Short Stories

CHAPTER 1: AND MANY HAPPY RETURNS

A loud slap smashed down across Beth's face. Stunned, she toppled backwards over a table in the crowded tavern. She landed with a stupefied crash and felt her shoulder pop. She wanted to scream but she couldn’t move her jaw. The man above her hawked and spit. He wasn’t that large truth be told, but neither was she. She was a regular barmaid, not a brawler. He moved to grab her hair and she kicked his closest foot out from underneath him and he came crashing down beside her. They both lay on the ground and as the dazed man cursed and grabbed his bleeding head he looked across to her. He saw the same scrawny girl, but, she was smiling? By that point tavern goers had all stopped and were staring. The man’s friends began to advance, but they froze in their tracks when they heard laughing. The tiny barmaid was laughing. It wasn’t menacing, it wasn’t some low sinister chuckle. It was the laugh of genuine humor being found in the situation by the girl. Who then began to rise to her feet. Not groggy. Not limping. Steady and unbroken. The man’s friends watched with shock as she stepped on the fallen man’s jaw breaking it. Then she pulled out her dagger, steely sharp and thirsty. She drove it into the man’s shoulder and he yelled out from the pain. Her scrapes and bruises had disappeared. Only her blood red smile remained. She looked at the man's friends.

“You should run.” Was all she said. 

And run they did. She’d never seen drunk men move with such speed and agility. It made her laugh, again. This was all too rich for words. 

“Beth? Beth!” The tavern owner, a wiry thin man named Caleb warily approached her. He was dirty, but they all were. He didn’t let it show however. He was above the dirt, he liked to say. "I thought you were taken away?” 

“I guess they had the wrong girl.” 

Beth turned to the still stunned tavern goers. And gave a warm, kind, still blood stained smile. She quickly took in the further horror of the tavern goers and wiped her teeth with her apron. 

“I’m ok!” She said in a futile attempt at comfort to the terrified onlookers who began whispering with furtive sideways glances. 

Caleb swept in and gently ushered her into the barrel room. 

“Beth. We saw you get taken away. And everyone else might not notice you, but I definitely saw you walk in and bee line it to the bar and smash that man’s head into it a second ago. What happened? What’s going on?!”

“Caleb! Shh. I’m fine. That’s all that matters.” 

“Beth the entire castle just came crashing down yesterday! Nothing is fine!”

“I said I’m fine.” She said this coldly. Much more than she had intended. And she saw Caleb back away in fear. She was confused until she traced his eyes to her dagger. Where he hand was now resting. She didn’t remember putting it there.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to frighten you. I’m frightened too.” 

“Said the laughing girl with the bloody smile.” 

“I don’t know anymore than you do. Listen. I was taken, yes, fine. But I was in a cell when I heard all the commotion. You probably know more than me. What happened?”

“What happened?!” At his point Mary, the other barmaid, came rushing in. She was what you wanted in a barmaid Beth thought. 

Cheerful, and cheeky. “The entire bloody royal line almost got wiped out! Oh Beth! I am so happy to see none of this affected you!”

“Mary! Oh my sweet. Are you ok?” Beth was deeply happy not to be the topic of conversation.

“Am I ok? We should be talking about you!”

At this point Caleb gave a conspicuous cough.

“Oh don’t mind me just in the middle of a story.” He said, put out. 

Mary smirked “Go on old man, tell your bleeding story.”

Caleb looked struck. “Old?! I’m only 7 years older than you!” Caleb composed himself. “What was I saying?”

“Strapping lads memory, there.” Mary loved taking the piss out of people. Beth would have smiled had she not been so self conscious about the blood.

“WELL. Some right villain who used to live on the outskirts is who did it so they say. But that doesn’t explain all the bloody crows.”

“Crows?” Beth felt a shiver up crawl up her spine. 

“Yes Beth, crows.” Caleb looked at her like she had three heads. “Are you blind or did that man knock every sense out of you? Towns been overrun by them! How in the hells have you not heard them?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m… Where did this man on the outskirts live?”

“Just past ole Gregs’s god rest his soul.” Caleb fumbled at some religious hand gesture. “They say they found him and his family dead. That’s how they figured it, what who caused it.  

“And their baby.” Mary added stricken. “My gods their poor baby.” 

“I have to go.”

Caleb’s look turned to concern. “What?! Where are you going? Beth, what am I going to tell all those onlookers?!”

“Just tell them I’m hysterical.” 

“Every good lie has truth in it they say.’ Caleb’s nose lifted an inch. Then dropped again. “You’re not going to that killers home are you?”

“No.”

“Now that’s just a bad lie altogether.” 

CHAPTER 2: EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON

Beth quickly exited from the back door of the Tavern overhearing Caleb’s shouts at the riled patrons. “What are you mewling about?! She only poked ye in the arm like? You men get hurt real bad by a young lady did ye?”

Beth smiled, Caleb might have been a little pompous for a Tavern keeper (young as he was) but he always took care of Beth and Mary. He was a good soul. 

“Oh no Beth! You're not getten away that easy!” 

“Mary! You startled me.”

“Oh, like a cat I am.”

“Mary you can’t/“

“I can and I will thank you very much. Caleb has the crowd under control. He’ll be fine. You though? You have some splainin to do.”

Beth sighed, but smiled all the same. “Where should I begin?”

“At the beginning silly goose. And don’t leave anything out!”

“Well, I was born a small babe my mother said.”

“Oh she’s got jokes! I’ll let you weave those into the actual story then. I expect we’ll be out for an hour or so as it is. Tell me the story.”

