Reaper Read Free Page A

hissed in surprise but Piotr didn't turn around. Just ahead, a few feet past a copse of skeletal oaks, Piotr watched the shadows shift.
    Moving forward in the sliding hunter stalk Lily had taught him ages ago, Piotr balanced on the balls of his feet and shifted his toes under the crackling debris of the street. This slow stride made no noise and the relaxed stance of the shadow at the edge of the alley left Piotr confident that his presence had not yet been noted; he would easily be able to sneak up on the unwelcome visitor.
    Rounding the corner, Piotr found himself face to rotting face with a black-robed Walker. The beast was, like all Walkers, grotesquely tall, slim, and bone white. Sections of its face were beginning to stretch against its bones, the desiccated flesh pulling taut against the ridge of cheekbone and jaw. Yellowing teeth clicked in a rough staccato as Piotr leapt forward, knife thrust outward, and stabbed the Walker in the shoulder.
    “It dares!” hissed the Walker, swatting Piotr aside as if he weighed nothing. “The useless Rider flesh tries to sneak up on me!”
    Unable to catch his balance, Piotr slapped hard against the side of the building, and cursed as the jagged bricks of the corner cut his left cheek in an irregular swath from nose to ear. He swiped the back of his hand against the wet spill of essence that sluiced down his chin and soaked his collar. Luckily his short flight and abrupt landing hadn't jarred the knife out of his hand. The bone blade wasn't even nicked.
    “ Ny ti i svoloch ’,” Piotr ground out, tightening his grip on the dagger, feeling the well-worn heft of it shift perfectly in his palm. “Of course, you must excuse me, but I just have this thing about foul dogs dropping in uninvited.”
    “You left this territory, flesh.” The Walker stretched to its full height and swayed above Piotr menacingly. The hem of its robe fluttered about the yellow-bone shins, dangling hunks of rotting flesh slapping against its calves as it swayed left and right, left and right. “Riders are all gone. This land belongs to Walkers now.”
    “Over my dead body,” Piotr snapped and dove for the Walker again. This time the once-man didn't even bother flinging him off—it merely let out a sound like grinding glass over asphalt, the best its stripped vocal cords could make of a laugh, and stood there while Piotr stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. Then it lifted its arms to reveal the swiss cheese he'd made of its cloak…and the skeletal frame beneath. None of his swipes had broken the taut, stretched flesh.
    Piotr fell back a step to analyze the situation. This Walker was far tougher than he was accustomed to, and smarter. Usually a solitary Walker would run rather than risk its precious skin in a fight. So why was this one staying, mocking him? Since there were no Lost nearby, there was no reason to…
    Stilling, Piotr went cold all over. It'd been weeks since he'd had a child, a Lost, to protect, and he'd forgotten all about Jamie in the heat of the fight! Spinning on his heel, Piotr rushed back around the corner to where he'd left the boy.
    Jamie was gone. Only his cap, rapidly fading, remained.
    Growling, Piotr scooped up the cap and scanned the area, hoping against hope that he'd hear a distant scream that would lead him in the right direction. The last of the cap, the tiny bit of Jamie's spiritual essence remaining, lost coherence. His fingers pressed together, and it was gone.
    Jamie was gone.
    Sick to his stomach with guilt, Piotr staggered a few steps away from the building, paying distant attention to the shadow at his back. The Walker was still laughing as it turned the corner and rested against the wall, the edges of its frayed hood trembling with glee.
    “Rider loses something? So sad!” crooned the Walker. “Perhaps he is waylaid. It happens.” The Walker was too nonchalant. It wasn't afraid of him in the least, which meant it had either recently fed well or it wasn't