The Golden Age of Death (A CALLIOPE REAPER-JONES NOVEL) Read Online Free PDF Page B

protective bar sliding over their heads, and she felt her whole body begin to sweat.
    Bart was immune to her fear. His light mocha face was full of excitement, the black of his pupils so wide they overtook the brown irises. He was giddy, his tiny body shivering with anticipation.
    “Maw-Maw, Maw-Maw, look!”
    Bernadette’s gaze followed the crook of Bart’s finger. He was pointing upward, toward the cloud-filled sky where a murder of crows, like a synchronized swim team, flew above them, their black bodies in silhouette against the blinding light of the sun. Bernadette welcomed the distraction, perfectly timed to match the lurch of their roller-coaster car as it shot forward.
    Bart let out an excited squeak as the Big Bellower creaked underneath the weight of the cars and the ride began. It was all Bernadette could do not to shriek as fear lanced through her soft, pink body and her face broke out in foul smelling perspiration. She felt very much like a pig headed to slaughter.
    As the car began its long, slow climb up the first steep hill, Bernadette let her eyes return to the crows, hoping their perfectly synchronized flight would help calm her. She was surprised to see two of the crows break away from formation, dropping down and away from their brothers as she watched them.
    “Maw-Maw, this is fun!” Bart screamed in her ear over the
clickity-clack
of the roller coaster’s hydraulics. But Bernadette wasn’t paying attention to him. She was too transfixed by the sight of the crows falling steadily earthward—their bodies like large black stones—to process what he was saying.
    She opened her mouth to say something to Bart about the crows just as they sailed over the crest of the first hill and her words melted into a hysterical scream, gravity sending herstomach flying into her esophagus, choking her. Beside her, Bart shrieked with delight, a thrill junkie in the making.
    The car began to build up speed again as it soared toward the next obstacle: a giant, round loop that would turn them upside down in their seats. Bernadette saw the loop looming ahead of them and terror tore at her heart. She looked around wildly, trying to find an escape, but there was no exit—she was trapped.
    Her bowels turned to jelly as their car sailed onward, hurtling them inextricably toward the loop. Whistling currents slammed against her upper body as she flew through empty air, eyes stinging in the wind. She let her gaze rise, her thin gray hair plastered against her cheeks and mouth, and then she gasped.
    The two crows were flying straight toward them.
    Ice-water shock filled her veins as she realized what was about to happen. With a silent prayer to God, she threw her arms around Bart, covering the tiny boy with her considerable girth just as the missile-like crows dove into them, the impact taking her head clean off her shoulders.
    Later, one of the detectives at the scene of the accident would marvel out loud at the old woman’s quick thinking. She was a real hero, saving her grandson’s life like that.
    Sitting on a nearby bench, Bernadette’s ghost shook her head. She wasn’t a hero. She’d just done what she’d needed to do to protect Bart—and she’d have done it all over again without batting an eyelash.
    She continued to watch the police and emergency crews swarm along the base of the now silent Big Bellower like busy worker ants, but they didn’t notice her.
    Stupid roller coaster,
she thought, shaking her head again.
Stupid, stupid roller coaster.
    *   *   *
    sea verge was empty.
    Well, not
exactly
empty, Jarvis corrected himself.
    There was still some furniture, but what was left of the beautiful, old pieces—antiques lovingly accumulated over decades of habitation by the Reaper-Jones family—were nowdraped like ghosts in protective swathes of white sheeting, left to molder in abandonment. As things had progressed, he’d been forced to watch the pieces begin to disappear around him. This wasn’t