“It’s a short tale really. I got dragged away by guards for reasons I still don’t understand.”

“You had a bloody piece of cloth in your apron.”

“But I didn’t! Or at least I didn’t put it there!”

“There was a lot of commotion that night.”

“I was jailed in the castle. Then I heard such a crash Mary. I thought the world was going to fall down on top of me.”

“Aaaaand? It obviously didn’t. So you decided the next thing you were going to do was pick a fight with a drunken brute?” Beth tried to interject “Yes I did see that. So is your plan to pick a fight with every drunken man you see?”

“No, that isn’t the plan. I don’t have any plan. I don’t even know why I picked that fight. Much less how I survived it.” 

“No kiddin. He hit you so hard he spun you like a top! I nearly screamed. But I was frozen stiff from fear you’d died.”

“But here I am.”

“And there you are. Wanna tell me where you got that pretty dagger?”

“Oh Mary you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Mary raised her eyebrows “Fine. I got it from some birds.”

Mary snorted. “She does have jokes!”

“I’m serious Mary. And they brought me the keys to the jail. It’s how I escaped.” 

“S’possin I believe you, why are we going to a dead killers house?”

“I don’t have a good answer for you. I’m sorry Mary. I just know he’s connected to this. To me.”

“And your bird friends?” Mary grinned and laughed.

“Yes. Though I don’t know if they’re my friends or not. Everything feels wrong.” 

As they drew closer to the burned down cottage their conversation quieted. As if they didn’t want the air itself to overhear. 

“Beth, what are we looking for?”

Beth pondered this for a moment. Then she shrugged. “I’ll know when I see it.”

“Oh, good. That’ll narrow it down.”

They continued to pick through the rubble and the ash. Many feet had trampled over the grounds. They saw a hole covered in burnt wood and clothes leading to an underground cistern or cave. Beth tossed a rock down it and counted to three before she heard a splash in the water. 

Mary curled her face back as if from a bad stench. “Well I’m not going down there.”

“I just wonder what could be down there?!”

“Aside from water? We’ll come back in the morning when the sun’s up. There’s nothin here Beth. And your bird friends are beginning to circle over head. We should get back.”

Beth had just noticed them as well. They circled silently over a patch of ground about 30 yards away. Beth strode towards where the birds circled overhead. 

“Beth? Where are you going?” Beth said nothing in return as she strode on. “Lords bollocks” 

Suddenly Beth stopped in her tracks. She looked down to where the dagger sat on her hip. She felt it grow hot. Looking down she saw in the dirt what looked like a book, unburnt, and she went down to grab it. The birds let out shrieks as she grabbed it so loud that Mary could hardly make out her next words “Mary! I found a journal! Can you read it? I can’t.” There was a rustling in the trees near by. Someone or something was watching them.

It was then she felt the first arrow whip past her cutting the air. 

“Mary get down!” 

Mary couldn’t hear her over the shrieks of the birds, but seeing the arrow lodge itself in the ground was all the warning she needed. She dashed to there the burnt wardrobe near where the hole was and hid behind the planks.

Beth trailed by arrows, the shrieks of birds and the new sounds of men yelling, threw herself over Mary to protect her. She couldn’t live with herself if Mary came to harm.

“Don’t worry I/”

It was then an arrow sliced through Beth’s throat and she collapsed on Mary as they both tumbled down the hole into the cistern. And this time Mary did scream. 

CHAPTER 3: YOU CAN BE ANYTHING YOU WANT TO BE

Mary surfaced the water gasping. She still had Beth in her arms weighing her down, but she wasn’t about to give up yet. She pulled up her skirt with one hand, Beth in the other arm, and began to kick in a backstroke. Mary had been swimming in the lake since she was child, she could do this, she would do this. Not being able to see where she was going, she just kicked and hoped to find ground. But the voices of the men grew louder. 

“They went down this hole! Get a torch and a rope!” The voice was harsh and rasped. 

Mary heard a rope splash in the water, over the sound her own kicking. And saw the first man descend with a torch. He spotted her instantly.

“Oy! I see em!”

He climbed down quickly and dropped into the water with his torch above him and Mary saw more men follow. Suddenly she bumped her head. Looking over her shoulder she saw she had run into an outcrop of rock. She let her feet down and was almost shocked to find what felt like stairs. She struggled and pulled Beth up to the top of the rock. 

“Beth! Beth!” Mary rolled Beth over and saw to her horror that Beth’s throat had been split open. “No! God no!” She turned and saw the first man had nearly reached the rock. He quickly reached them, stepped onto the stairs and threw his torch at Mary almost hitting her and lighting her aflame. It fell past her onto the outcropping, lighting the cave. He was on top of her in the blink of an eye. She could see a joyful bloodlust in his eyes. Mary screamed. 

“You little bitch! You’re not getting away from me now!”

Mary struggled, but he had her in a fierce grip. She couldn’t break loose. 

“I’m gong to enjoy gutting you. After I/“

A dagger, shining a bright red ruby, thrust past her ear and through the mans chest. Mary went to scream again but no sound came out, overcome with fear as she was. She turned to see Beth staring the man in the eyes, smiling that same blood red grin. This time the grin was not by accident. This time she saw Beth enjoying it. 

