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forehead and followed Moira at a pace that allowed the old lady her dignity. He kept a step behind her, his hand ready to steady her if needed.
    “She’s just your type, ye know,” Moira said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
    “Aye, so you keep reminding me,” Arawn agreed. He knew all too well to whom the old lady was referring.
    “And ye ain’t gettin’ no younger, Arawn Gehdrin.”
    “No, ma’am, I’m surely not,” he said, teeth clenched. “And I’m getting older by the minute.”
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    Moira stopped and peered up at him. “Just how old are you, boy?”
    Arawn’s amber eyes sparkled. “Older than you by a long sight, Moira McDermott,”
    he said, “so you should have some respect for your elders.”
    Moira gave a very unladylike snort and continued on her way, deliberately slowing her step so the Reaper could think he was protecting her.
    * * * * *
    The trill of the whistle pierced the late morning silence that had fallen over Haines City. People had been milling around waiting for the arrival of the train, awaiting Cynyr and Aingeal’s return. At the sound of the locomotive approaching, a general exodus began flowing toward the depot.
    “You’d think they were returning monarchs,” Arawn said. The Prime Reaper was leaning against a building, his arms crossed, his black hat cocked down over his amber eyes.
    Bevyn couldn’t get over how friendly the townspeople were toward them. He was used to having men step aside, women run and hide whenever he appeared in a town. When they’d landed on the outskirts of Haines City they’d shifted from their eagle forms back to their human shapes and had come walking into town side by side. Expecting the locals to hightail it, they were surprised when people simply stopped what they were doing and watched them. No one had run. Not one man had crossed the street to avoid them.
    The sheriff had come out of his office to greet them but there hadn’t been any fear in the man’s curious eyes.
    “What can we do for you, my lords?” Sheriff Dan Brewer had inquired.
    “Lord Cynyr sent us ahead of him,” Arawn said.
    Frowning, the sheriff came a bit closer. “The reason being…?”
    “There are two he was afraid might cause your people trouble,” Arawn replied.
    “We’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
    Two men came forward, neither showing the least bit of apprehension. They tipped their hats to the Reapers and introduced themselves as Brett Samuels and Mick Brady.
    “Our Reaper sent them to protect us,” the sheriff informed the men.
    “Cynyr takes care of his own, don’t he?” Samuels asked.
    Arawn and Bevyn looked at one another. Their reception was not what they’d been expecting. Other men were walking over to them, nodding politely then thanking them when the sheriff explained the Reapers’ presence in town.
    “We had a family murdered a couple of days ago,” the sheriff said. “Could have been done by rogues. Me and my posse chased ’em but they just vanished on us.”
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    “It was a horrible thing,” Samuels injected. “Lost everything they owned to a tornado a while back and then massacred as they were. A real horrible end to some good folk.”
    “Was it a white man and a Jakotai?” Arawn asked.
    The sheriff nodded. “S’pect so.”
    The Prime Reaper took off his hat and armed the sweat from his forehead. “The white man would be Silus Gibbs and the brave is called Otaktay. My guess is the Jakotai has been turned by now.”
    “Damn, but ain’t that a kick in the danglies? A Jakotai rogue. That just ain’t right,”
    the sheriff complained.
    Mick Brady shook his head. “Couldn’t be,” he said. “Cynyr killed him.”
    “He shot the wrong man,” Arawn told him.
    “Ah hell,” Samuels said. “That gives that red man even more reason to hate Cynyr, don’t you reckon?”
    “Cyn already has the woman the brave considers his,” Brady replied. “I’d say