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A hand on my arm stopped me, and I turned, ready to lay into Denneth for being overprotective. But it wasn’t Denneth ; it was Death, and the look on his face kil ed any protest I might have raised. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his hazel eyes scanning my face, my neck, my shoulders. He brushed aside my hair as if searching for any injury it might have hidden. “I’m fine.” And I owed him and the other col ectors a debt of gratitude for that. We’d have been overwhelmed if they hadn’t appeared. hadn’t appeared. My gaze moved past him and I saw the other two col ectors gathering the mist hanging in the air from the vanished ravens. It dissipated slowly as they reached out again and again. Souls. How creepy is it that we’ve been trudging through souls? Not that the stuff looked like a person or
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