Beth rose deliberately as Mary sat rooted in fear. Beth let out a roar. Louder than she should have ever been capable of. Foreign and low, it echoed through the cave and shook the rocks as they began to fall into the pool of water. Then the birds came. They flew in from every direction and began to circle Beth and Mary. The roar continued as if the rocks themselves yelled in rage. The men on the ropes began to fall screaming, the birds clawing their eyes and bodies. One’s screams were cut short as he crashed into the water then with 3 more rapid splashes silencing the terrified screams of the men. There was a yell from above ground. Mary could hear other men screaming and then go silent one by one, until what looked like a lightening storm erupted over ground. The roar in the cave died. The rocks went silent and the birds all landed around Beth and Mary in a circle. They didn’t move and they made no sound. 

“Malphas taught you poorly!” The rasping harsh voice yelled from above. “But he isn’t here is he? It’s just you and me wench!”

A bolt of lightning blasted through the hole in the ground above. 

“Come to me my girl and I promise I’ll kill you quickly! Or you can stay there and drown!” The voiced laughed a cruel laugh. 

“Beth?” Mary’s voice was quiet at first. And Beth didn’t respond. “Beth! We have to go!”

Beth snapped to. She was breathing heavily as she saw what she had wrought. The bodies of the dead men floated in the water Illuminated from the torch on the outcrop. She turned her eye to the blackbirds. They landed, and ringed her and Mary, silent, all of them staring at Beth. 

Beth roughly grabbed Mary with a strength not her own and pulled her up. 

“Do you have the journal?!” Mary started, bewildered. 

“You had it!” Was all Mary could muster. 

A blackbird cawed. It was next to the journal a few feet away on the outcrop. Beth stepped over to the journal ignoring the birds, grabbed it and thrust it upon Mary.

“Read it to me.”

Another flash of lightning from above stuck the water with a thunderous crash. 

Beth looked up, and for the first time she registered the threat and felt her peril. But her fear drove her forward. She picked up the torch on the ground.

“Read it to me on the way.” 

Mary looked back at the bodies floating in the water while the rasping voice laughed from above. She turned to Beth in a mixture of confusion, shock, and fear.

Beth was already heading out and Mary hurriedly trailed her, as the echos of the rasping laugh followed them. 

CHAPTER 4: NO ONE CAN MAKE YOU FEEL BAD WIHOUT YOUR PERMISSION

They walked quickly through the cavern making their way toward the lake beyond. The torchlight flickered at the speed they were going, making it hard for Mary to read.

"Beth, stop. Stop!"

Beth shot a hard look at Mary, but Mary didn't cower.

"What's going on Beth?! I saw your throat! You were dead! And now I don't even recognize you. This isn't you."

Beth stared at her. And then her thoughts turned inward. She felt the rage, the desire for vengeance seething inside her, and pushed it down.

"You're right Mary. You're right about everything. I don't know what's going on. With me, or what these birds are, or what they're about. I don't know who that man is and I don't know why he wants me dead. I don't know much of anything Mary. But I do know that man is going to try to kill us whether we know what's going on or not. I think, I hope, that journal has some answers."

Beth felt the darkness, the bloodthirsty urges, receding. Mary stood still. Those were the words she wanted to hear, but she hesitated to trust them.

"I'm sorry Mary. I can't do this without you. And I don't want you to get hurt. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about all of this."

"Ok. I believe you. You just go into this strange place where I don't recognize you. Like you enjoy all the chaos. I don't like it. It isn't you." Mary sat against the cave wall and opened the journal. "Now hold that torch steady. I can't read in the dark."

"We don't have a lot of time Mary."

"The way I see it we have all the time in the world. Or you could go out there and fight that man knowing no more than you do now."

Beth seated herself next to Mary. She touched her throat. No cut. Not even a bump or a bruise. She watched Mary reading, her brow furrowed in concentration. How foolish she had been to let Mary come, to get her into all this trouble. Yet there she sat, focused and determined, searching the journal for what might save them. She was a better friend than Beth deserved right now. And she cherished her for it.

After a few minutes Mary looked up from the journal, troubled.

"Well? What does it say?"

"It's not a lot. He doesn't just spell it out for us. But from what I can tell he didn't like the birds. It might be best not to trust them."

"Well that's easy. They creep me out."

"But there's more to it. The journal starts with him being angry and forlorn. Listen to this bit near the beginning." Mary traced her finger along the page. "'The crows mock me with their presence. They follow without purpose, without use. I did not ask for them. I do not want them. Yet they remain, as if waiting for me to become something I am not yet.'"

Beth felt a chill. "Something he wasn't yet."

"It gets worse. Later on he writes, 'I feel nothing for the ones I've ended. Not guilt. Not satisfaction. They simply needed ending, and I was capable. That is all.'" Mary looked up. "He talks about killing people the way Caleb talks about mopping the floor."

"Does he mention the laughing man?"

"No. He speaks of others but dismisses them. They're beneath him. Says they're no match for him. The only person he speaks about is a woman named Ves."

"I think I met her. At the tavern."

"He hates her. But he's sorta in love with her? I don't know. But the important thing is he's brutal Beth. The things he says he did. They're gruesome. He isn't even bragging. It's matter of fact. Like hurting people is just something you do." Mary looked long at Beth.

"I'm not like that."

"No. Not yet."

"Don't be an ass Mary, I'm still just me. It's the situation that's crazy."

"Beth, you keep snapping in and out of it. Like you lose yourself to it. You aren't you then. You're 'it', whatever 'it' is. It happens every time you're in danger."

"What am I supposed to do if the man comes back? Let him kill us?!"

"I think we need to get back to town. If you can be around people who can help, maybe you won't need to do whatever this is. You can't do this alone. You need your friends. More than just me." She paused. "I need them too."

With that, Beth just nodded. She understood. And she finally began to feel weary. This was all too much, wasn't it? She stood up, and Mary did likewise. Mary grabbed Beth's hand and they continued to walk out of the cavern. Together.

