My Reaper's Daughter (28 page)

subject was in order. “What can you tell me about any magic-sayers who might be

practicing at Sagewood?”

The plantation owner cocked a thick left brow. “Magic-sayers?” he repeated. He cut

his eyes to the door where his housekeeper had suddenly appeared. His eyes narrowed.

“Leilani, have you been out in that blasted rain?”

Ducking her head, the woman of color ventured into the room with a tray that held

two cups of coffee. “I remembered I had not banked the fire in my stove, sir,” she said.

“After what happened at Aunt Bertha’s cabin, I didn’t want to take any chances.”

Simmons gave her a hard look as she set the Reaper’s cup on the table beside him.

Briefly the gaze of the plantation owner and his employee met then both looked quickly

away.

“Smart thinking,” Simmons mumbled as he accepted his cup from Leilani.

Bobbing a brusque curtsy, Leilani turned and left the room, a hard gleam in her

eyes and a tight grin on her lips.

Glyn took a sip of his coffee and then another, nodding his approval of the rich,

robust taste. “Now that’s a cup of coffee,” he pronounced.

Simmons’ lips twitched. “Unlike any you’ve ever had I’d venture to say,” he agreed

as he took a sip of his own beverage.

“Fresh ground?”

Simmons acknowledged that it was. He sat back in his chair with his cup balanced

on one large thigh. “Tell me, Glyn. Why are you asking about magic-sayers?”

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Resisting the urge to gulp the delicious brew and ask for more, Glyn told his host

what the consensus among the Shadowlords had been.

“Zombies?” There was laughter in Simmons’ gray gaze. “And I thought Freddie

Tolliver over at Burnt Pine was full of shite with his talk of the living dead.”

“The victims aren’t dead,” Glyn explained. “Just under the influence of drugs and a

very strong magician.”

“Aye, but even so, you must admit it seems so gods-be-damned farfetched, don’t

you think?” Simmons asked.

“I’ve seen a lot of things that would astound you, Mr. Simmons,” Glyn replied.

“Tony,” Simmons corrected. “My friends call me Tony.”

Feeling uneasy calling the man by his given name, Glyn remained silent. He

finished off the last of his coffee and set the cup on the table between the two chairs.

“Would you like a refill?” Simmons asked, his eyes glittering.

“I don’t mind if I do,” Glyn said, and flinched as the housekeeper suddenly

appeared with pot in hand. “Thank you, milady.”

“My pleasure,” she said in a throaty voice, and shifted her gaze to Simmons for a

brief moment.

“I wish I could help you, Glyn,” Simmons said. “But I know nothing about the

religious practices of my people. Perhaps if you ask around, you might learn something

that will be of help, but I’ve not heard of there being any magic-sayers at Sagewood.”

He got to his feet. “I hate to run but I was on my way to the barn when you arrived. I’ve

a new foal about to pop out and I’d like to be there.”

“Of course,” Glyn said. He took a hasty sip of his coffee, loathe to let the rest of it go

to waste.

“No, don’t rush!” Simmons said, reaching out to put a heavy hand on the Reaper’s

shoulder. “Stay and enjoy your coffee. Perhaps you and your fellow Reapers will join us

for supper this evening?”

“I’ll have to ask Kiel and Jaborn.” He got to his feet, politely shrugging away the

hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“Oh, I’m always delighted when Phelan can join me and I look forward to a

companionable evening with you and the gentleman who accompanied you to our fair

territory.” He put out his hand to grip Glyn’s. “May the Wind be at your back.”

“And at yours,” Glyn responded, shaking the planter’s massive paw of a hand.

“Take good care of him, Leilani,” Simmons ordered, giving his housekeeper a

steady look.

“I will, sir,” Leilani replied. “I most certainly will.”

Glyn felt uncomfortable staying any longer as the plantation owner strode smartly

from the room. He looked longingly at the remaining coffee in his cup then headed for

the door.

