Read Online Reaper by Katrina Monroe - Free Book Online Page A

steered Oz away from the
wreckage, guiding him with a hand on his back. “They live off of
the potential energy that makes up a Ba. No one really knows where
they come from, or if they’ve been sent by someone, or something
else. At times they seem to work on their own, with the theft of a
Ba their only motivation. And others... I don’t know. There have
been rare times when they seemed to be driven by something more
organized, more ugly. Imagine the worst thing you could think of
happening to a person, then multiply it until you’ve lost count.
That’s where the latter take the Bas.”
    “Hell?”
    “If you think Hell is the worse place
imaginable, then you’ve got a lot to learn.”
    * * *
    The terminal buzzed with life. With so much
death outside, Oz forgot that life still went on. He tried not to
look at their faces. What if one of them was next? He convinced
himself that if he ignored them all, he could prevent it from
happening. Just go on with your business, people. Nothing to see
here. Oz spotted a man in a checkered scarf eating a slice of
pizza. Now he had the right idea. He refused to get caught up in
the chaos. Refused to break down. This, too, would pass.
    Oz wanted to be like that guy—stoic on the
outside and screaming hysterics on the inside. There was blood on
his shirt and hands. He ducked into a bathroom at the end of the
concourse. It was empty save for one stall where someone retched in
violent bursts. Oz held his breath while he scrubbed and scrubbed
the red from his fingers. It was gone, but not gone. He felt it
beneath his skin, like a second dermis, a layer of memory he’d wear
for the rest of his existence.
    When he emerged, hands stuffed in his
pockets, Cora waited with a large bottle of Jack Daniels perched on
her hip. “Figured we could both stand a drink.”
    “Whiskey makes me want to fight,” he said
lamely.
    “So we’ll drink near something you can
punch.” She fisted the neck of the bottle and placed her empty hand
on Oz’s shoulder, nudging him forward.
    “I need a new shirt. And pants. I just want
to burn it all,” he said, squirming. “How’d you get that,
anyway?”
    “Reapers’ five-finger discount.”
    He noticed a splash of blood across her front
and frowned.
    “Not mine,” she said.
    He nodded. “Are you okay?”
    She shook the bottle. “Let’s find out.”
    * * *
    Oz didn’t drink much when he was alive, but
when he did it took a vat of liquor to get him sloshed. Sitting on
the roof of his apartment building with Cora, sipping warm whiskey
from the bottle, he was getting drunk faster than he thought he
would. He struggled to sit upright. Cora matched him, sip for sip,
with a blush in her cheeks as the only hint that she was
buzzed.
    It was a calm night. No clouds. The crash
site was far enough that not even a breath of smoke was visible
from where they sat. Anyone with anywhere to be was already there,
so even the typical clack and clamor of foot traffic was missing.
It didn’t feel right. The city should’ve been screaming.
    “People die every day, Oz,” Cora said, as
though reading his mind. “You’re only going to make yourself crazy
if you let every person get to you.”
    “How do you do it?”
    Cora shook the bottle of disappearing amber
liquid and tipped the rim to her lips.
    “I don’t just mean with the people. I mean
with everything.”
    Cora nodded, but didn’t answer.
    He’d been buzzed for a while, since the sun
went down, but now all fluffs of pink sunset were gone and Oz was
angry.
    “And why the fuck is Bard such a... a...”
    He reached for a word that would accurately
describe Bard’s douchbaggery, his assholeness, his unmitigated,
unmatchable ability to be a beastly fuck. Unable to come up with
anything, Oz fell back against the cement and covered his face. His
hands felt cool against his hot cheeks. He heard Cora take another
swallow.
    “He’s got a lot on his plate,” Cora said.
    “I had to watch my best friend die,”