CHAPTER 5: WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU LEMONS MAKE LEMONADE

Beth and Mary cautiously peered out of the cavern towards the lake. Beth had put out the torch and as they were still in the dead of night, it took a second for their eyes to adjust. The brightly lit moon soon seemed to make the torch redundant. All that was left was to get from the Lake to the Town and they could meet up with Caleb and the other townsfolk. Seek shelter in numbers and friends. Maybe get more time to read the journal and find out what was really going on.

"Do you, sense anything?" Mary looked genuinely curious and hopeful.

"Being a bloodhound isn't something special I got from this."

"No need to get your skirts in a ruffle. I was just hoping this had some benefit that wasn't connected to people dying."

"I make a good scrambled hash."

"You've always made a good scrambled hash. Now I worry what might go into it."

"Har har." Beth played at being as light hearted as Mary could so effortlessly be. But neither of them had moved from the mouth of the cavern. Mary finally had enough.

"Look at us, like pair of scared little girls. You can't die and I…"

"Look fantastic even with your hair a mess. There's a power I wish I had."

"I'll teach you my secrets back at the tavern. Come on then."

Mary cautiously stepped out with Beth trailing behind her. They followed the tree line doing their best to stay low and out of sight.

After about 30 minutes walking they decided to take a breath and rest their legs within an outcropping of trees. Mary brought out the journal again.

"So, before, you said you thought you'd met the woman this Malphas loved-hated? What makes you so sure?"

"She had my necklace. The old beaded one? And she was wearing it when she walked up to me. She gifted it back to me. She put some kind of cloth in my apron pocket. That's when I was carted away to jail. Then I heard that that drunk bastard who stole it from me had died. So…"

"Put two and two together. Right.” 

“Who taught you to read?” Beth said this with a tinge of envy. She gently took the journal and flipped through its pages of symbols.

“Caleb did. The smug little arse.” Mary smiled. “He’s too smart to be running a tavern. But he won’t talk about brought him to it.” 

Beth began to get restless. “I bet Caleb can tell us more when we see him. Speaking of which, come on. I don’t like being out here.” They both rose and Beth noted the moon wasn't shining anymore.

"It was almost bright as day earlier. That can't be good." Beth heard Mary gasp and looked back to see. Mary was staring at Beth wide eyed in shock. A man stood behind her wearing the sliver of a smile, like a slice through stone. Through Mary’s chest was a dagger, dark, and blood stained.

Beth screamed and the man laughed.

"And a Caleb for dessert? I thought I'd just get to kill you two tonight!"

"MARY!" Beth froze. Her mind blank as her body shook.

"I think I'd run if I were you!" He dipped his dagger and Mary slipped off it silently, onto the ground, as he laughed.

Beth screamed and a force radiated out from her like a shockwave. The Laughing Man covered his face with his arm as it pushed him backward.

He yelled in return and a force met her own. Not breaking it, but blunting it.

Beth's body reacted in sheer terror and her feet did the thinking for her. She tore off towards the tavern, her life quite literally depending on it. The crows appeared but did not intervene. She didn't notice their absence. Their ambivalence. She only knew that she had to reach Caleb. Though she had no idea what to do once she found him. It didn't matter. Mary was gone and it was all her fault. She would run. She would tell them all to run.

And so Beth did, all the way to the tavern.

CHAPTER 6: LIFE IS NOT MEASURED BY THE NUMBER OF BREATHS WE TAKE, BUT BY THE MOMENTS THAT TAKE OUR BREATH AWAY

"CALEB! CALEB!"

Beth burst through the back tavern door into the barrel room. She was out of breath, haggard and hysterical.

"CALEB! SHE'S DEAD!" Beth began to weep while wide and wild eyed. Caleb burst into the barrel room.

"Beth! What is going—"

"She's dead Caleb! She's dead and it's my fault! You have to run!"

"Beth, slow down! Who's dead? What is going on?!" He tried to hold her and calm her down but she would have none of it.

"Mary! Mary's dead! He killed her and he'll kill you next!"

Caleb stopped in his tracks. The words had finally sunk in.

"Oh my god. Are you sure? Who is this man? Tell me something, anything Beth!"

"I, I don't know who, who he is. Oh god Mary!" Beth began to weep again uncontrollably.

"Beth. You're ok. I'm here. Everyone is here."

"Oh god no! He'll kill you! He'll kill you all!"

Beth broke free and made a mad dash for the tavern room.

"Everyone! Everyone listen to me! You have to run. There is a man coming. He's a killer. He killed Mary and he wants to kill me and he'll kill anyone else that is in his way. You have to run!"

A tavern goer spoke up. "If there's a man who wants trouble he'll have to go through me first!" A chorus of "Aye!" and "Hear hear!" rose up amongst the others.

"No! No you don't understand!" Beth was losing her patience and she felt the heat from her dagger. She felt her pulse steady and her blood run hot.

"NO!"

Her voice shook the tavern. Low and rumbling, not her own. The men quieted.

"Listen to me." She was stock still and calm. "You will get your things and you will leave. You may not get another chance."

A villager in the back stood up. "And where am I supposed to go? This is my home."

There were no cheers, no aye's and hear hears. But every man in the tavern looked straight at Beth. She could tell none of them were going anywhere.

Then they heard the laugh. Rasping and cruel. The man kicked the door in and it fell with a wood splintering thud.

"There you are. On a platter."

"Oy! And who are you?!" A man in the front stood up and stared the laughing man down.

