pack is back at the watering hole.” On a snide scale of one to ten, I’d say Bergman had just hit a 7.5, which meant he was one scared puppy. I held my breath, waiting to see if Vayl understood Bergman would chill as soon he’d put the system into place, or if he’d take offense, in which case I’d be spending the rest of the night soothing ruffled feathers. Not my strong suit, which was why it would take so long.
“I approve your plan,” said Vayl, watching with one eyebrow slightly cocked as Bergman threw the pens in the Dumpster and headed back to the RV. Luckily he had no idea Vayl was broad-casting his I’d-love-to-knock-your- block-off expression. Cassandra seemed to have more of a clue. After a moment during which she considered Vayl with a look of mounting alarm, Cassandra followed Bergman. She caught up to him within fifteen seconds and moments later they were deep in conversation.
The rest of us stared down at the two bodies. Finally Vayl said, “Cole, call the office. I believe it would be best if our people disposed of these. There is no need for it to become common knowledge that Jasmine knows how to kill reavers.”
