Page 19 of Shades of Silver City

It doesn’t work.

My attacker digs his fingers into my wrist, hitting a pressure spot that causes my hand to spasm and the bat to fall from my hand. He catches it with preternatural speed before it hits the ground, then tosses it onto a pile of trash beside us. It lands atop the plastic with a soft whoosh, releasing a burst of rancid air.

I continue squirming, forcefully bringing my heel down onto his toes. But it seems to have no effect on him.

Throwing my elbows backward, I flail around desperately. The pressure against my mouth builds as his other hand wraps around my waist. I’m pulled against a firm body. He hugs me close to him, tightening his arms around me like iron chains. The scent of leather and grass fill my nostrils.

A newly familiar scent.

My heart drops.

“Quiet,” a low voice whispers in my ear. “Trust me.”

“Trust you?” At least, that’s what I try to say. Instead, it comes out as a muffled “shush shoo” against his leather glove.

“Stop for one second,” the voice says, growing irritated.

As I continue squirming, my captor sighs heavily. His warm breath tickles my ear.

The man’s body is solid with muscle, and I’m not strong enough to disentangle myself from him, even with my scrappy upbringing.

It doesn’t stop me from trying though. I flail, jerking my head back and trying to slam my skull into his nose. He outmaneuvers me.

A dark, hooded figure steps seemingly out of thin air and starts sauntering toward the men from the bar. My body melts, temporarily giving up the fight as I watch.

The figure moves unhurriedly toward the two drunkards.

The Reaper.

A long, dark robe covers his entire body, and a hood encases his head, making it impossible to get a look at his face. From this distance, he almost appears to be nothing more than an ominous shadow.

“Will you be quiet now?” my captor asks.

When I nod, he slowly removes his hand from my mouth. My breaths come in rapid, silent gasps as I watch the scene before me with wide eyes.

When the Reaper reaches the men, he pauses, turning his back to us. He tilts his head forward, and a faint hum fills the air. I squint, barely able to make out what’s happening. The grey fog surrounding the men wafts toward the hooded figure.

The Reaper is taking their souls…while they’re alive.

My body goes slack, and my knees give out. If it wasn’t for the stranger’s arm around my waist, I’d be on the ground. But he holds me steady.

Not again.

Bile rises in my throat. I swallow it down. He’s going to kill them. I can’t let that happen.

“Sto—!” The hand slaps back onto my mouth right as the Reaper pauses and looks in my direction. I’m yanked backward into a dark doorway, out of sight of the alley. I thrash against the man restraining me.

“For the love of Sirius,” my captor hisses. An annoyed grunt escapes him. “Believe it or not,” he mutters, “I’m sorry for this.”

There’s some rustling and a tiny clatter—like a piece of plastic hitting the floor.

“Muhh ah—” I try to respond through his leather-covered hand, using my fingers to pry it away. But there’s a prick on my neck, and my arms fall limp at my sides.

The world—already dark around me—melts into a void. The vigorous thumping of my heart fades to something shallower, steadier. And then I’m scooped up into strong arms while a stern voice mutters something that sounds like “Would’ve been easier if my glamour worked.”

The first thing that hits me when I wake up is how much my shoulders burn. When I try to move my arms, I find them bound behind my back. A weight surrounds my midsection and my ankles, tethering me to a steel surface.

Fear tiptoes up my spine, bringing me back to full consciousness.

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