"Good. Good. It's more fun when you think you'll win."

The laughing man seemed to focus within himself. And then like a sudden crack in the air, the villager was sent flying backwards. His legs caught the table he was sitting at which sent him into a cartwheel in the air, until he slammed with bone crunching force against the tavern's back wall. The men of the tavern were rooted in their chairs.

"Who am I? I am the thing that goes bump in the night! I am the man who would haunt your dreams if I left any ahead of you. I am the man your wives will wail at the sight of. I am Old Tom of the Sunken Tower! And I have come for what is mine by right."

Beth didn't feel it, but the dagger had found its way into her hand. Her fear, her rage, her guilt, all seemed to feed the ruby which shined like a red sun.

"That's right girl. Show me what you've got. You think you're a match for me?" He laughed here, but it was forced. Beth didn't think he found this funny. But she believed his smile. "Show me what you've got before I gut every last one of you and feed you to the crows."

"You think you can take this from me?" Beth demanded. She felt the tavern dim. She didn't know if it was her or Old Tom who made it so. 

And then she felt it. The warmth spreading from the dagger through her palm, up her arm, into her chest. It felt like coming home after a long journey. It felt like the first breath after nearly drowning. It felt right. She felt whole. 

She could see exactly how she would do it as if time itself wait upon her whim. A step to the left, a feint, then the blade across his throat. She could see his blood. She could almost taste it. Mary's face flashed in her mind; not her death, but her smile. He took that from me. He took that from her. He should suffer for it. He will.

The ruby pulsed and Beth's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.

Old Tom's forced laugh faltered. "That's it, girl. There you are."

There you are. The words echoed. Mary's voice: You just go into this strange place where I don't recognize you. And Malphas, in the journal: They simply needed ending, and I was capable. That is all.

Beth looked down at her hand. The dagger felt like an extension of her body. Natural. Perfect. And she realized with a cool pleasure that she was enjoying this. Not the danger. Not the necessity. The anticipation. She wanted to kill him slowly. She wanted to hear him scream the way Mary never got to.

This was how it started? This was the first entry in a journal that ended with a man who felt nothing? But she wasn’t Malphas. Her story didn’t have to be the same as his. He couldn’t tame this power. But she understood it. Viscerally. She was beyond him. She knew in that moment exactly who she was and the certainty rested upon her like a mantle.

"You cannot it take, no matter how hard you will try. But I will give it to you, one way or another."

Beth flipped the dagger in her hand so that she held it by the blade. A dexterity she did not possess guided her hand. She heard the sound of crows cawing. The room fell to an airless hush.

With a delicate flick of her wrist she flung the dagger, and it found its mark with a thud; in the middle of the floor between them.

Old Tom's smile vanished. He stared at the dagger. His eyes shot up to Beth in confusion and hatred; then they went wide, as Old Tom toppled over with a butcher's knife in the back of his head. He landed with a thud onto the ground. Behind him stood Caleb, stone faced, and covered in blood.

Beth ran to him and threw her arms around him.

"Thank you." Was all she said.

CHAPTER 7: EVERY CLOUD HAS A SILVER LINING 

Caleb pulled at the oars slowly. 

“The service was lovely. I think Mary would have liked it.”

“If she were only here to see it.”

“I think she’s watching down from a better place.”

“Do you?”

Caleb paused in thought. 

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“You’re too good for this world Caleb.”

“Now what has gotten into you? If I didn’t know better I’d think you were pulling my leg.”

Beth looked out onto the lake. It was a clear sunlit day. The kind of day that was meant for happiness. Beth almost thought she felt it. 

Caleb pulled up his oars. 

“Well, here we are. Middle of the lake just like you asked. Go ahead then. Whenever you’re ready.”

Beth pulled out a white cloth from under her seat. You could just make out the faint shape of a dagger wrapped within it. She started at it for a long time. 

“It’s the right choice Beth. It brought you nothing but heartache.”

“And death.”

“Yes. And that too.”

They both sat there for a while taking in the view from the center of the lake. Beth had noticed some crows began to circle overhead. 

“Bloody crows.” Caleb and Beth said this in unison and it brought a small chuckle out of them both. 

“Go on Beth.”

She took the dagger in a firmer grip. Felt it’s perfect balance, and could almost make out the red ruby from beneath the layers of white linen. Then with a deliberate motion, she dropped it into the lake. It slid out of her hands and almost imperceptibly broke the surface of the water and sunk to the bottom of the lake. 

Beth felt a wave of sudden relief wash over her. Like a bright ray of sun piercing a cloudy day. She let out a breath. Caleb nodded. 

“Well then. It’s over. Now what do you say I make you some shepards pie with a nice pint of ale.”

“That sounds heavenly.” 

“Thought you’d like that.”

“What brought you to this tavern Caleb? What’s a man like you doing here?” 

“What’s a lass like you doing here?” 

“I’m being serious. Answer my question.” 

“It’s a long story. Maybe one day I’ll tell it to you. Though it may take half a keg to get it out of me.”

“Good thing I know the tavern keeper.”

“Ha! You’re the first to say so.”

“That’s too bad. Caleb?”

“Yes?” 

“Can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course. Well, is it a dangerous favor?”

Beth finally laughed. “No. It’s a regular favor.”

“In that case, anything.”

“Can you teach me how to read?”

Caleb paused. He took this question with a weight that told Beth it truly meant something to him.

“I would be honored to teach you how to read Beth. Anything you had in mind?”

“I have a book I’d like to read yes.” 

Beth patted her leg, as if to signify a deal made. Then she rested her hand, where under her skirt, was a journal.