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My Reaper’s Daughter

“Lord Kullen?” the housekeeper whispered, reaching out to put a tentative hand on

his sleeve.

“Aye?”

Leilani moved closer to him. “If you want to know about magic-sayers at

Sagewood, I…” She looked about as though they were being watched then lowered her

voice. “If you’ll come to my cabin in half an hour, I might be able to point you in the

right direction.” She plucked at his sleeve. “But don’t tell no one where you’re going.

Please?”

He nodded. His kind were used to people telling them things on the sly—things

they wanted others not to know they’d told. He asked directions to her cabin then

followed her to the foyer, waiting for her to fetch his hat and slicker.

“Please don’t tell anyone, milord,” she said again as she held his coat for him.

“You have my word,” he told her.

Once outside, the Reaper stared into the pouring rain, hating having to get back out

in it. He swung his head to the left—searching for the cabin with the blue shutters—and

found himself looking into the brutal eyes of the man he knew to be Sagewood’s

foreman—John Dirk. Dirk was only a few feet away on the porch, leaning against a

column, a glowing cheroot at his lips.

“Stay away from my woman,” Dirk snarled as he exhaled a long plume of smoke.

Glyn bristled at the gravelly command. “And what woman is that?” he ground out.

“Leilani is mine,” the tall man stated, and flicked the cheroot into the rain. “I’ll slit

the throat of any bastard who tries to take her from me.”

“Mystery Butler is my intended,” Glyn told the rugged foreman. “She’s the only

woman I want.”

Dirk blinked. “You shitting me, lawman?” he demanded, taking a step closer, his

spurs clanking on the wooden floor.

Glyn made no reply. He simply stared the foreman down until Dirk ran the back of

his hand over his mouth and gave one short nod.

“I guess we understand one another,” the tall man said.

Silent still, Glyn tugged the brim of his hat down and stepped off the porch, swung

into the saddle and kicked his mount into motion. He could feel Dirk’s heated gaze on

his back and rode past the row of cabins, angry that he’d have to double back and sneak

into the housekeeper’s cabin to keep unwanted trouble from tagging along behind him.

He cursed heatedly, hating the rain even more.

* * * * *

Confiding in the cook that she wasn’t feeling well, Leilani feigned a migraine and

left the main house, hurrying out the kitchen door because she’d heard John Dirk

speaking to the Reaper on the porch. Though she hadn’t been able to make out what the

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foreman said, she hadn’t missed the tone of voice he’d used. As uneasy as he made her

at the best of times, she didn’t want to encounter him when he was in what the

inhabitants of Sagewood called one of his moods.

Hurrying through the rain, needing to have things ready for when her visitor

arrived, she was nevertheless soaked through by the time she unlocked her door and

slipped inside. Though she wanted to light a lantern, she didn’t want Dirk seeing the

glow and coming to investigate. Instead, she made sure the curtains were tight over the

windows and added a blanket to each to capture any errant beam that might find its

way from the hastily lit candles to which she struck a match.

Working as quickly as she could, she had just finished her preparations when she

heard the scrape of a boot on the shallow porch. When the light rap came at her door,

she ran her hands down her gown, over her hair. She picked up a small bowl from the

table and held it behind her back as she hastened to let her visitor in.

“Hurry!” she said, reaching out to grab the Reaper’s arm with her free hand and

pull him into the murky interior of her cabin.

“No one is about, wench,” he told her. “I made sure of that.”

“There are eyes out there even one of your kind can’t sense,” she said as she shut

the door.

Glyn felt a slight nudge of apprehension shift through him but he cast it aside. He’d

been on edge ever since he’d left the main house and was getting antsier by the

moment. He blamed too much coffee on his nervous condition.

“What did you want to tell me?” he asked. For whatever reason, he felt acutely

claustrophobic closed in the small cabin with the woman of color. The aversion to

confinement was a condition shared by all his kind and he wondered what was causing

it so strongly in him at that moment. He could almost feel the walls moving toward

him, squeezing the air out of the limited space.

