Chronicles of Steele: Raven: Episode One
Date: 2014-11-23 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Steampunk; Fantasy; Science Fiction; Short Stories
Description: Human life has value. The poor living in the gutter is as valuable as the rich living in a manor. The scoundrel is no less valuable than the saint. Because of this, every life a reaper takes must be redeemed. Raven has lived by this first tenet since she was trained by her father to become a reaper. But since his death, she’s been spending years redeeming the lives she’s taken. By her count, she’s even and it’s time for that life to end. If she settles down and becomes a wife, she might just feel human again. But on the way to the life she thinks she wants, the baron of New Haven asks her to c
Publisher: AltWit Press

PAULINE CREEDEN

CHRONICLES OF STEELE: RAVEN

Episode One

© 2014 Pauline Creeden

Cover Design Copyright © 2014 by Alchemy Book Covers

Interior formatting and design by Marcy Rachel of Backstrip Publishing

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Synopsis:

Human life has value.
The poor living in the gutter is as valuable as the rich living in a manor.
The scoundrel is no less valuable than the saint.
Because of this, every life a reaper takes must be redeemed.

Raven has lived by this first tenet since she was trained by her father to become a reaper. But since his death, she’s been spending years redeeming the lives she’s taken. By her count, she’s even and it’s time for that life to end. If she settles down and becomes a wife, she might just feel human again. But on the way to the life she thinks she wants, the baron of New Haven asks her to complete a task which she cannot ignore… Just when Raven decides to give up on her life as an assassin, she’s pulled right back in. The Chronicles of Steele: Raven is a steampunk-inspired fantasy set in an alternate universe.

Human life has value.

The poor living in the gutter are as valuable as the rich living in a manor.

The scoundrel is no less valuable than the saint.

Because of this, every life a reaper takes must be redeemed.

RAVEN STEELE COUNTED every footstep she chanced through New Haven with the knowledge that any could be her last. But the gamble wouldn’t last long. She quickened her pace. Only two kilometers of brownstone street stood between her and the safety of the forest.

A throng crowded the street. People. Men. Women and children. It had become too easy to think of them as cattle. But they were human. Her deepest desire was to become one of them and live a normal human life. Gregory would make her feel human; he always did. Her heart quickened at the thought of him, and her tread became light.

Raven winked at a fat-cheeked baby held by a pinch-faced woman with silver hair pulled into a severe bun. The woman looked Raven up and down, tching her tongue and shaking her head. Even in the city, a woman in breeches instead of a skirt remained unacceptable. Or maybe the crossbow snapped to the magnets on the back of her corset made the difference.

Would the woman know her secret?

Raven swallowed hard and assured herself of the ignorance of the populace. Few knew what a reaper was, much less their prohibition from the city.

Only the occasional cloud blighted the deceptively clear blue sky over New Haven. Sunlight sifted through and between the buildings stacked next to one another like books on a shelf. An automated horse bore down on her, and she flattened herself against the cool brick. The coachmen yelled at the crowd, “Out of the way! Clear the road. Coaches before walkers!”

The scraping metal and shouting continued down the street, scattering merchants who gave the coach malicious looks and then checked their wares for damage. Beside her, a bronze clockwork mechanical man pushed a merchant's cart, its jerky movements unsuitable for zeppelin-living high society. It stopped just before the haberdasher’s shop.

With a wave of his arm and a grand flourish, the man next to the clockwork man produced a small metal gadget in his palm. “Don’t be the last of your neighbors to procure this one. You’ve never peeled potatoes as expeditiously or had as much merriment in the doing. Your children will quibble over whose turn it is to do what used to be scutwork.”

He placed the gadget next to a pile of potatoes, and the clicking and whirring of the blades set the crowd into exclamations of eager yearning. The people applauded and mobbed the stand, blocking the entire walkway. No elbowing through the throng this time. With a sigh, Raven hopped off the walk onto the street, nearly stepping into a pile of manure left by a flesh horse. Her metal-heeled boots clicked with each step on the smooth stones.

Seagulls crowded a fishmonger’s cart on the other side of the street. The monger accosted her as she neared the bridge, but quickly moved on to the next person behind her when she shook her head. Boats docked behind him and bobbed up and down in the river. Skipping up the steps of the footbridge, she pushed away a black flyaway curl from her eyes and pulled the tendril behind her ear.

Halfway across the bridge, she inhaled a lungful of the salty air and released a contented sigh. Only a day’s journey still stood between her and Gregory’s house, and for once, she wasn’t injured. She smiled to herself as she imagined the look of surprise on his face. She planned to tell him she loved him this time. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Would he be ready for marriage? Was she?

The fishmonger’s scream broke through the chattering crowd on the bridge. He jumped into the river to avoid an out-of-control carriage pulled by a polished brass automated horse. Steam poured from the nostrils of the metal horse and leaked from its joints in an unnatural manner. Its black lacquer carriage careened on two wheels through the turn onto the bridge before righting itself. Wires shot out of the neck of the metal coachman where the head should have been. The reins in its limp, useless hands were slack and whipping against the horse’s metal flank.

Raven jumped to the rail, moving out of the way of the crowd as they stampeded toward her. She gripped the lamppost and her reaper training kicked in. No fear. Breathe deeply. Think ahead. Make quick decisions.

The black lacquer carriage squeezed between the bridge railings, and the oak boards of the narrow footbridge splintered apart as though they were balsa wood. The railing to the left gave free another meter and the automated horse jerked in that direction.

In a quick, natural motion, Raven unsnapped her crossbow and felt through the quiver attached at her thigh for the right bolt. Pulling the wire from her belt’s winch, she hooked it to the arrow, pointed it at the wooden post of the gas lamp standing closest to the carriage, and pulled the trigger.

For a moment, the heavy metal horse hung over the edge with the carriage wedged between portions of broken railing. The horse’s brass legs still poured steam as they struggled in the air, creating the eerie sound of scraping metal. Gouges raked along the black side of the carriage as it inched its way toward the river. A small hand pressed against the window. The door surged past the railing and swung open. The body of a young boy tumbled out. He hung from the door handle with his fingertips. A gasp and a few screams filled the air behind her.

A female voice shrieked, “It’s the young baron!”

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and Raven leapt toward the boy—toward the river. She fell in a controlled arc, the wind pulling her long hair as taut as the line from her belt. The carriage broke free from the bridge a moment before she reached it. She thumbed her winch to release more line and grabbed the boy in a full embrace. The cold water enveloped them.

The sudden change in temperature forced the air from her lungs, but she held it in as they darted below the surface. Her submerged body jerked to a stop as the line reached an end. The boy’s forehead struck her in the temple. Saltwater burned her eyes, and stars danced in her vision. Bubbles of air escaped her lips.

The boy went limp in her arms. She gripped him tightly in one arm and hit the rewind lever on the winch. She grabbed the line, and it wrenched her toward the light above. Streaks of her long, black hair stuck to her face as she emerged from the river. She released her breath and gripped the line. The winch pulled her toward the bridge, and the crowd above applauded. Gasping, Raven struggled with the sudden, heavier weight of the boy, struggling to hold him until they reached the top of the bridge. The line cut into her hand and her arm muscles ached.

Her tall black boots squished against the side of the bridge as they were pulled steadily up. She pushed off a tarred pylon to make it over the lip before the cable pulled them against the railing. The winch slowed when it neared the top. She reached up with her free hand and grabbed the crossbow bolt. With a flick of her thumb, she depressed the lever and the grappling hooks withdrew. After pulling the hook free of her line, she replaced the bolt in her quiver. A slow zipping sound continued as the winch on her belt drew in the cable. She allowed hands from the crowd pull the boy from her grasp. She blinked the saltwater from her eyes, her vision still blurred, her muscles quivering.

Four armed guards and one skinny man in a bowtie surrounded the boy she’d hauled to the surface, shooing away the people. Two other guards stepped forward to hold back the crowd.

With a sputter and a cough, the boy retched water from his lungs. The tension in Raven’s chest relaxed. She smiled and attempted to step toward him, but a vice-like grip took hold of her arm. Her fingertips twitched; she was ready to grab the knife on her hip and fight her way out, if necessary. The hard faces of two guards stared down at her. She could smack one in the jaw with the back of her head, and when he loosened his grip, throw a punch at the other. The taste of escape grew bitter on her tongue when she considered the surrounding crowd. She made a count of the collateral damage and clenched her jaw. The last thing she needed were more kills on her conscience, more lives to redeem herself for. With a deep sigh, she remained still.

The man in the bowtie held the wet boy to his chest. His cold blue eyes pierced hers. He pointed and said, “Arrest her.”

Raven shook her head and wondered if she had water in her ears. Surely she must not have heard him correctly. But fingertips dug into her skin and she knew bruises were forming as the two men lifted her. They led her toward another of the brown-suited guards. This one had a red band on his upper arm. His air of authority indicated he could be nothing but their leader.

Red Band proceeded to disarm her and said in a clipped tone, “I’m going to have to ask you to cooperate. If you promise to behave, I’ll cuff your hands in front of you.”

Raven snorted as he unbuckled her belt and pulled it free. “Is this how your lot shows appreciation? Perhaps I should have minded my own business?”

His brown eyes softened, but it didn’t stop him from pulling the goggles from her wet hair and handing them to a guard at his side. “We could have saved him.”

Who decided night vision goggles and a belt winch were weapons, anyway? She smirked. “Maybe you could have—downstream—if he didn’t drown first.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed and gave a half nod. “It’s best if you remain silent.”

He slapped the handcuffs on, and the cold metal pinched her wrists. Raven winced but made no sound. The two thugs beside her lightened their grip, once her disarming and cuffing were complete. For his part, Red Band gripped the chain between the cuffs and pulled her forward like an ox.

She shuffled her feet, hearing the general murmur of disapproval in the crowd for the first time. For a moment she wondered if they condemned her or the arrest. She shrugged. What did she care? Red Band mounted a flesh horse and reached down for her. She smiled with relief at the small blessing–at least the thing wasn’t automated.