THE END

Chapter 1: A Villain

The baby had to die first. He felt no sadness in the act. Even gazing upon the child in its twig bassinet, poorly tied together with twine and softened only by a sole blanket, He felt nothing. A baby has no wishes, no wants, no hopes or dreams—none of the things that make us human. Just the machinery to one day create a person. An acorn is not a tree. The suffocation was quick—a mercy for one such as it. A life without care makes us cruel. Material comforts gained without work breed entitlement. It was a nice home, all things considered—furnished as one would expect of those who wish to appear rich. But there was no feminine touch. Where was the wife?

The wife was a more difficult question. Mothers tended to be near their babies, and upon the death of the child, it would necessitate the quick death of the mother. Her absence was unexpected. Now He wondered whether to end her life at all. Could she be used? A means of further harm? A decoy? That question would wait. It was the husband He was here for.

He found the man asleep in his bed, alone. Where was the damn wife? Deftly tying cloth and coverings to the bedframe that would serve to silence the man's screams, He gently placed a small mask over the man's mouth and nose. Lightly loosening the man's dagger, He then cut off the pinkie finger at the last knuckle.

The man shot up in pain, pulling the slipknot and tightening the mask across his mouth and nose with the ferocity of his struggling. Clawing at the mask through muffled screams with a bloody hand, the man froze, his breath held, as the point of a knife blade lightly pierced his scrotum.

"Necklace," was all that was said.

The man looked at Him, wide-eyed with confusion.

A delay. He listened. No movement. He twisted the knife further. The man produced another muffled scream, weaker than the first. He stabbed a small hole in the mask around the nose, making sure to slice the nostril in doing so.

"Barmaid. Necklace."

The man's frantic, bloody intake of air slowed. He could see the man attempting to piece everything together. But He wasn't interested in explanations, confessions, monologues, or last words. He pressed the knife firmly atop the man's testicle.

The man frantically gestured at his right pocket and rolled slightly to make it more visible. The outline of twine, beads, and a poorly carved cameo showed in the fabric. Releasing the knife from the man's scrotum, He allowed an unimpeded breath. Then He took the man's own knife and carved the pocket and the flesh behind it off the man's thigh. Another bout of muffled screaming began before He buried the knife in the man's throat.

As He left the home, through the front gate and into the garden, the final question was answered.

"I knew you would come."

He turned to look at her—the wife. She had never been in the house at all. Had she been hiding? Waiting?

"The crows—they say they are your omen."

He felt a flash of anger. They did follow Him, relentlessly. Without even a hand gesture, every bird surrounding the house fell dead.

The wife fell to her knees, awed and terrified.

"He got what he deserved.”

"And what do you deserve?"

Her eyes shot up and held His.

"I didn't want any of this. Take me with you. Take me away from here."

He closed His eyes. The ring on His left hand grew warm, though no glimmer was seen. He opened His eyes. In front of Him, as if frozen in time, she stood lunging at Him, knife drawn, eyes full of hate and rage. His face broke the faintest of smiles as she turned into dirt, blown away by the night's whipping winds.

"A mercy, indeed.”

Chapter 2: A Visitor

It was nearly dawn by the time He returned to His home—a modest cottage on the outskirts of town. The first touches of amber light graced the field in front of the fence line hiding His garden. A fence overgrown with vines and green-black lichen—a level of unkempt disarray He allowed. It provided more than just privacy; the lichen gave an early warning of the air, of poisons and intrusive magics invisible. Even if He couldn't see it or smell it, the lichen always could. But it was here that he saw something even the lichen couldn't see: a single yellow tulip swaying gently in the morning breeze. To others, it would have been a welcome sight. To him, it was a harbinger of chaos and death.

Without hesitation, he knelt and quickly made his way through the tree-lined shadows until he was downwind of the cottage amidst a small thicket of trees. Hidden there, he took in the air. No smell of horses or their unwashed riders. No sound of metal jostling to the rhythm of many feet over the fields. The grasses stood untrammeled, swaying with the morning wind. He slowly made his way to the back of his cottage and saw a faint light coming from within—the flicker of a fire. His thumb brushed his knife hilt as he silently slipped through the back gate and approached the house. In a small pot by the door, he again saw one single yellow tulip. A beautiful warning. The typically stubborn door yielded too easily. He stepped inside as if sneaking past sound itself.

Taking in the room, he found nothing appeared disturbed, aside from a path of yellow petals daring him to follow into the main room. It was here he found his answer, lying languidly in his bathtub.

"Ves."

"God, I thought you'd never get here! I'm cold. Get me more hot water."

He stared at her, watching the soapy bubbles and yellow tulip petals glide across the surface of the water. Then at the water pot above the fire in the hearth.

"It isn't going to bite you."

She waited as he said nothing.

"Oh, saints! Stop it. I know how much you want to talk, Mal. I know your silence kills you. Why not talk to me?"

She was right, of course. Malphas's mind was always plotting, planning contingencies. He absolutely loved having a partner in crime to speak to—someone who could match him. He had met a woman of this caliber only once. His silence, his isolation, his mistrust, came as a lesson dearly learned. His teacher now lay before him, hair tied back as she craned her head over the basin's edge, exposing—nay, displaying—her neck. Her breasts flirted with the edge of the water, the flower petals playing the part of modesty.

"Because you'll try to kill me first?"

"That was not as serious as you took it."

"The poison in my wine was meant to unseriously kill me?"

"My heart wasn't in it. Besides, I was irritated with you because you refused to fight Lord Jeffries."

"To the death."