Leilani came toward him—a smile on her dark face. She brought her hand from

behind her and held the bowl out to him. “Do you know what this is?” she asked.

Glyn looked down at the bowl but in the low light could see nothing but darkness

in the small white china bowl. His brows drew together. “Should I?”

“Smell it,” she ordered.

He didn’t hesitate, bending bent forward over her offering. The moment he did, she

blew a hard breath over the bowl and a shower of powder flew into his face, blinding

him. He sucked in a shocked breath, drawing the fine particles into his mouth and nose.

He staggered back, rubbing both hands vigorously over his face to rid himself of the

stinging, cloying feel. He gasped, the dust invading his entire body, and then he went

down hard, his knees striking the wooden floor loudly. The last thing he saw through

watering eyes was the woman grinning.

* * * * *

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Standing over his scrying glass, John Dirk roared with unbridled rage at the picture

he saw materializing across the slick surface. He shot up from the table—overturning it

and all the accoutrements of his evil trade. Staggering to the door, he tried to open it but

the portal would not budge.

“No.”

The one word of denial was a mighty echo in his brain, so loud it nearly drove him

to his knees.

“She’s mine!” John Dirk bellowed.

“Let her have him.”

“No! She’s mine! He can not touch her!”

“Let her have him,”
the voice thundered.

John Dirk crashed to his knees, rocking back and forth in his agony. “She’s mine,”

he whimpered. “He must not touch her.”

“He will not lay a hand upon her,”
the voice cooed to him.
“It is she who does the deed.”

Tears rolled unheeded down the tall man’s weathered cheeks. “But why?” he

moaned, and his tone was that of a lost child.

“To make him suffer,”
was the reply.

Pulling at his hair, John Dirk fell to his side and drew his legs up. “I want him to

suffer,” he cried.

“He will,”
Raphian, the Destroyer of Men’s Souls replied.
“And when his seed is sown,

you will take it from her and sacrifice it to me. Then I will own Glyn Kullen!”

The tall man didn’t question the order. The thought of another man’s child growing

inside Leilani filled him with such bleak despair and boiling fury that he tore chunks of

hair from his scalp.

* * * * *

Mystery was surprised to find Leilani at her door as the sun was setting. The two

women had never been friends and for the housekeeper to show up uninvited did not

bode well.

“What’s wrong?” Mystery asked. “Is it Aunt Zettie?”

Leilani pushed her way into Mystery’s cabin. “Where is your brat?” she asked.

“She’s playing with a friend. I was about to get her. What…?”

Leilani turned and fixed Mystery with a haughty sneer. “Do you really think the

Reaper will take you to wife?” She raised her chin. “Fuck you, aye. That he will do—

mayhap any man would—but he will not bind himself to you.”

Mystery’s own chin went up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she

said, wondering how the housekeeper had found out. “He has asked me to Join with

him. He loves me!”

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Leilani smiled hatefully. “Then why is it he is lying asleep in my bed—tired from

fucking me? Even now his juices run from my cunt.”

Fury lashed through Mystery. “You lie!” she accused.

The housekeeper took a step toward Mystery. “Care to make a bet that I do?” She

laughed cruelly. “Go see for yourself if you do not believe me.”

Mystery spun around and snatched open the door, rushing out into the lowering

light, running as fast as her legs would carry her toward the cabin with the blue

shutters. Rain slammed against her face and soaked her clothing as muddy water

splashed her legs and saturated the hem of her gown.

The door to Leilani’s cabin stood partially open and when Mystery pushed through,

the first thing she saw—the only thing—was the naked white man lying sprawled in the

center of the bed like a sacrifice, his arms and legs flung wide. Though his face was

turned away, she knew who lay there.

Mystery stumbled to the bed with hurt and anguish flooding her tearful face. She

had to make sure he was breathing, that he was alive. The sheets beneath him were

twisted, the covers tossed aside.

“Do you believe me now, whore?” Leilani asked behind her.