One of the thugs gripped her by the waist and lifted her to sit in front of Red Band. She was wrapped in the prison of his arms. A second black lacquered coach holding the boy moved away from the bridge. Although pulled by a brass horse, this carriage had Bowtie at the reins instead of an automaton. Her captor urged his horse after the coach.

Her hips swung with the motion of the horse’s walk, and she leaned against Red Band’s chest. She hoped her hair dripped on him and soaked through his brown suit. It made no sense for the Duke of New Haven’s Guard to wear brown. Brown might be a good color for a dirty job, but a bloody one? As a reaper, Raven wore black—the appropriate color for the purpose.

The barren branches of the few trees along the road stretched over their heads like skeletal hands. Fallen leaves crunched under the hooves of the horses. She took consolation in the fact that she at least still headed in the direction of Gregory’s house. Gooseflesh grew on her arms as a breeze picked up.

“What’s your name?” Red Band said softly in her ear. His voice sounded deep and soothing at the same time, and it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“I thought you told me to remain silent.”

He chuckled, and she could feel the up and down motion of his chest against her back. “Either way is fine.”

She considered keeping her mouth shut. She thought about lying. Finally she said, “Raven Steele.”

“The reaper’s daughter?” He sat a little taller and inhaled sharply.

“One and the same.”

“What are you doing in New Haven? We should have arrested you on sight.”

“If you had recognized me.”

“Dressed in reaper black and armed as you were, I think you’d have been hard to miss.”

Raven shrugged. “So what’s your name?”

“Captain Jack Grant.” His voice grew deep with pride and sounded as stiff as he sat.

Raven sighed. The skin on her face pulled taut uncomfortably as it dried. She licked the salt from her lips and rubbed her cheek on her shoulder.

They drew near the Duke of New Haven’s Court where silver zeppelins loomed in the sky over the center of the city, like a bouquet of balloons. High society took on a whole new, and quite literal, meaning there.

She looked longingly at the left turn she would have taken to Gregory’s house. Fallen leaves gathered in patches along the sides of the road, and a puddle filled a pothole. A tear welled and her shoulders fell as she pulled her gaze away.

The gates to the court swung open as the carriage ahead of them approached the entrance. The guards on each side of the gate bowed their heads. Hadn't someone said the kid was a baron?

The three armed guards on horses ahead of Grant followed the carriage, and two more guards flanked her.

The iron gates clanged behind them with the finality of defeat.

Defeat is a state of mind.
The loser is not a person who fails, but one who gives up.
If one never gives up, lost ground can be easily recovered when the opportunity presents itself.
But if one's head hangs in shame, only the person’s feet can be seen.

RAVEN SNEEZED AND her eyes watered. The dank, musty smell of the mold growing on the mortar between the smooth stones of the cell walls filled her nostrils. Her throat tightened, and she scratched at her forearm. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so miserable. The dry area of the dirt floor showed remnants of rat feces, and the straw pile in the corner smelled worse than the walls. Orange light from the setting sun trickled in through the small barred window overhead.

A steady sound of moaning came from a cell down the hallway. Someone else continued to sob. Raven hugged herself and continued her pacing in spite of her tired feet. An hour after she’d been led to the dungeon holding area, the outer door opened with a deep groan.

Raven stopped pacing. Booted footsteps marched purposefully past the first few cells. The sobbing stopped, and demands began in a begging tone. “You gotta let me out! I didn’t do it. I tell you, I’m innocent!”

She shook her head and stood on her tiptoes to peer through the bars above the flat iron front of her cell. A familiar mop of sandy hair and soft brown eyes greeted her at the window. “Step back, Miss Steele.”

Nodding to Sgt. Grant, Raven took three backward steps and sneezed. Her failed attempt at stifling the cry echoed off the stone walls.

The door swung toward her. Grant stepped in. “Will you cooperate? On your word, I’ll forego the cuffs.”

They had her weapons. She could get reasonably far with her bare hands, but not without injury. She clenched her teeth and nodded.

“Good. Follow me.” He turned and started his way up the stone steps to the main building of the Duke’s Court.

The gas lamps came on all at once as they entered the courtyard, signifying the closing of dusk. Happy to be leaving the musty, rancid cell, she took a deep breath. Her throat and lungs felt as though wool had grown on the sides.

Grant led her along the covered walkways surrounding the cobblestone center of the yard. A group of soldiers performed rifle drills. Raven studied the maneuver, like a dance, and raised an eyebrow at the off-timing of a few.

“New recruits?” she guessed.

Grant stopped suddenly, and she almost bumped into him. The smell of leather and horses filled her nostrils. She backed up a step to regain an appropriate distance. He peered down at her and nodded slightly. “Mostly the boys are from the Southern Province. They seem to be sending more boys up our way than ever before.”

Raven nodded and watched the drill for a moment longer.

The captain bent his arm and offered her his elbow. “Madam, if we could continue?”

She raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Would you have me take your arm like a lady of court?”

His kind eyes twinkled, and his smile widened, his perfectly straight white teeth flashing in the gaslight. “You are in court, milady.”

A shout went up from the recruits and they disbanded. Raven’s eyes unfocused and she sighed. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about being a lady,” she mumbled. Then she straightened and met eyes with Grant. “My father raised me to be a reaper, not a lady.”

Grant’s brow furrowed. “What about your mother?”

She narrowed her eyes at him and tightened her jaw. Ignoring his elbow, she marched in the general direction they’d been going. He caught up and she slowed a tick to allow him to lead again. Soon he brought her to a tall set of red doors. She shook her head in wonder. The palace of the Duke of New Haven?

The guards opened the doors upon Grant’s nod. He led her into the marble foyer, and Raven suddenly felt shy. She stifled the urge to hide behind Grant. White salt lines were drawn in the wrinkles of her clothes, and she couldn’t get rid of the taut feeling in her skin. Why had she been brought here?

Grant put his hands behind his back and lifted his chin toward a servant girl. “This is the woman who saved the young baron.”

The maid nodded to Raven without looking. The girl’s blond hair pulled against her temples in a tight braid. Her uniform’s pleats were pressed in sharp creases, and Raven wondered if it felt stiff when the girl moved. Her eyes were slightly almond shaped, but their color remained hidden under long lashes. She turned on her heel. “Follow me, please.”

Grant swung an arm in the direction of the girl when she started up the stairs. In the wavering light of the gas-lit foyer, the white of a scar stood out on the line of his square jaw. His half-smile seemed playful. He leaned in and whispered, “See you around, Raven Steele.”

She met his brown eyes and saw a hint of humor in them. He turned for the door before she could respond. With a shrug, she started up the stairs after the maid.

The disapproving, pupil-less eyes of ivory busts in the alcoves of the stairwell condemned her for her flaws. Her palms grew sweaty and she found no comfort in the luxuriant red carpet that cushioned each step of her tired feet.

Once the servant reached the top of the steps, she turned to the left. Raven ventured a glance at the limitless hallway of oak doors and wondered what a right turn would bring.

Rich, colorful tapestries lined the walls. Instead of growing faint with time, each hanging had grown darker, more shaded. The souls of the departed seemed to be held within the portraits. She shook the thoughts from her head.

The servant stopped at a door. They all looked the same to Raven; nothing signified one from the other.

“Here you are. A bath has been drawn for you, and I will leave you with a dinner gown. Your clothes will be laundered and returned to you after the meal.”

Raven raised an eyebrow quizzically. She stepped into the room and found a lush beige patterned rug covering most of the hardwood floor. Gauze-like curtains danced lightly in the breeze from the open top window. Autumn leaves rustled just outside. An ornate fleur-de-lis design in the lavender wallpaper accentuated the lavender scent from the bathwater. Huge columns of scrolled timber stood as stalwart sentries at each corner of the oversized bed. Even the wardrobe had an elaborate wooded scene carved into the cedar.

The blond servant girl closed the window and stood still while Raven surveyed the room. The girl managed to stare at her without meeting her eyes, a strange talent. Raven needed to learn that one. Then she realized the girl waited for an answer.

“Oh, right.”

The servant turned on her heel and headed for a cedar-lined walk-in closet. After a moment, she returned with a purple gown and held it up in Raven’s general direction.

“This should fit. I used water pumped directly from the hot house, and it should be cooled enough by now if you’d like to disrobe behind the dressing screen?” A tall screen of canvas and wood stood near the porcelain tub. Inviting steam rose from the water. The servant girl laid the purple dress on the bed and stood outside the canvas screen, waiting for the salt-soiled clothing.

With a shrug, Raven headed for the dressing screen and stripped her stiff, black moleskin breeches, the leather corset, and her cropped purple jacket. Each item disappeared the moment she placed them over the top of the screen. She stood awkwardly for a moment, rubbing her elbows, unsure if she could stride out bare for the tub.

“I will return in three quarters of an hour to collect you for dinner.”

“All right.”

When the door clicked closed, Raven padded barefoot across the cold hardwood. An elbow in the tub found it almost too hot to bear. Just the way she preferred. She stepped into the tub and felt each of her muscles relax as she sank into the almost scorching liquid.

The purple dress fit perfectly; the servant girl had a good eye. Raven smiled in appreciation before the full-length mirror. It had been a long time since she’d worn a dress. Men generally held her post as reaper and bodyguard. Out of necessity, she wore the same clothes they did. The moleskin breeches were tougher than anything she could find in a shop for women, and the linen jacket breathed better. The only feminine item she refused to part with was her leather corset. The utility value of the harness within the black laced leather and the magnets sewn in the back made it indispensible. She smiled and lifted the ankle-length skirt. The dress didn’t look half bad with her knee-high riding boots.

Her wet hair made the shoulders of the dress a slightly darker shade of purple. She stepped over to the drying vent on the wall and turned the crank. The brass horn expelled hot air in an upward direction and she held her black hair over it. After a minute or two of continued drying, she lowered the vent slightly so that she could hold her shoulders and back over it in the hopes of drying the dress.

“Are you ready, miss?”