"Are there other kinds of fights? And you seem to be forgetting about the prize."

She gestured to herself with a hint of exasperation. Malphas raised an eyebrow.

"Are you going to get the goddamned water or not?"

He stared at her again. He might hate being silent, but she hated his silence more.

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

She stood from the basin, naked and glistening.

"Towel?"

He almost moved. She paused, drinking in his gaze.

"One of us is having too much fun."

In a blink, the water on her skin turned to steam.

"At least give me my robe."

She gestured to what he previously thought were cobwebs clinging to his coat rack. He turned as if to retrieve it and, in one fluid motion, unsheathed a long knife. She stilled, and he could almost see her body harden, inch by inch, like an invisible shell enveloping her. At this, Malphas did smile. But he was not so foolish as to think she was somehow less dangerous naked. So, with exaggerated caution, he lifted the robe off the coat rack with the tip of his blade and pointed it at her. It was magic of a type he didn't know, and he was pleasantly surprised when his knife didn't sputter as if from acid when he lifted it. She stepped out of the basin and snatched the robe. He kept his blade pointed.

"Don't cut the damn thing! I paid a king's ransom for that. Literally. You should have seen his face."

She absentmindedly slipped into her robe. In truth, "robe" was a stretch. It was sheer, impossibly delicate, and hugged her body in every way she intended. At one moment it was transparent; then, just as your eye focused, it turned translucent. It was as if the robe were watching you—baiting you, teasing you, and ultimately distracting you from whatever was about to kill you.

"What are you doing here, Vesarelle?"

"Are you going to put away that, utensil?"

"No."

Vesarelle rolled her eyes. This was losing its fun for her; he could tell. An irritated Ves was a prelude to chaos, but he didn't dare return his knife now that he had it out. That was her mistake, giving him that time. She wasn't the only deadly thing in the room.

"Fine. Malphas, I want you to take me to a ball tonight."

Malphas snorted.

"I'm being serious. There's a prince who is taking his first rounds at court."

"I'm familiar with the aristocracy here."

"I'd like to meet this prince."

"You'd like to fuck this prince."

"And I'd like you to be my way of introduction."

"Me?"

Malphas let the point of his knife drop.

"Do I look like landed gentry, Ves?"

Vesarelle stepped toward him, her robe shimmering and shifting.

"You look like far more than landed gentry to me."

The smell of bergamot, vetiver and lilac filled the room, mixing with the scent of the fireplace. Her auburn hair fell about her shoulders, framing her oval face, just covering the curve of her slight breasts. She was mesmerizing.

And at that moment he lunged.

Dropping the knife tip was a feint, and he slipped the flat end of his blade against her thigh over her femoral artery. But her hands had not been idle either. Malphas found himself with the point of her hairpin cutting into his jugular. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then a flicker of annoyance crossed Vesarelle's eyes and settled into amusement.

"I want to go dancing."

"You don't need me to do that."

"I want you there."

"You want me to be a part of it."

"Yes. Are you deaf?"

"So I don't hunt you down and kill you after you've had your fun—after the township is upended looking for a prince's killer."

She flushed red and pressed the point of the hairpin in further.

"Don't forget. I'm asking."

That was true. For whatever reason, she didn't seem to want him dead—yet. He traced a path with his eyes to the hairpin and looked back at her. She returned the gesture, looking to the knife at her thigh. Then, eyes locked, they slowly, in unison, pulled away. Malphas sheathed his knife and sat, feigning ease, at the table.

"So dramatic."

She chuckled and sat in a chair by the basin, twirling a necklace thoughtlessly in her fingers—the barmaid's necklace.

Malphas slowed his breathing and swallowed his anger.

"What's her name? Elizabeth? Eliza? Beth? Liz? Is she pretty? No, I bet she's scarred. Across the face?"

His eyes narrowed—a warning he saw her register.

"It's your sentiment, this penchant for broken things, that will get you killed, Mal. Long before you get whatever it is you're after."

"And what am I after?"

"I don't know. Love, lust, revenge, the thrill of pure chaos. Am I close?"

"No."

Vesarelle dismissed the non-answer with a lazy wave of her hand, as if it were an over-eager servant. She yawned and tied the necklace around her neck.

"So, what else am I wearing to the ball?"

Chapter 3: A Venture

"You can't be serious."

Malphas stood from behind the dining table, moved to his wardrobe, and grabbed his gardening clothes: tattered, dirty, and most of all, unassuming. The sun had reached its noon peak by now, and certain bushes needed pruning. And if they didn't, he'd prune them anyway. He had heard enough.

"I'm as serious as this whiskey is piss."

Vesarelle sat across from him, giving her mug an evil eye. She had mercifully changed into her traveling clothes. For all the grime of the road, they could have been magic themselves. They held her and hid her as if the threads themselves were jealous of other cloth. Either that, or she had seduced a very promising young tailor.

"I have been completely open with you about the dangers: constables, guards, nosy courtiers, court mages, our cover story, entrances, exits. I know who I'm talking to. It's everything you could ever want in a plan."

"Your generous candor is the main reason I know you're lying."

"So you'd trust me more if I were more untrustworthy?"

"I wouldn't trust you no matter what you said. But at least lying is expected. To admit danger from the start means—"

"Fun? A little excitement? A challenge?"

"An elaborate plot all so you can fuck a prince. Haven't you done that enough?"

"They keep making new ones."

"You bring destruction to my door and treat it like a game."

"I brought destruction to this door? I thought the Master of Magpies lived here."

