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in the swirling wind, lashed with sheets of slanted rain. Lightning blinded, glinting off the windows of a few small beachside hotels. And yet, she, Azrael and Pallidus were untouched.
    People ran through the streets, their cries for help ringing in her ears. Where were they? Somewhere in the Caribbean, maybe, judging by the coloring of the people and the wording on the signs.
    How was this real? As much as she might want to think it was a dream, it wasn’t. She was trembling, that was real. The hospital had disappeared. Her world as she’d known it was gone. She was on the back of a flying horse with a man who claimed to be the Angel of Death. And heaven help her, he just might be.
    He wasn’t entirely human, she accepted that much, but the gentleness with which he touched her, the reassuring strength of his arm around her waist, the spark in his eyes when he looked at her—all those things made her not care.
    There was no good reason for it, but she felt safe with him. Feeling that way was crazy, just like everything else that concerned him. And she knew, as much as she knew anything, that no matter who he was, he wouldn’t hurt her. She sensed it. He was different, to say the least, but dangerous? She didn’t think so.
    Azrael reached between them, his hand brushing across her back. A moment later, he stretched his arm out. She tensed. In his hand he held the small silver scythe she’d seen hanging on his belt.
    The weapon gleamed with an unnatural light. He held it out from his body and it expanded in his grasp, lengthening and extending. Focusing on anything else but the wicked blade became impossible. He juggled the handle, adjusting his grip.
    A whimper reached her ears and she realized it had come from her own lips. He pressed close to her, his breath warming her neck.
    “Don’t be afraid.”
    “Easy for you to say.” Something dark moved beyond the edges of her vision. She whipped her head around. “What was that?”
    He looked in the same direction. “I don’t see anything.”
    Whatever had been there was gone.
    “Never mind,” she said. Probably a bird or piece of debris in the air. There was enough stuff flying past them to make anyone think they were seeing things.
    Pallidus brought them overtop a group of people running down the street. He kept pace with them easily. Azrael leaned off to the side, arching back his great scythe. His robe fell down to his elbow, revealing a forearm corded with muscle. She followed his sight line.
    He aimed for the people below.
    “What are you doing?” But she already knew. Or thought she did. When he twisted, she reached for his arm. She had to stop him.
    “My job, Sara. This is what I do.”
    “You’re going to kill them!”
    “Sara, look behind us.”
    She sat up, turning her head. A huge black storm wall yawned across the beach behind them. It spun like a giant top, swallowing trees, huts, cars, anything in its path.
    “Hurricane,” she whispered. She met Azrael’s patient gaze, tears blurring her vision. “They’re going to die anyway, aren’t they?”
    He nodded.
    She closed her eyes hard and took a deep breath. His arm tightened around her waist, a comfort, no matter how small. She pressed her forehead to the side of his neck to further block the sight of the hungry storm.
    Azrael stretched taut, and she knew what he was about to do. She opened her eyes, unable to keep herself from watching.
    The scythe flashed as it soundlessly sliced the air. It cut through the crowd and to her eyes, looked as though it passed through every person. She raised her head to see over his shoulder, between the calm valley of his wings.
    Six peopled crumpled to the ground. The remainder of the group kept running, didn’t even slow. That’s when she saw the dark object again. It dropped in behind them like a hellish bird of prey, all darkness and smoke. Another horse and rider with nothing but wind beneath them.
    Another reaper? She watched, transfixed. The black