Raven started. She hadn’t heard the servant enter while the dryer ran. She pulled the lever and backed away a step, giving a nod. The servant girl led her into the hallway again. They left the way they came, and at the foyer, they headed for the dining room.

The dining area held no surprises–high-backed chairs made from a cherry wood, a long table capable of a great number of guests, and a crystal chandelier overhead. The light danced in sparkling spectrums on the white ceiling. Two places were set at the table–one at the head, and the other place set to the head’s left. The servant girl gestured for Raven to sit to the side.

A butler, nearly invisible against the black and white striped wall paper, stepped forward and pulled out the chair. His tall, thin frame reminded her of the chair’s back, and his dark eyes bored into her. The skin on his expressionless face had the texture of worn leather.

Even though the dress took away some of the discomfort she felt in the duke’s house, Raven had no idea how to behave. She sat in the chair and clutched the sides awkwardly while the butler pushed it forward.

Soon after, a young man stepped into the room with a strange grin on his face. Raven stiffened. She didn’t know what she expected in the duke, but she certainly expected him to be older. The deep baritone of the butler called an introduction into the room as though it were full of people. “Young Baron Solomon Goodnight.”

Relief flooded her. Not the duke, but his son…

The baron’s pale, handsome face was almost bloodless, and his clothing hung straight from his shoulders as though a size overlarge. His lithe movements reminded Raven of a cat, and he held himself as though preparing for a dance. A cough contorted his face for a moment and his back bent. After resuming his position, and replacing his handkerchief, he apologized and asked, “Raven Steele?”

She pushed her chair back in preparation to stand, but the young man made a gesture with his hand and shook his head. The butler helped him sit. She nodded, unsure of what to say.

“Thank you for saving my little brother’s life.” He folded his slender fingers in front of him.

With a shrug, she lowered her eyes. “I only did what anyone else would do in my situation.”

Baron Solomon laughed, began coughing, and pulled a napkin to his lips to contain it. After a moment he said, “Not everyone would have the equipment you carry. And no, not anyone would save him even so.”

She raised her brows.

“My father is not very popular at the moment. The people are on the edge of revolt. For some reason, they stay the execution of their plans because I’m the successor. If they saw me in this state, however, they might change their minds.”

The butler interrupted and came forward, placing a small bowl of soup before each of them. Raven lifted a spoon in the same manner as the baron and attempted a small taste of the cloudy liquid. It had a light cucumber flavor. Baron Solomon took a few hesitant sips and set aside his spoon. Although she hadn’t eaten all day, Raven forced herself to leave half the soup behind so she didn’t appear uncouth.

Setting aside his spoon, the baron sat back in the upright chair and placed his hands in his lap. “This condition has stolen my appetite, I’m afraid. But I do my best to eat something to keep up my strength.”

“So you are hiding from the people?”

He laughed and coughed, again. “Cut right to the point, don’t you? Yes, the people cannot know how ill I am.”

“But your brothers?”

“I have only the one brother.” He gave a weak smile, worry lines creasing his young forehead. “Darius is my only brother, and he is…”

The butler interrupted again and removed the bowls. He placed small servings of cheese and fruit before them. Solomon took his cheese fork and placed a small morsel in his mouth. Raven mimicked him, not enjoying the sharp flavor. She washed it down with the fruity drink in the goblet at the side of her plate. “Your brother is…?”

Solomon nodded and sat back. “Today he was returning from the bishop’s rectory when he had the unfortunate accident. The bishop had unsuccessfully attempted an exorcism.”

Raven furrowed her brow. “A what?”

“Exorcism. The church believes my brother is possessed.”

“Surely the aristocracy doesn’t believe…”

The butler entered again, removed the plates, and left the next course. Raven eyed the brackish fish eggs with disdain. The baron scooped a small portion onto a cracker and put the whole bite into his mouth. She ate a plain cracker.

Solomon began again. “Belief has nothing to do with it. My brother has fits and causes any machinery around him to go haywire. My father has avoided my brother since the fits began.” The baron leaned toward Raven and said quietly, “Father has some clockwork parts that are sensitive to my brother’s outbursts. He has begun to see my brother as a liability to progress. Because the bishop’s exorcism was unsuccessful, it’s likely Father will have Darius assassinated.”

Raven swallowed hard. “Your brother’s looks as though he’s only eight.”

“He’s nine.”

“What will you do?”

The butler cleared his throat to announce his arrival, removed the dishes once more, and replaced them with a small tart. When Raven cut the flakey crust, she found a brown mushy center that tasted of liver. She cut a small portion of the crust and ate.

Solomon leaned forward, his hands closed and pleading. “Miss Steele, that is the reason you are here with me. I want to ask if you will take him to the Wood Witch.”

“Me?”

“Your arrival in town is a fortuitous answer to prayer. My father’s men are sworn to follow his orders and would not go against them. Tomorrow morning, my father will return from his trip to Billings. When he discovers the bishop’s unsuccessful attempt, he’ll have my brother disposed of quietly.”

Raven sat back in silence and took a sip of the juice to think things through.

One more life redeemed. To soothe her conscience, she had committed herself fully to the way of the reaper. For every life she took, she’d been required to save one. Though she’d saved the young baron’s life once, this would save it again. Would it count twice? If it did, she would be even by her count. “And if the Wood Witch fails?”

Solomon’s eyes grew cloudy. He refocused on her and his eyes pleaded with her. “If she is unsuccessful, I’d have need to ask even more of you. Would you protect my brother for the remainder of his life?”

In battle, decisions must be made quickly.
One's wit must be sharp or death is certain.
Outside of battle, take one's time in deliberation.
The wrong choice in life can kill as well.

THE STONE-FACED BUTLER entered again and collected the plates. He set small bowls of white cream atop a circle of spongy cake. It looked delicious, but Raven’s appetite had abandoned her. She’d already sworn to herself that her days of reaping the lives of men had ended. Certainly if she gave up her life for the life of this boy, it would tip the scales in her favor.

She could hope, but she needed to concentrate on the present task. “Do you trust the Wood Witch?”

“When my mother lived, she also worshipped the goddess of the Wood Witch and claimed her to be more powerful than the Christians’ God. Father, on the other hand, would sooner burn the witch than trust her. He refused to allow her help. For my part, I am willing to try anything.”

Raven stared at her hands. She’d been making her way to Gregory to tell him she was done with her life as a reaper. She’d only had two lives left to save, but believed she could find a way to accomplish the task and be his wife at the same time. Provided that the trip to the Wood Witch went well, the task would be complete within a week or so. Her debt would be paid and wouldn’t be hanging over her head. But if the Wood Witch failed, would she ever be able to settle down with Gregory? She decided to visit him before attempting the venture.

The baron’s voice came in a pleading whisper. “It’s you or no one. If you do not attempt this task, my brother will die.”

“I could take him to the Wood Witch, but I am unsure of a further commitment.”

“I don’t want to lie to you, Miss Steele. If the Wood Witch fails, and you return Darius to my father's court, he is as good as dead.”

She couldn’t let the boy die. The thought of it seized her chest, and it was as good as reaping him herself. She wouldn’t let it happen. With caution, she made a slow nod.

“Excellent." The baron turned his attention to the butler. "Gorman, have you made the arrangements?”

“Yes, Baron Solomon. The lady’s attire and accompaniments have been placed in the quarters provided.” The butler stood between them, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“You should leave tonight. We want to give you a solid start before Father arrives. Travel as far and as quick as you can. Because of my brother’s condition, I’m sorry that I can’t provide you with the fastest brass horse we have . . . ”

“No, that’s fine. I do not trust automated horses.”

“Oh, right. Then I will provide the fastest flesh horse we have. Can you be ready within the hour?”

Raven stood as the butler scrambled to pull her chair. “I’ll be ready in half.”

Folding the top flap of the saddlebag into the pouch, Raven made sure that her crossbow could be easily drawn if the need should arise. When riding a horse, the bow could slip from the magnets on her corset. She nocked an arrow into it with her thumb safety engaged. The line of sight was straight and true. She attached her quiver to a ring on the side of the saddle. If there was trouble, she needed her equipment at hand. The night had fallen while she had been entertained by Baron Solomon, and the gaslight lamps along the stable wall provided a soft glow. A reaper’s senses needed to become more acute at night. She scanned the shadows for danger, and her hand fluttered to the night-vision goggles on her head.

Two sets of footsteps clipped across on the cobblestone. Before they rounded the bend to the stable door, her fingers twitched over her knife. When she saw Gorman and the younger baron, she relaxed and continued attaching her weapons.

“Can I trust you?” Baron Darius’s voice rose hesitantly as he approached.

She smiled. “I’ve saved your life once and promise to do it as many times as necessary.”

“Why?”

“It’s the reaper’s way. A life for a life.”

“How many have you killed?”

Raven clinched her jaw. “Too many.” Her gaze met the butler’s. “Will he have his own horse?”

“No. The young master’s condition makes him subject to untimely fits. He would be in danger of falling.” His ice blue eyes held a fire unmatched by his frozen features.

“Right. I expected as much.” She placed her boot in the stirrup and mounted. “Hand him to me then.

The butler lifted him to the front of her saddle. She knew it would be an uncomfortable place to ride for a long period of time, but he’d only have to make it to Gregory’s house. On a horse, it should only be about four hours if they took it slow, less than three if needed.

A horn sounded, and the butler paled. “It’s him. The duke approaches.”

“Father is early.” The boy sounded happy but tentative.

Gorman gripped the horse’s rein and turned it toward the other stable exit. “We must leave by the north gate. The duke approaches from the south. You may have as much as an hour’s head start before he commands a pursuit.”

Raven swallowed hard. “That’s not enough time.”

“Follow me.” He released the rein and jogged forward.

The horse trotted in response. Even in the jarring up and down motion of the trot, the young baron remained silent. He gripped the chestnut mare’s mane with both hands. His knuckles glowed white under the lamps. Raven pulled gently on the reins to slow the horse to a more tolerable speed but followed the butler closely.

