Dust to Dust Read Online Free PDF Page B

combat.
    This time, when the man with the knife made a leap for her, she caught his arm and nearly broke it. Theknife flew from his grasp, and he shrieked in fury, lunging toward her again.
    She sidestepped, but he rallied, charging her like a bull.
    Again, she used evasive tactics, and he went crashing into the arms of a winged cherub.
    She turned around, ready to finish him while he was still staggering from the impact, but as she started to move, Bo’s massive body suddenly came flying through the dark night air, landing before her in a heap.
    A broken heap.
    He groaned, barely alive.
    His friend ran at Melanie. This time, she stood her ground, feeling the night, feeling the rush of wind as her attacker ran at her.
    She started to spin, raising an arm, and as he neared her, she struck.
    He went flying back, stunned and shaking his head, like a boxer who had been at the wrong end of a strong right hook.
    He started toward her again, but this time he never reached her.
    The stranger stepped in front of her, reached out and grabbed the man, and spun him around. He hardly seemed to be expending any effort, but as she watched, her attacker was lifted, tossed high into the air and left to fall.
    He crashed down on top of Bo, who cried out in agony.
    Melanie found herself staring at the stranger andrealized she had been right all along. He was good to have around in a fight.
    His midnight-dark hair was tousled, and beneath the strands that lay over his forehead, she saw that his eyes were dark as coal. His face was so chiseled that it belonged on a bust of a Grecian war hero.
    And he was barely breathing hard. “Are you all right?” he asked.
    â€œAre you?” she demanded in return.
    He grinned crookedly and nodded.
    â€œThe shop owner?” she asked. “Mr. Delancy.”
    â€œHe’s fine,” he told her. “And the girl?”
    â€œShe ran.”
    â€œThe streets are still chaos.”
    â€œShe’ll be fine. There really aren’t that many Bos out tonight.”
    â€œDon’t kid yourself. There will be,” he said.
    She nodded, becoming aware of sirens in the distance again.
    In the distance…and coming closer.
    She stared, assessing him. “Who are you?” she demanded.
    He inhaled, arched a brow slowly. And his wary grin deepened.
    â€œI have a better question,” he said softly to her. “ What are you?”
    The sirens were almost deafening now. They took another heartbeat to stare at each other, then turned and ran in opposite directions.

2
    H e was there again.
    Among the dead.
    The maze of paths through the catacombs was becoming familiar, though he remained at a loss as to why he found himself walking those paths again and again.
    He did not fear the dead. He pitied them and, in a melancholy way, in these dark regions of his mind, he envied them. He knew there was more to what the subconscious mind saw than the world accepted. And it wasn’t the dead who frightened him but the living. The living had free will, and free will allowed for choices, for good and evil. The good offered no harm to others, indeed, would reach out to help another. The evil flourished on the pain of others; they were selfish, seeking their own pleasure above all else. Evil could be minor, manifested in such things as shoplifting and petty theft. That demonstrated the evil of selfishness, but no one was physically harmed. True evil found expression in so many ways in so many societies. He was certain that throughout history, certain inquisitors, witch-findergenerals and their ilk, sanctioned by cross and king, had been genuinely evil. They had enjoyed their tasks.
    Evil shouldn’t be lurking here, in this strange dream world where the long-dead lay in peace.
    And…it wasn’t exactly evil that he sensed. It was more a warning against evil, as if the dead in this dank place in the earth had somehow escaped the bounds of their shrouds to sense a growing