Unreap My Heart (The Reaper Series) by Kate Evangelista Page B

counted countless corners. So many of them. Balthazar inched his way to the cot, lifting her higher when she needed to avoid an assortment of pots, pants, and bottles with stuff in them. Was that a pig’s head in one of the jars? She couldn’t really focus anymore. Everything jumbled into one big mess, like the inside of the hut.
    Balthazar finally settled her onto the cot and stepped away, but not before he brushed aside a lock of her hair that had fallen out of the braid and onto her forehead. Now, why would he do something like that? Did he actually look guilty? Impossible. She chalked it up to being delusional. Whatever caused her to twitch and itch uncontrollably also made her hallucinate.
    Hallucinate.
    The Angel’s tears.
    Did she inhale them again? No. They’d walked away from the powdery hills. And Balthazar had patted away the last of the powder on her clothing. It was not possible that she was hallucinating again, but it sure felt like it.
    The mound, finished with whatever it mumbled about, moved closer until a face with a giant mole at the tip of its nose hovered above Arianne’s. She turned away, but a callused hand forced her to face back. She closed her eyes. Too late. The image already burned itself behind her eyelids.
    A strong arm cradled Arianne’s shaking shoulders so she could sit up. She opened her eyes to blurry images. The tall, dark shadow near the cot must be Balthazar, while the smaller one beside her, helping her sit up, must be the mound. The rim of a wooden cup came to her lips. Someone said, “drink,” and she did before coughing because of the bitter brew. It tasted of old tea and smelled like sweaty socks. She turned away again with a grimace. The same callused hand forced her head back so she could drink some more of the foul liquid.
    “No more,” Arianne whined, shaking her head.
    “Just one last sip, dearie,” the cackling voice said. Arianne forced one last sip before collapsing into the layers and layers of quilts on the cot. “That’s a good girl.”
    “You should have brought her here sooner,” the mound scolded in her cackley voice.
    “She couldn’t move fast enough,” Balthazar answered. It was the politest he’d been since she’d met him in D’s office.
    “You should have carried her.”
    “I should have done many things.”
    The crone pointed a knobby finger at him. “Don’t get smart with me, boy. I see the knife on this girl, and unlike her, I am not averse to using it.”
    Was that an actual flinch? Arianne’s vision cleared enough to see Balthazar shrink away from the old woman—Granmare Baba, she assumed. The twitching stopped. So did the itching. Her lips no longer felt dry and parched. Whatever she drank had done its job. She tried to sit up, but the old woman held her down with strength surprising for someone her age. Balthazar said everyone had a different image of Granmare Baba. To Arianne, she seemed really old.
    Granmare Baba laughed a cackling laugh. “Oh, my dear, you see what you want to see. What has the handsome Balthazar been filling your pretty little head with? Has he told you I am a witch?”
    Arianne licked her lips before she said, “He said you were the witch. That I should not speak to you unless spoken to. That I shouldn’t be rude. And most importantly, that I shouldn’t leave anything you can control me with behind.”
    She laughed again. “Smart boy, isn’t he? Always been too cautious for his own good.”
    Maybe some truth hid behind Balthazar’s rules because, even if he looked like he wanted to say something, a muscle jumped on his cheek instead.
    “How are you feeling?” Granmare Baba placed the wooden cup on a table that hadn’t been there when Balthazar had put Arianne on the cot.
    “Better.” Arianne tried to sit up again. Her body still felt stiff, but she could move better than before.
    “The Angel’s tears shouldn’t affect you anymore.” To Balthazar, she said, “You did well.”
    “Thank you,”