“Guards!” Gorman reached the gates, speaking in breathless tones. “Baron Solomon orders passage for this woman and the young baron.”

Raven recognized Grant’s red band before he turned around. He narrowed his eyes at her and barked the order to open the gate. Before she could urge her horse forward, Grant gripped the bridle by the cheek piece. He called back toward the butler, “Will she need guard?”

“That will not be necessary. She is capable of caring for the young baron on his errand.”

Even in the half-light, Raven could see the guard’s jaw tighten and nostrils flare in indecision. “Baron Solomon trusts this woman?”

The butler frowned and stiffened in disapproval. Still he answered softly, “Yes, with his brother’s life.”

After a curt nod, the captain released the bridle. Raven nudged her horse forward into a canter. In her rush out the gate, she lost her bearings. Which way? Finally, with a turn to the east, she headed for Gregory’s home.

In measured beats of three, the cadence of the horse’s iron shoes beat against the cobblestone. Anxiety drove her headlong down the empty road from the city. They’d been cantering for nearly an hour and the horse’s sides heaved. Its sweat had made her reins slippery. She pulled it up for a respite.

She scanned the shadows. A movement along the tree line to her right caught her eye and she drew a sharp breath. No one in their right mind would be outside the city at night. Bandits frequented these dirt roads to the country. She shifted her reins to one hand and shifted the dozing prince to her elbow crook. Staring hard the direction of the movement, she reached behind her for the crossbow. The even cadence of the horse’s heaves and soft steps against the dirt road echoed through the silent woods. She pointed the arrow in the direction of the shadow and took a shallow breath to steady her hand and develop a rhythm with the horse for an accurate shot.

The shadow ran under the gaslight, revealing a large tan Great Dane running alongside her. She swallowed. Even killing an animal left a bad taste in her mouth. She replaced the crossbow in her saddle bag. From the corner of her eye she kept an eye on the animal until it veered off.

At that same moment, her horse stumbled to its knees. With her eyes squeezed shut, Raven hugged Darius to her chest and spun herself in order to land on her backside instead of on the boy. Her elbows skidded across the dirt, burning in response.

When her momentum came to an end, she set the boy to the side and leapt to her feet. The chestnut horse scrambled to stand, but refused to put weight on its left foreleg. In the limited glow of the half moon, Raven found the dip in the road that caused the stumble. A rustle in the undergrowth drew her attention, but she didn’t look directly at it. The noise came from the tree line opposite the dog, and she knew if she looked, the attack would begin. Young Baron Darius stammered, “Miss Steele?”

She made eye contact with the boy and put a finger to her lips. From her periphery, she counted the shadows of three men. Feigning care for the horse, she rushed toward it. “Big Red, are you all right?”

Raven leaned toward the horse’s leg and rested a hand on its shoulder. She turned her body to draw closer to the saddle bag. The crossbow’s wood and brass handle protruded, but the quiver was on the other side. She gritted her teeth. She only had one arrow. One shot. She’d need to make it a good one.

“Oh no, what are we going to do? This doesn’t look good.” She said it in a lilting, sing-song voice to hide the unsnapping of her knife’s sheath. Two weapons. She’d always been good at throwing. Another rustle in the woods came, closer this time. Her night vision goggles would limit her peripherally, but enhance the rest. She pulled the goggles over her eyes.

Raven counted out a rhythm in her mind. Four seconds, four beats measured, in a dancing step. She separated her stance to ready herself and jerked up, yanking the crossbow from the saddlebag.

One. She aimed at the first of the three shadows. He broke from the woods with rope in his hands and headed for the boy. She hit him precisely where she aimed, in the meat of the flesh above his kneecap. He fell down screaming. In time with the rhythm, she snapped the now useless bow to the magnets on her back.

Two. She grabbed the knife from its sheath on her thigh and tossed it in the air to catch it again by the blade. The other two men headed for her, the first one had a gun in his right hand. With a flick of her wrist, she threw it into that shoulder just below the collarbone causing him to drop the weapon. He stumbled backward with a curse.

Three. She ran for the last man who stopped, stunned, and looked at the first one. He turned toward her just as she’d reached the man with the knife in his shoulder and kicked the gun into the woods. She wrenched the knife out and he wailed, but she silenced him with a knee to the groin as she tossed the knife up again.

Four. Blood on the blade made her fingers slide down a quarter inch before she tightened her grip and brought her hand over the shoulder. The third man screamed before she threw it, but she was too busy counting to acknowledge it. The throw buried the knife into his thigh.

One, two, three, four.

She kept the cadence in her head. Her adrenaline heightened her senses, and her heart beat in time. The count continued as she surveyed the men. At the slightest provocation she needed to be ready to dance again. The first man began dragging himself back toward the woods. Raven strode over to him, counting her steps in the tempo.

He raised his hands up in a plea as she approached. “Please don’t kill me.”

“If I’d wanted you dead it would have already happened. All three of you.”

“I…I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry we tried to rob you.”

“I suggest a career change for the three of you. If I come through these woods again and find you still in this line of work, I won’t be so merciful.” She spoke through clenched teeth and stepped on the man’s thigh. Gripping the crossbow bolt just under the feathers, she yanked it free.

The man’s scream ripped the night air.

Raven turned toward the man who still had her knife. He blubbered, tears running down from the side of his face, and blood soaking the thigh of his pants. His eyes grew wide as he realized why she was coming for him. He gripped the handle of the knife himself and yanked it free with a squeal and grunt. His face grew pale as he stammered, “I’m sorry.”

She stepped forward, accepted the knife he offered her, and started for Darius. The boy scrambled back from her, eyes wide, as she approached. Tears streaked down his face and he yelped. She pulled the night vision goggles from her face and put them on her head again. Still, the boy retreated in fear.

The Great Dane broke from the woods across the road and trotted to the boy. It licked his cheeks. Darius buried his face in its tawny fur. “Nikki, you came!”

Blood covered her hands, and she still held the knife and crossbow bolt. Her heart sank as she looked at them. After so many years instilling fear and respect from every man she met, when had she lost her ability to soothe a child?

A gunshot sounded like a thunderclap in the woods.

The pistol is an idiot’s weapon.
One does not need to be faster than a bullet.
One only needs to be smarter than the one who holds the gun.
Distance, a moving target, light, and the gun handler’s fear can all be
used against him. Outsmart the idiot.

PAIN RIPPED THROUGH Raven’s upper arm. The chestnut horse spooked and took off in a gimpy gallop back toward the city, her quiver still attached to the saddle. Raven bit her lip, grabbed her arm, and turned around.

Viscous blood oozed between her fingers, mixing with the drying blood on her hands. The three men ran back into the woods. Part of her wanted to chase them and finish the job. Instead she ground her teeth against the pain. Luck would have it the gun toting bandit was a lousy shot.

Darius’ eyes grew wide as worry replaced the fear that had been there a moment ago. He peeked over the dog’s neck. “Are you all right, Miss Steele?”

“I’m fine, it just grazed me.” She used her teeth to hold the cuff of her purple jacket sleeve so she could rip the fabric from the wrist to her wound.

It was deeper than she thought it would be. She used the sleeve to wrap around the injury hoping to staunch the blood flow. Gregory. It looked like she would be injured after all. Concentrating on slowing her breathing, Raven determined to calm herself. She’d bleed out faster if she let her blood keep pumping this hard.

She reached over her back and gripped the crossbow, pulling it free from her corset. She took the bloodied bolt and nocked it in the bow. One arrow for now, she needed to be prepared. Just in case. The blood on the blade of her knife had begun to dry, so she spit on it as she wiped it on her other sleeve.

The baron watched her with curiosity. “Why are you doing all that?”

“If I don’t keep the blade clean, it will rust.”

“Do you think we’ll get attacked again?”

Raven bit her lip. Should she tell the boy the truth and have him worry? Would a lie be a more appropriate response? She decided that a lie would be worse. Nodding she said, “It’s possible, but I hope not.”

“Me, too.” The boy pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself. He stood next to the Great Dane, and seemed almost small enough to ride the animal like a horse.

Raven’s arm throbbed with every beat of her heart. Prickles of pain shot up and down her side. Blood seeped through the linen she knotted around the deep wound. “Let’s go.”

The couple started down the dirt road at a forced march with the dog walking beside the young baron. A subdued banter between boy and dog played in the background of their walk. Finally Darius turned to Raven and asked, “What’s a reaper?”

She glanced down at him, and tried to sound cheerful in spite of the pain. “Reapers used to be part of the duke’s elite guard. They worked in the capacity of bodyguard and assassin for his highness. It was a great and noble tradition.” Her eyes grew misty. “The fastest, strongest, and most accurate warriors were the only ones in the guard. But they also had to ascribe to the reaper’s way.”

“What does that mean?”

“If a reaper took a life in the capacity of assassin, he was required to actively save a life. It is necessary to keep the scales from tipping him into oblivion.”

“Why do you say he? You’re a girl.”

Raven smiled. “Almost every reaper in history has been a man.”

“Oh. What’s oblivion?”

“It’s a state of mind. Some people loathe the act of killing a person at first, but as they continue to do it, it can feel like a game. They can begin to feel superior, like the winner of the game. But, if the reaper has to save a life for every life they take, it keeps them humble. It’s a matter of subservience so the reaper doesn’t begin to think of himself as stronger than he is.”

“Why are the reapers no longer my father’s guard?”

Raven took a deep, pain-filled breath, but the conversation was working to distract her, so she continued. “When I was a little younger than you, the duke demanded that my father kill a woman, the duchess in fact.”

Darius sucked in his breath. “My father demanded the death of my mother?”

“No, it was your uncle and aunt.”

The boy looked relieved. “I never knew my uncle.”

“He died before you were born, but your brother might remember him.” She shook her head and continued, “Your uncle chose my father for the task because he was the captain of the thirteen reapers. The duke claimed that his wife was unfaithful with no evidence, and the woman denied it flatly. There were no witnesses either way.”

“So did my uncle ban all reapers because your father refused?”

