Page 4 of Shades of Silver City

“Wait.” He reaches for me, his other hand going for the gun in his waistband and pulling it free.

“I’m out,” I say, putting my palms up in a placating gesture, but I hesitate. Even in the dim lighting, I can make out how vibrantly, stunningly golden his eyes are…just as gold as the aura radiating from his body. For a second, I’m stunned silent. But that can’t be right. It’s just the lighting. “Please, just let me get to work.”

“You saw him.” His eyes narrow.

I shake my head. “I saw nothing. I won’t call the Scouts either. Swear.”

“You saw the Reaper.”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “Didn’t see—”

“Quiet,” he orders in a low voice, staring at me.

“Really,” I whisper, “this isn’t my business.”

He cocks his head, then rakes his eyes over my body, scrutinizing me.

“Can you please put the gun away at least?” I nod to the weapon in his hand, fear freezing me in place. Yeah, there is no way his soul-shade is gold. No way. Am I hallucinating? “Okay, okay. I’ll be quiet.”

He blinks a few times, as if trying to understand my words. I shrug, pressing my lips together and adhering to his command to be quiet.

“Come with me,” he demands. His intense, unblinking gaze bores into me, on the verge of being creepy.

Glancing at the gun in his hand, I back away.

“Yo, she ain’t breathing!” someone nearby yells. “Call it in.”

“Fuck this,” I mutter.

I turn toward the alley’s entrance, eyeing the girl’s body. At some point, the thing devouring her soul disappeared. I take my chance to turn and flee, betting on the fact that this Nightcrawler won’t shoot me in front of witnesses.

And if he does, well, it’s been real.

But no one will miss me.

Not even Reed.

The thought leaves me hollow.

Not even Reed will miss me.

I take off and leap over the poor girl’s prone body, wondering if anyone will miss her.

A couple of people standing near the girl stare at me in disbelief as I burst from the mouth of the alley onto Pub Path. They call for me to stop, but I ignore them.

“We’re calling the Scouts!” one of them shouts after me.

I glance over my shoulder, locking eyes with the gangster as he joins the couple beside the dead girl.

Why isn’t he running, too?

Don’t care.

I pump my arms, running as fast as I can to The Rising Star.

When I get there, I practically throw myself through the door, doubling over to catch my breath. A few curious eyes turn my way, but with all the strange shit that occurs in this city, my frenzied entrance ranks low on the list of unusual things.

The place is bustling, with each booth and high-top table occupied. The bar is devoid of any vacant stools. The weathered, beer-stained wood beneath my feet evokes a comforting sense of familiarity. My anxiety is eased slightly by the chatter and laughter of customers.

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