Comes a Horseman Read Online Free PDF Page B

trying to gain purchase on her wrist. She tried to flail her arms, to beat away the monsters, but they were too heavy; their mouths gripped her muscles and bones too securely. The effort caused her to stumble into the floor lamp, which toppled. The bulb exploded, leaving the room bathed in the flickering orange of the fire.
    Shadows danced everywhere. It took her a moment to grasp that a shadow of one of the wolf-dogs was, in fact, a third animal. It stood, half in the room, half in the hall, watching her futile maneuvers. The other two had stopped tugging and grinding; they seemed content to hold her dripping arms. Dizzy from pain, she moaned at the watching animal and swayed forward, then back again.
    She heard her name, dim and distant. She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, half-expecting to see it melt away under the brilliance of a celestial hand reaching for her. Her name again . . . and reality floated back. The voice was coming from the phone on the end table.
    â€œMarcie!” she cried. “Mar—”
    The third dog stepped completely into the room. Directly behind it came a man. He was not tall but was extremely muscular, with broad shoulders made broader by animal pelts draped over them and clasped in front. It was impossible to tell where the pelts ended and the man began. His beard and mustache exploded from his face in great, rusty profusion; his matted hair hung long but was swept back away from his eyes. Wide, handsome eyes, without a hint of emotion. His face was glacial: deeply crevassed, icily stoic. But he wasn’t old, simply worn . The mouth was a gash, down-turned seemingly not by anger or displeasure, but by fierce determination. A heavy shirt hung beneath the pelts and was cinched at the waist with rough leather. Pants clung to legs bulging with power and vanished into high boots. He was entirely out of place, Cynthia decided—not just in her home, but in her time, in anyone’s time for countless generations. The realization added to her confusion, to the surrealism of this intrusion.
    Her eyes widened when she saw the object clenched in his right fist: a length of wood, smooth and well used, like a narrow bat or club. Then he shifted, and the fire caught a broad plane of metal attached to the club. She was looking at an ax. The man held it almost unknowingly, the way someone else might hold a briefcase or wear a watch. She took some hope from this casual treatment of the weapon.
    â€œWhat—,” she started, but his sudden movement silenced her. He strode toward her, lifting the ax over and behind his head. His left hand rose to grip the other end of the long handle. The wolf-dogs growled with excitement as the blade came back around, slicing through the air like a bolt from the fire it reflected. She hitched in a sharp breath but had no chance to scream before the metal found her neck.
    The dogs released their hold, and the man watched the woman’s body tremble and fall. On the floor, it rolled to one side, draining crimson. He heard a thin voice and saw the phone off the hook. Still clutching the ax, he stepped to the end table, picked up the phone, and listened.
    â€œCynthia, what was that? Cynthia? I’m calling the cops! Cynthia!”
    In a deep voice, heavily accented, he said, “She is dead, you fool.” Then he gently cradled the handset and turned back to the task at hand.

4
    S tanding in the darkened living room, Brady Moore felt the house around him. Still. Quiet. His nose sensed a curious blend of dust and Pledge. He was less meticulous about cleaning than his wife had been, and he would hate to see the size of the dust bunnies under the furniture. Pretty soon, he’d have to get them licensed and vaccinated for rabies. He smiled. Zach would like that one.
    Moonlight glowed against the sheer curtains hanging over the three panels of glass that made up a big bay window. The window’s bench seat was cushioned and comfortable, but he