“No, he commanded my father to fulfill the act or the duke would execute my mother and me.” Raven paused for a breath, wincing from the pain.

“What happened?”

“My father took us and fled. The duke had another reaper kill his wife and ordered every reaper to give chase and kill the three of us. No reaper would be allowed in New Haven again until the deed was finished, or he’d kill each reaper’s family. Then he imprisoned all of their wives and children.”

“Did they attack the Duke’s Court in rebellion to get their families back?”

Raven shook her head, a lump tightening her throat. “No. They came after us.”

Darius walked in silence for a few moments, kicking the occasional rock. Raven watched him, trying to soothe the lump before continuing. He seemed taken in by the story but gave her a moment to rest before she continued.

“After only a few months, they found my mother at our new house while my father and I had gone to market. She was shot in the back with a crossbow bolt while she was making dinner. Before we made it back to the house, my father could tell there was something wrong.” She swallowed hard, seeing the scene play out as if she were eight years old all over again.

“He never went anywhere without his weapons. Some reapers used guns, but not my father.” She smiled at Darius. “He always said you don’t have to be faster than a bullet, you just need to be smarter than the man holding the gun.”

Raven’s smile disappeared as she continued, “While he made me wait in the woods, he hunted the men down who’d surrounded the house and killed them. There were eight who died.”

“That’s a lot of lives he’d had to save after.”

Raven laughed and winced as she grabbed her arm. “Yes, my father did a lot of heroic and charitable deeds afterward.”

“So what happened to the other four?”

Her voice cracked as she said, “They found me in the woods.”

Darius sucked in his breath in surprise, causing the Great Dane to whine and tilt its head.

Raven nodded and continued, “They found me in the woods and tied me to a tree. I guess they intended to use me as bait or hold me for ransom. It was near nightfall and the woods had grown dark. Three of the men hid nearby in the shadows while one stood with me in the open.

“I couldn’t see or hear anything but the crickets chirping all around us. Then the man clenching my shoulder yelled, ‘Come out Timothy. Lay down your weapons and we’ll let your daughter live. We’ll lie to the duke and say we killed her. Your head is the only one we must bring back.’”

“What did he do?” Darius’s blue eyes were wide under his mop of sand-colored hair.

“He came out and laid his weapons down in the clearing and backed away. The man holding my shoulder released it and went forward to retrieve them. I could tell even then that my father knew where each of the other reapers was hidden. He turned in circles as he walked forward as if keeping an eye on all of them at once and called out. ‘Release my daughter, now. There is no need for her to see her father die.’

“The man with all my father’s weapons laughed and said, ‘We don’t need her head. I didn’t lie about that, but the duke demanded we bring the scalps of both women. I’m sorry.’

“I expected my father to get upset, but instead he had a peace about him that I couldn’t understand. He said, ‘Bryan, Sam, Jasper, and Monroe, I am giving you one last chance to change your mind. If you leave right now, I won’t have to make amends for killing you.’

“The one at my side snorted and said, ‘I have all your weapons. I counted them. You may have been our captain, but there is no way you could kill us all if you’re unarmed.’

“‘Think again,’ my father said. ‘I gave each of the others the same chance and none took it because their wives and children are imprisoned. But Jasper and Monroe, you have no family. Turn off now, and I’ll let you live. ONE. LAST. CHANCE.’

“Again the woods were silent save the crickets. Then I heard a rustle to my right and saw the tension on my father’s face relax just a little. The man in front of me screamed into the shadows, ‘YOU COWARDS!’ And I saw the fear in his profile.

“Then my father withdrew a kitchen knife from his boot and it hit the man in front of me with a blunt, wet thwack. He fell to the ground. My father rushed into the shadows faster than I’d ever seen a person move. Three gunshots exploded, and I started crying. I covered my eyes, but heard the whistle of a crossbow bolt, and then a man’s scream. After a short time, I felt a hand gently press on my head, and my father’s soft voice saying, ‘It’s all right.’”

Darius eyes were full of unshed tears. “So you lost your mother?”

Raven nodded but tried to show as little emotion as possible. The throbbing in her arm had dulled.

“And your father killed all the reapers?”

“Not quite. Jasper and Monroe didn’t return to New Haven but moved off to Currituck. They began training young men to become what they call ‘reapers,’ but they are more like mercenaries.” Raven crinkled her nose in distaste. “They’ve forgotten the reaper’s first law and have become ruthless instead of humble.”

“Why did your father train you?”

“I trained myself for a time. The new ‘reapers’ never stopped hunting my father. The duke executed the families he held in prison and put a bounty on our heads. We never could stop running throughout my childhood. I think I convinced my father when I was twelve that I needed to be able to take care of myself to some measure. Or maybe he saw some small amount of talent in me. Either way, the training he put me through was grueling. He showed me no lenience as his daughter.”

“When did you stop running?”

Raven heard the faint grinding of metal behind her growing louder in its approach. She stopped and turned her head to the sound. “Your uncle died about ten years ago. I was fifteen, and you hadn’t been born yet. His mind was twisted, and he killed several of his wives. He finally died of a tumor. With no heir, your father became duke. By then, the reapers had become nothing shy of criminals. He ordered reapers to be arrested on sight but lifted the bounty on mine and my father’s heads.”

Darius looked at the road and his eyes grew wider. The scraping metal rose in crescendo and became more distinct. Raven could count them. Six. There were six automated metal horses approaching.

Even the boy could hear them.

Fear is not the enemy.
The enemy’s fear is a great weapon. It will cause him to make poor decisions.
One's fear will do the same unless it is embraced.
If fear is vanquished, it will quicken one's senses and increase strength.

SIX. AND RAVEN only had two weapons. She gritted her teeth and faced the oncoming storm. A breeze picked up and rustled the leaves above her head, causing their golds and oranges to scatter around them like feathers in a childhood pillow fight. She considered hiding in the shadows, but knew it would be nearly impossible to hide the boy and his monstrous dog. The odds were not in her favor, but neither were they impossible. She had no choice but to stand her ground. Without turning her head, she said to the boy, “Run.”

Silver moonlight shined off the brass metal horses as they rounded the bend. The white of the riders’ shirts stated that without question they were Duke’s Guard. The Great Dane let out a slow whine.

He didn’t run? Raven prepared to shout at the boy, but he lay on the ground convulsing and foaming at the mouth. The dog paced around him in a circle, whining. Her heart dropped in her stomach. He’d acted like a normal kid the whole time, and she’d forgotten he’d had a problem. The metal horses stopped, gears within growing to a loud screech. Her eyes darted between the boy and the metal horses.

Steam broke through the polished brass of the horses’ joints and swallowed the guard in a cloud. Men screamed and jumped from the shrieking machines. Billows of vapor rose, sizzling off the brass. It filled the air with the smell of burning grease.

The closest of the horses fell over stiff and unmoving. Raven was flash-blinded as another exploded in a bright blaze and a shower of sparks rained down on the dirt road. The guard scrambled from the chaotic metal fury. But four brass automatons remained in a chaotic stampede toward Raven and the boy.

Her heart beat a rhythm faster than she’d ever felt. If it were a flesh horse rushing at them, she could hope to spook it or shoot it with her crossbow in hopes of making it veer. But the metal horses had no fear, no mind, made no decisions.

Forgetting her wounded arm, she lifted the boy and held him to her chest. She removed the crossbow and aimed it in the direction of the horses. Three horses ran abreast directly for her, unavoidable. The fourth ran behind the others. She pulled the trigger and buried the diamond tipped crossbow bolt in the middle one’s brass knee joint. It collapsed, sliding across the ground and tripping the horse behind it in a tangle of legs that continued to run aimlessly in the air.

The remaining two horses ran within inches of either side of Raven. If she had reached out with both arms, her fingertips would have brushed their metal sides. Heat and steam sprayed them as the two metal horses passed. The screeching grew to a thunderous crescendo. Raven squeezed her eyes shut, and the boy shuddered in her arms.

A cloud of dirt rained on them in the horses’ wake. The dirt stuck to the water droplets covering her arms and face. Another deafening explosion threw her from her feet, and shards of metal pelted her from behind, before she fell on her side. The shrapnel bit into her arms and back. She shielded Darius with her body.

Her ears rang. When the danger had passed, she released the unconscious boy and pulled herself painfully to her feet. A large triangle of brass protruded from her thigh. She winced as she looked the boy over. The only spot of blood on him had come from her arm.

“Raven!” The voice echoed in her head, sounding hollow as if she were under water. “Our orders are to kill you and take the young baron. If you leave the boy and walk away, we’ll let you die of your injuries instead of continuing this fight in futility.”

Raven shook her head and withdrew her knife. She could hardly feel the throbbing in her leg and arm. Blood trickled over her left eyebrow. She squinted and let the droplet fall to her cheek. Six shadows approached, and the Great Dane at her side growled.

Jack Grant winced as he studied the reaper. The cream-colored flesh of her exposed arm and face were streaked with crimson. He imagined if she were wearing any color but black, she’d be covered in blood. She brushed her face with her shoulder and cleared the line of scarlet from her eye like it was sweat. Then her eyes grew wide and wild. She darted into the woods.

Bradley, the youngest recruit in his guard fired a gunshot after her.

“Hold your fire!” Jack yelled as he grabbed the young man by the shoulder. The soldier’s face glowed red from steam-burn, and his wide blue eyes were the color of fear. Jack made a measured shake of his head.

Did she leave? Somehow, he doubted it. Her face held no look of defeat, but rather the calculating scrutiny of a woman with a plan. The outline of Nikki, Darius’s Great Dane, stood over the shadowed lump in the moonlight. Watching the woods around them, and remaining keen to any sound, the guard started slowly for the baron.

Colton pulled up beside Jack, leaning toward him with a hand on the hilt of his sword. A red corded tassel fell over the back of his hand. Dutiful and stalwart, he set his jaw as he said, “I’ll take the rear.”

Jack nodded and led the group in guard formation, his pistol drawn and hanging in a tense grip at his side. No reason to point the gun at the boy or dog. The whirring of the horse’s legs beside them stopped, and the sudden absence of noise seemed foreign. He glanced over his shoulder, and counted only four men behind him. He scanned their faces. “Where’s Colton?”

The men’s faces contorted in confusion as they looked around. Finally Bradley’s voice shook as he said, “He was right behind me, I’m sure of it.”

Jack lifted his pistol and scanned the shadows at the edge of the woods. A faint ringing in his ears refused to silence as he strained to take notice of the slightest rustle. To his left, a twig snapped, and all the men veered their weapons in that direction. When no other sound but his racing heart and labored breathing came, Jack turned toward his men. “Stick together, and keep—”

Three men Harry was missing. He shuddered as he whispered, “How is this possible?”

Bradley’s clear blue eyes were filled with tears. He threw down his gun, collapsed, and covered his face with his hands. Sobs caused his shoulders to move up and down. Rupert looked at the young recruit with a sneer parting his lips and met Jack’s eyes. “What’s this about? How can this be happening, Captain?

Jack hesitated, unsure if he should be honest. “She’s a reaper.”

Smith paled. Bradley’s sobs grew to wails, but Rupert shook his head in disbelief. “The reapers are human—no better than you or I. She is just a woman, not a ghost.”

She was just a woman. Jack gave a firm nod, slapped Bradley in the back, and hissed. “Snap out of it. I don't want to die because you failed to do your job as a soldier. Pick up your weapon and keep your eyes open.”

With a heavy sniffle, Bradley stared wide-eyed at his commanding officer. Snot ran over his upper lip, and his hands shook. He bent down, picked his pistol up from the road, and nodded.

Jack and his three men faced all directions, walking as though they were surrounded. His jaw clenched.

To the right, he saw her dark form, running along as though her feet didn’t touch the ground. All the men turned in that direction, firing a deafening hail of bullets into the trees. They were overcome and needed to bring down the ghost—woman—reaper—whatever she was. Soon the thunderous bangs ceased and were replaced by repetitive clicking. They were out of bullets, Jack knew.

And so did Raven Steele.

She came out of the woods like a black apparition with streaks of blood covering her face and a sword in her hands. The red cord dangled from the end. Colton’s sword. Like a whirlwind, she kicked Rupert in the ear while bringing the hilt of the sword down on Bradley’s head. Jack took a step back and unsheathed his sword. The ring of the blade drew a quick glance of her violet eyes, and her nostrils flared. Her face contorted, took on the appearance of a wild animal.

Wasn’t she injured? How could she move so fast?

Smith stood beside Jack and drew his sword as well. Rupert and Bradley lay motionless on the ground. Jack turned to the girl who appeared to be at least five years younger and fifty pounds lighter. How could she do what she was doing? His voice cracked as he stammered, “What do you want from us?”

Her face changed. It softened and lost some of the animalistic nature for a moment. Her voice cracked as she whispered, “I just want to be left alone.”

Jack shook his head. “As long as you continue with the young baron, I can’t do that.”

Her eyes flashed wildly, like a violent sea storm. “You’ll kill him if I leave him.”

He clenched his jaw, not willing to lie to the girl, but not wanting to admit the truth of what she said, either. “I have to follow my commands.”

She shook her head. “Isn’t there a higher command than the duke’s?”

“We are a sovereign country and do not answer to the Court of Nations.”

She narrowed her eyes and stepped forward. Jack and Smith each took an unconscious step backward. She hissed, “If you answer to no one but the duke, then I have nothing to say to you.”

With a sudden leap forward, she brandished her sword. In the furious fight that followed, Jack took notice of two things quickly. One, the girl could anticipate movements better than any soldier he’d ever practiced with. And two, the girl was using the flat side of her blade. He wondered why she would make such a conscious effort to keep his guard uninjured. Before, he had assumed that the first two guards who had disappeared were killed, but now he wondered.

Her breathing grew labored, but her eyes were no less vivid. The movements of her arms never wavered in strength, and the blows she created bruised him severely. Sweat dripped from his forehead and into his eyes. She landed a blow with her elbow to the back of Smith’s head, and he fell into an unconscious heap.

“One remains,” she whispered and turned toward Jack. The way she held Colton’s sword with both hands barely hinted at her fatigue.

With Smith’s body directly behind her, a maneuver came to his mind. He stepped forward and locked swords with her. Knowing that his only advantages were his strength and weight, he forced her backward, praying she’d forget her footing. As he hoped, she tripped over Smith’s prone form. She flailed in such a motion that he was able to remove the locked swords and toss both weapons free. He caught her by the arm before she hit the ground.

The reaper gripped his wrist. He pulled her upright in a quick tug, feeling his victory. He tasted it on his tongue as he made the motion to grab her by the shoulder. In a movement faster than he’d seen the girl move yet, she gripped his hand between her thumb and forefinger, wrenching it in a direction it shouldn’t have gone. He fell to his knees for the pain and cried out.

“Sorry, Grant,” she whispered.

Through the watery vision of his tears, the dark form of the reaper shadowed the moonlight as she lifted a fist and brought it hard against his temple.

All went black.

Know in whom one can trust, and in whom one cannot.
Expose wounds to one for healing; hide them from the other or die.

DRIED BLOOD CRACKED over Raven’s crusted eyes as she closed them and drew a shallow, painful breath. Stars danced in her vision and filled the blackness behind her lids. Her knees trembled as she fought to stand. The adrenaline that kept her going to this point faded from her grasp like a vaporous mist.

“Raven?” The boy’s voice sounded unsure.

“Darius.” Her voice faltered and squeaked as she opened her eyes again. She made it to her feet.

The young baron stood next to his faithful camel-colored companion. His fear-filled eyes warmed her heart. She smiled through the pain and stepped toward him.

“Are they dead?” he asked.

She shook her head even though the action shot needles along her neck and shoulders. If she spoke, the tears would come. The look of relief on the boy’s face put her at ease and made her feel more certain about her vow to stop the killing.

“What will we do?”

With a deeper, more painful breath, Raven forced herself upright and gauged her surroundings. Through her childhood she had travelled this same road several times to New Haven with Gregory’s family. The road itself did not lead to their house. She needed to find the deer trail near the end of the woods, before they reached the farmland. It couldn’t be much farther.

One of the men behind her moaned, and her heart leapt to her throat. It was enough to make her blood start pumping again. She rushed toward the boy and his dog. “Hurry. This way.”

Each step shot a sharp sting up her leg, but she had no time for pain. She held the pace of a forced march with the boy occasionally hopping into a jog to keep up.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace safe.” Blackness crowded the edges of her vision, framing every direction. Not now. She couldn’t afford to black out now.

“Where?”

She found it, the worn path almost hidden by fallen leaves. An October breeze picked up and chilled her flesh, causing bumps to rise on her now exposed arms. She crossed them, rubbing each forearm. Her second sleeve hung in black tassels, torn and tied to her right thigh to stave off the blood flow. “Come this way.”

When it seemed like they’d been walking the animal trail for almost an hour, she noticed the lack of chatter in the woods. The three of them were causing the leaves to rustle too loudly. Her stealth had fled with her strength, causing her feet to drag. Even her limp had become more pronounced. And who could force a nine-year-old boy and his one hundred-fifty pound dog walk quietly through the woods? She giggled at the thought of it, and suddenly she couldn’t stop laughing.

Just a little farther. Ever notice how that almost sounds like just a little father? Who would have a little father? The world tilted in a see-saw motion. She giggled more.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded her head and collapsed to the ground, face first. The heady scent of earth and rotting leaves assailed her as she embraced the blackness and swimming stars.

“Raven!” The boy shook her shoulder.

The soreness in her arms and back screamed and pressed her to wakefulness, but her legs felt numb, useless. With a series of snapping noises, Darius was removing the crossbow and sword she’d stuck to the magnets on her corset. He pushed her shoulder, helping her turn over. The silver moon shone between the bare branches of the oaks and maples whose leaves made a soft landing for her. Water soaked through her coat. Her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering.

“What can I do? Should I go back to those men?” Darius’s blue eyes shone in the half-light, and tears glistened on his cheeks. He removed his jacket and covered her shoulders, arms, and chest, tucking it on the sides.

Her abdomen tensed, and she couldn’t stop shaking. Through her stiff and clacking jaw she struggled to keep her words steady. “No. Keep to the path. Climb the hill and keep an eye out for it. The path is easy to lose on the other side. Once you’re past the first farmer’s field, you’ll see a rose bush. It will be bare and thorny—no flowers now. But when you see it, turn left and follow the edge of the field. It will be hard to see in the dark, but there’s a house on the right just before you get to the river. Take my night vision goggles. Find that house and get the doctor. He’ll come. Say my name.”

The young baron nodded and ran.

Heavy droplets of rain exploded on Raven’s face and arms. She squinted at the sky. The faintest hint of dawn showed behind the pregnant gray clouds overhead. Cold. The shivering took over, and her teeth ached from chattering. She let herself drift into a semi-conscious state.

Memories and dreams intermingled in this shadowy realm.

“No!” Raven’s father slammed his fist on the table, causing the cup that held his juice to tip and spill the orange liquid over the hardwood table.

Raven jumped. First, as a response to the sound of the slamming fist, and second, to get the dishrag before the juice seeped into the cracks between the planks of the handmade table. She’d never be able to get the sticky, syrupy liquid from between them if they made it past the surface.

At eleven years old, she’d already become more than a daughter to her father. He treated her as an equal. He never talked down to her and respected her opinion. She took on so many of her mother’s domestic duties in the three years since losing her.

Raven pulled herself up to her full height before saying, “Father, I need to know how to protect myself. By refusing to teach me the reaper’s way, you’re leaving me as defenseless as mother was the day she was taken from us.”

His violet-blue eyes shone with unshed tears as they met hers. He pulled the unwashed black hair from his forehead, looking tired from the two days of work. Home for two days, gone for two. Her father returned this time with the pelts of six animals for market.

“If she’d had the heightened senses of a reaper, you know she would have seen them coming. She could have been saved.” Raven’s voice shook from the truth of it, knowing the words pained her father as much as it cut into her own chest.

Raven moaned and shifted, trying to alleviate the pain in her side. The adjustment made her thigh scream and pulled her from her memories. Still, the images of her father putting her in a blindfold for training came back to her. She remembered the bumps and bruises she’d received for weeks before she properly learned to anticipate her father’s sudden attacks. Wooden swords, staffs, crossbows, guns, steam-throwers danced in the shadows of her vision. The exhaustion and the cold drew her back into her memories.

Gregory’s green eyes pleaded with her, his eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t see why you have to go.”

Raven couldn’t help but smile at his bare wrists and ankles. He’d grown too fast over the summer, and hadn’t gotten to New Haven for new clothes. She had to look up into his face now and watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed his sadness. She tried to smile as she said, “I’ll be back as much…as often as I can, but this is something I have to do.”

“School is starting next week. Doesn’t your dad want you to go?”

“This is more important. It would be our last year of school, anyway. You need to concentrate on your studies so you can go to University. I’ve always been a distraction for you.” Her voice softened and her throat grew tight. “Your mom says so.”

“I don’t care.” Gregory wrapped his long arms around her and put his forehead to hers.

She closed her eyes and said, “I do.”

Their foreheads rubbed together as he shook his head. His voice cracked. “You always come back from these trips injured.”

She half-laughed. Every time she and her father returned from a mission, she had a new wound. “Someday I’ll stop being a reaper and marry you.”

“Someday can’t come soon enough.”

When would that day come? Tears mingled with raindrops on Raven’s face. Sobs racked her body until the pain became so unbearable, she welcomed the black curtain of unconsciousness.

Jack squinted as the raindrops beat a gentle drum on his face. Soon the dirt on the road through Red River Forest would become an utter clay mud pit. How long had it been raining? His head ached and warmth flooded his cheeks when he sat up. Pale morning light filtered through the rainclouds above.

The scene of carnage surrounding him, looking worse than it had in the moonlight. The twisted metal bodies of the mechanized horses were tangled together in a pile of spikes and sharpened limbs. His fallen comrades were also awakening one by one, and sat up, each with a hand to his head.

No casualties. It should have been a massacre. Impossible that they still lived. Each of his men stood and gathered together in a group like soaked chicks looking for a hen to sit under. Clenching and unclenching his jaw, Jack continued to sit in the fast forming mud. The wind picked up and chilled his wet shoulders. Two soldiers stumbled from the woods, their clothing stuck to their arms and chest. Harry and Colton seemed uninjured but shaken.

“Why?” Rupert put a voice to the question that flitted around Jacks head like a caged bird.

Jack met eyes with his second-in-command. Lightheaded and dazed, he decided to remain silent.

Rupert’s expression was hard to judge in the half-light. His dark skin and eyes made him look like a shadow against the trees. He sneered as he continued. “Not one of us is injured, except for the fog in our heads. She had Colton’s sword. That blade was cared for and sharpened daily; no one takes better care of their weapon than him. So, why are we still alive?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.” Jack took the arm Rupert extended and pulled himself from the mud with a sucking sound.

The rain fell into his eyes and ran down his face. No need to brush off. The rain would soon wash the soiled clothes.

“There will be no trail to follow, now with the rain.” Rupert shook his head and stood with his hands on his hips.

“That’s for certain.”

Bradley came over, shivering from head to toe. His teeth chattered as he asked, “What will we do now?”

Jack ventured a glance in the direction Raven and Darius had likely gone. He longed to go after them, but felt unsure in so many ways. How would it be different this time? What could he do to alter the outcome? A mistake learned from is an experience. A failure is when you learn nothing from your mistake. He shook his head, the gears turning to figure out what needed to change.

Colton interrupted his thoughts. The pale, blonde soldier’s high cheekbones hinted at his relation to the nobility, but his wet hair stuck like straw to his wrinkled brow. “Captain, have you seen my sword?”

Keep a distance.
Even a friend can become an enemy in an instant.
Know when it’s time to hide wounds even from a friend.

RAVEN ACHED ALL over. Not one part of her body settled without screaming in pain. She steeled herself and opened her eyes, meeting the southern apple-green eyes of Dr. Gregory Patrick. A taut smile stretched her lips. It hurt.

“Gregory.” Her voice cracked and sounded foreign to her own ears. Her throat was too dry.

“Hey, you. Do you always have to show up on my doorstep half-dead?”

One small chuckle shook her frame, and she winced in the pain. It hurt to laugh.

“Easy, Raven. Your body needs a lot of recovery.” Gregory stood and backed away from the side of the bed.

She recognized the plain stucco ceiling overhead as that of Gregory’s family farmhouse. The unadorned white walls glowed bright in the light of the sun from the bay window. From the kitchen in the house she knew by heart, the smell of cookies rose to her bedside. Gregory’s mother, Mrs. Patrick, had always baked when she came for a visit, but his mother had been gone for almost four years now. A warm feeling enveloped her as she thought of Gregory baking them for her.

“You’ve had me quite worried.” His eyebrows knit together in a stern line. He pushed a tendril of her hair from her forehead, and she loved the cool brush of his fingertips. “You’ve been asleep for three days.”

“Sorry.” She mouthed the word, but the breath to say it stopped behind the lump in her throat.

“I know you are, Raven, but don’t be.” He rested his hand on her shoulder, and his firm expression fled. “We’ve been taking good care of you and of Darius.”

We? Raven wondered who else he could mean. Mr. and Mrs. Patrick had been gone for years. It had been too long since Raven’s last visit. Her last mission had taken two years to fulfill. She wondered if he might have gotten some help in the meantime.

“I’ll fetch you a broth. You must be hungry.”

She nodded, but her throat cried for liquid. The intravenous needle might be putting fluid directly into her bloodstream, but it did nothing to squelch her insatiable thirst. Gregory tripped over the threshold as he headed for the door but caught himself at the doorjamb. Best doctor in the countryside, and still didn’t know where his two feet were.

A moment later, the tawny Great Dane loped into the room and jumped up, putting her front end on Raven’s gut. She winced and closed her eyes to the sudden pain and gasped for breath.

“Nikki!” Darius bolted into the room after his dog.

Raven squeezed her eyelids as a giant pink tongue accosted her face. After receiving a shove with her needle-free right arm, the Great Dane dismounted her bed. Raven couldn’t help but smile. “Hi, Baron Darius, how are you doing?” Her voice sounded gruff and unfamiliar.

“Me? I’m fine. It’s you I’ve been worried about for three days!” The boy looked exasperated, and his blue eyes were glistening. He had a cup in his hand.

“No need to worry about me—I’m sure the doctor is taking good care of me, as always.” She took the cup and swallowed a quick sip.

“Have you seen his basement? He has a laboratory larger than my father’s alchemist!” Darius leaned his elbows into the side of the bed.

She nodded and set the cup on the bedside table. “Medicine is a strange mixture of science and alchemy these days, and that laboratory used to be Gregory’s father’s.”

“He told me.”

The sound of boots approaching on the hardwood floor of the hallway caused them both to turn to the doorway in anticipation. Like an impatient puppy, Nikki bounded out the door to greet Gregory before he made it to the room.

Lifting his arm higher to keep the dog from the tray he held in his hand, the doctor chuckled as he entered. His green eyes shone like emeralds, and his dimples showed in his smile. Her heart leapt. He’d removed his jacket and vest, his red suspenders exposed in an intimate way. It reminded Raven of how his father would snap the same red straps as he’d talk to punctuate his sentences. The sleeves on Gregory’s white linen shirt were rolled up to the elbows, exposing his forearms. They were no longer the thin, awkward, adolescent arms she had remembered. His arms showed the strength and dexterity of the man he’d become. “I hope you’re in the mood for a cookie or two.”

Before she could nod, Darius leapt to his feet. “Yes!” He looked at Raven, clapping his hands gently in his excitement. “These are the best things I’ve ever eaten. Have you ever had a chocolate chip cookie?”

She raised an eyebrow and asked, “Are you telling me you’d never had a cookie before?”

He shook his head, his enthusiasm wavering.

“Well, it makes no difference,” she assured him. “If Gregory is using his mother’s old recipe, it would still be one of the best things you’d ever eaten.”

She smiled at Gregory. Her smile faltered as his face grew pale and his green eyes, uncertain. The genuine smile he’d had a moment before seemed frozen in a half-grimace. The jovial mood turned awkward for a moment, and it set Raven’s teeth on edge.

Feet padded in the hallway.

Out of the corner of her eye, she found her crossbow and the red corded sword handle. Automatically she judged her ability to reach them. Were they followed? The footsteps were well hidden by slippers and seemed lighter than a man’s usual tread. Was it a reaper, trained in silencing techniques? She gripped the sheet and coverlet, preparing to jump from the bed.

A shocking yellow gingham dress rounded the corner, and the enemy’s voice was light and lilting. “Oh, wonderful. The patient is awake.”

The sudden sting of tears behind Raven’s eyes needed blinking away. She’d come so close to killing this woman. The thought of what she would have done if her weapons were closer or her body less stiff. She’d never killed accidently before.

“Yes, Amelia, our patient is.” Gregory’s grimace didn’t quite leave as he took a step back and placed an arm around the woman’s shoulders.

With the action, a lump formed in Raven’s throat. It was a servant, right? A nurse?

Raven did her best to convince herself of this untruth, even as another question inside bubbled up. Why does he have his arm around this woman?

“Excellent. It’s been so long since I’ve had a female for company in this isolated farmhouse. I tell Gregory all the time we should sell it and move to the city. His practice would grow so much faster there. Don’t you agree?”

The woman’s words registered themselves in Raven’s brain faster than she could deny them. The pain of realization made her feel faint. She fell back into her pillows and closed her eyes. If she couldn’t see it, would it go away? Foolishness. The lies a child would tell herself. She forced her eyes open again.

Gregory held Amelia’s hand as he said, “Dear, I think it’s too much for her right now. Maybe you can converse with her later?”

“Oh of course, she’s just woken. Darius, please bring Nikki into the kitchen. I’m preparing ox tail broth for our patient, and I’m sure your dog will enjoy a bone or two.” With a smile and a gentle wave of her hand, she gathered the boy and his brown shadow and left in the same sing-song way she’d entered.

“Who?” Raven could barely stammer the word.

Gregory swallowed hard, his hands clasped as though they were handcuffed in front of him. “Amelia is my wife. We were married in the spring, six months ago.”

“Oh.” Raven screamed inside. Her heart shattered in so many sharp pieces, they cut the insides of her ribcage as they fell to her stomach. She wanted to sob. But instead, she found herself smiling and saying, “That’s wonderful.”

Gregory’s smile grew impossibly wide as he knelt at her bedside, holding the side. “Thank you. I had hoped you’d both become friends. Amelia is so lonely here. Won’t you stay awhile?”

Raven clenched and unclenched her jaw, hiding behind the puppet-like smile on her face. The old standby came out automatically. “I have a mission.”

His face fell, and his words came out terse. “Of course. How long?”

She closed her eyes and assessed her pain. “How long will it take me to heal?”

Raven felt him push off from the bed as he stood again. His voice took on the clinical tone his father used to use with his patients. “The blood transfusions were successful, and the stitches seem to be taking. With your strong constitution, you should be up and about in less than a week. However, you’ll need to stay a fortnight before I can remove your stitches.”

She nodded, her hair knotting on the pillow. A fortnight worried her. The rain should have washed away any tracks. The doctor’s house sat so far off the main roads, she hoped the guards would believe she’d never come this way. She opened her eyes. His back was turned to her, as if he studied the picture on the wall. Betraying his unhappiness, his hands fidgeted behind his back.

“Do you know who Darius is?” Her voice cracked as she asked. She felt hollow inside, resigned to the fact he didn’t love her anymore.

“The only Darius I would know of is the young baron. Surely there are more boys named Darius in New Haven.”

“He is the baron, Gregory. I’m to take him to the Wood Witch.”

He spun on his heel to face her. “What on earth for?”

Raven sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. “Medicine, science, and even alchemy do not hold all the answers. Sometimes things happen that can’t be explained.”

“Like what?”

“The heir apparent has asked I take that boy to the Wood Witch in the hopes his demon can be removed.”

Gregory laughed. “Demon?”

Raven nodded.

“Surely you must be joking. How could a nine-year-old boy harbor a demon, even if there were such a thing?”

“I didn’t want to believe it either. And maybe there is a scientific explanation for what happens to the boy, but I’ve seen it happen twice.”

Gregory’s eyebrows knitted. “Seen what happen twice?”

“Machines, especially automatons…malfunction around him.”

“That’s got to be purely coincidental.”

“Apparently it happens often enough that the boy’s father wants him dead.”

Gregory paled. “The duke? Killing his own son? You must be joking.”

“No. The boy has been to the bishop for a failed exorcism. The Wood Witch is his last hope.”

“The Wood Witch is a gross exaggeration of good alchemy gone bad.” Gregory shook his head. “The fact the exorcism failed should be evidence for an explanation other than demon possession.”

“It makes no difference,” Raven said with a yawn. “I have a mission I was paid to complete, and in three days I’ll be out of your hair.” She neglected to mention the fact she’d lost the payment when the horse ran off.

“Three days is hardly a fortnight.” Gregory said through clenched teeth as he paced the floor. “You can’t just do whatever you want to, Raven. You’re not a teenager anymore. Your father isn’t even around to care if you’re becoming the kind of reaper he wanted you to be. You are killing yourself for no reason. When will you stop this?”

Her eyes stung and her chest tightened. She had wanted to stop. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him. But she was too late. How much had changed in the past two years? She had no need for stopping now.

At least when she was on a mission she felt confident in her abilities. She had no idea how to keep a home. Would she get bored? She could hardly console the nine-year-old boy in her care. What kind of mother would she be? She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see his green eyes boring into her soul as they always did.

She could be strong and not show her weakness. It was one thing she knew she was very good at. She finally answered in a nonchalant tone. “Maybe never.”

If the enemy knows one's weakness, he can use it to his advantage.
If  a stone lodges in one's shoe, do not limp. Walk with head held high.
Run if need be.

SHE WANTED TO run. Three days later, Raven walked the row between the fields, ignoring the searing ache in her thigh. That pain was miniscule in comparison to the vacant place in her chest where her heart used to be. Boy and dog bounded in front of her, stretching their legs after such a long time cooped in the farmhouse. With his haircut and farm boy overalls, Darius no longer looked like a baron. She smiled at his brilliant, unplanned disguise.

The doctor walked with her. “Wait at least a week before you think of removing those stitches. Please get as much rest as you can.” He stopped walking for a moment and whispered, “I wish you’d stay.”

Could he make the void in her chest hurt worse? Raven doubted it. She kept walking, forcing him to jog two steps to catch up.

“What is your plan?”

She swallowed. If he were found out by the guard and questioned, she would rather he knew nothing. Besides, who knew how trustworthy his prattling young wife would be? She could let a word or two go by without a thought of how it would affect things. After spending three days with the woman, Raven judged her a definite gossip. She decided that since she hadn’t completely made up her mind yet, it wouldn’t be a lie. “I’m not sure.”

Gregory nodded as if he knew she chose not to say.

“Gregory!” Amelia called him from the porch. Did she fear he might not return?

“Well, I’ll leave you to your path then. It’s not as if you wouldn’t know the way.”

Raven stopped and turned to him. She didn’t know if she’d be able to speak. The words she had travelled all this way to tell him were still hiding on her tongue, wanting to break free from the prison of her lips. Instead she said, “Thank you.”

His half-smile reminded her of the hundred times they’d said good-bye in the past. “I won’t let her talk me into moving. I will always be here for you.”

His reassurance washed over her with more relief than she’d have thought possible. She smiled and said, “Then I’ll be back.”

“And maybe you won’t be half-dead, next time.”

“Maybe.” She turned on her heel and withheld the urge to run again. The boy and dog waited at the bramble of the rose bush. She met them there, sneaking a peek back. Her doctor hadn’t left his spot yet, even with his wife calling his name again.

“Which way do we go?” the boy said breathlessly. His face had gained some color after nearly a week of doing farm chores with the doctor’s wife.

Raven glanced back at Gregory and watched him turn away. Happy that she could make the decision without him watching, she looked both ways down the field rows. The late afternoon sun had dipped below the boundary of trees. They had a few hours of diminishing daylight left.

The Duke’s Guard would still be looking for them along the road, so they’d have to take the wooded paths. Raven decided to go to the one place they wouldn’t be searching. She turned right and started back toward New Haven.

Jack Grant hated his latest mission. There could hardly be a viler town in all of the duke’s reign than Channing. The cobblestones of the street were slippery, damp, and uneven, making the walk difficult. It seemed the seaside city had a perpetual layer of fog. Accosted by the smell of refuse and human waste, Jack held a sleeve to his mouth with left hand, while his right rested on the butt of his pistol. Rupert and Colton held the same stance as they made way for the tavern.

Over the past week of searching, Jack had mulled over the fact that the woman, a trained assassin, spared their lives rather than taking them. The woman had moved faster than any of the guard, and she’d been injured. Jack shook his head as he thought about the grotesque shard of brass protruding from her leg as she’d first run into the woods.

His conscience could not agree with what he was about to do. But orders were orders. And as captain of the guard, Jack always followed them to the letter.

The smell of vomit, alcohol, and urine grew worse within. The dim lighting of the interior seemed bright in comparison to the spotted gaslight outside. Two musicians played a gentle, broken ballad that feigned an upbeat tempo. Iron bars stood between the band and the general crowd, as though the owner feared the tempers of his patrons should they dislike the choice in music.

Removing his sleeve from his face, Jack straightened and stepped up to the bar. “Tender, I’m looking for Jasper Hollow.”

The barkeep stopped wiping the grimy top with his yellow stained rag. He peered at the guards with his one brown eye. The other, covered in an amalgam of glass and steel, spun as if focusing on Jack in particular. “Who’s asking?”

“The duke has sent us with a mission for him.”

Two grey brushy eyebrows rose like wooly caterpillars ready to climb over the bartender’s bald head. “What business would the duke have with a reaper?”

Jack swallowed hard but wished he’d spat instead. “I’ll tell Hollow himself and no other.”

The bartender’s face showed no mirth, but his belly bobbed up and down with his laughter. His raspy laugh stopped suddenly as the bartender slapped a wide hand on the table. The resounding smack caused even the band to pause for a moment before they continued.

Jack suddenly found the tip of a short sword under his chin, pressing against his throat. Rupert and Colton both drew their guns on the bartender. The barkeep had moved as fast as the woman, and Jack knew before the man even said it.

“You’re talking to him.”

Jack swallowed and felt the tip of the sword break his skin. “The duke offers you free access to all his territories and a full pardon if you will complete his task.”

A smile grew across the man’s unshaven cheeks, exposing his brown, checkered teeth. “And that would be?”

Jack tightened his jaw. He hated himself for what he was about to do. “Recover Baron Darius of New Haven and kill Raven Steele, the reaper.”

FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS NEXT:

The Chronicles of Steele: Raven is a steampunk fantasy novel that was over two years in the making. I’m so glad it’s finally making it to your hands! It has been written in four episodes which will be released about 2 weeks apart and FREE on the day of release. To find out when the next episode is available, please sign up for my spam-free mailing list at:

http://paulinecreeden.com

~*~

Word of mouth is crucial for Indie authors to succeed, so if you enjoyed this story, please take a moment to write a review on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Goodreads.  By sharing your feelings in a review, on your blog, on Twitter, or with a friend, you support this book.

Find Pauline Creeden online:

Like on Facebook: http://facebook.com/PaulineCreeden

Or Follow on Twitter: http://twitter.com/P_Creeden