Malphas's face remained a wall, but this jibe irritated him. The townspeople had named him King of Crows—not Malphas himself; he was just the local herbalist to the people of the town. But the tales they told of what he did (and more often what they imagined) under the cover of night had obviously reached outside of the town. One part of the story that was never embellished, however, was the fact that hordes of crows, ravens, magpies, and jackdaws followed him at night. Each time he set out, more appeared. Malphas had always held the animals in high regard for their intelligence and dark beauty. But lately, they seemed to undermine him, as if they were giving him away in order to propel him toward violence. This stung him in a way he didn't care to admit, and her little joke left Malphas worried as to what she might guess.

"An herbalist lives here."

"And he looks a mess."

"Attention kills, Ves. Yours more than most. Keep poking your head up, and someone will relieve you of it."

"And do what instead? Huddle, covered in shit, with the rest of you? Anyone can hide, Mal. That's easy. Stupid peasants can do it."

"Then even you might manage it."

"A goddess doesn't bend, because a goddess cannot bend."

"Lofty. But all you offer me is the cool breeze of an executioner's axe."

"Is my being in your debt really not enough for you? Do I have to sweeten the deal? Alright. If you must diminish me, so be it."

"Get on with it."

She ignored this.

"Accompany me in this, and I will stay with you—unencumbered, unrestrained, and utterly devoted—for seven days."

"Two days."

Vesarelle's face contorted in confusion.

"Five."

"One."

"Are you undercutting me, Malphas?!"

"Axes coming for you in all directions."

Vesarelle's face flushed red with frustration.

"What is it, then? I know nobles in that court who've done far more than scar barmaids. I could point them out."

Malphas almost blinked. Almost. This did interest him. It was rumors of sadists among the nobles that brought him here. But accepting this would mean he'd still be in the dark as to why Vesarelle was really here. So he simply stared.

"You won't fuck, you won't kill—what the hell are you good for?"

"Pruning my garden."

"Answer my question, damn you."

"What was the question again?"

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, MALPHAS?!"

This outburst was out of character. Either she was being genuine—which he dismissed out of hand—or she had refined her acting chops since they last met. Malphas considered his response, taking her in slowly this time. He instinctively saw a viper, but she seemed unsteady. Beasts in a corner may be more deadly, but they're in a corner all the same. Here was his moment to end this vexing day, and he knew just how to finish it: he'd tell her the truth.

"I want you to leave and take your cursed flowers with you. I want you to never step over my threshold again, be it here or anywhere I may go in the future, in this life or the next. But most of all, I want you to give me no reason to hunt you down after you're gone."

Malphas listened to the harshness of his words land and watched her. He couldn't read her, or at least he didn't trust anything he saw, but the color drained from her face—a neat trick. No new tactic followed it. No change in approach. Finally, she was silent. Satisfied, he grabbed his sun hat and gloves and stepped to leave out the front door. It was then he thought he heard her speak, but the sound was weak and unnatural. He looked back at her again. Her head was slightly bowed, her hands loosely clasped, brow in subtle knots. He could see the slight movement of her rubbing her left ring finger—the only part of her body he had never seen her adorn. It was a soothing motion.

"What? What did you say?"

Vesarelle raised her head and struggled to meet his eye. She attempted to set her jaw and could only half manage it. She took a breath.

"I'm already being hunted."

Chapter 4: A Vanishing

Malphas shot a sharp look back at Vesarelle. If she was expecting sympathy for her plight, she had darkened the wrong doorway. Destruction had followed her. He turned and glowered over her. She seemed impossibly small to Him in this moment—small enough to step on, small enough to kill without a thought or care, like a fly on the table. One swift solution to His problem. His ring warmed, and a slight tremor began, seemingly emanating from the floor where He stood. His next words were filled with contempt as the light in the room seemed to dim.

"Who's hunting you?"

"I don't know."

"DON'T LIE TO—"

Malphas froze. The tremors stopped. Vesarelle caught her mug of whiskey just as it was about to topple over and spill. She reluctantly looked up at Him, fearing the worst. But He wasn't looking at her. She traced His eyeline just over her head to the opposite side of the room.

"What are you looking at?"

On the opposite wall was a mirror. From where Malphas stood, the mirror allowed Him to see His wardrobe behind Him to His left and out the window behind Him into the garden. It was there He saw it, out of the corner of His eye. Malphas’s fury turned cold. The green-black fence line had gone stark white. The lichen was dead.

"We're out of time."

Malphas sprang into action. In one continuous motion, He grabbed two small glass vials from a shelf and smashed them onto the floor, their blue-green flames immediately rushing up to the ceiling. With His left hand, He opened the wardrobe just behind Him, and with His right hand, He grabbed Vesarelle by the top of her corset, almost throwing her into the wardrobe, and spun in behind her, slamming the door shut as the flames licked at him.

"Mal—"

Malphas covered her mouth with His hand and slammed His foot hard into the bottom of the wardrobe. The wood gave way, and in an instant they were in free fall. To Vesarelle's credit, she didn't scream as they fell and at last splashed into an icy body of water underground. There was a faint flicker of light some fifty feet above where Malphas's cottage continued to burn. He reached out to where He could hear Vesarelle sputtering and grabbed her roughly to Him as He swam to an outcropping above the water. He dropped her at the edge and climbed up the rocks. Malphas sat, taking in what had just occurred. Whatever cold He should have felt was dwarfed by the return of His fury.

"Mal. Give me your hand."

Vesarelle was able to keep her body warm enough to avoid shock, but her traveling dress made it hard to climb rocks while soaking wet. She reached out to Malphas.

"Hand!"

What met her was not a hand at all, but a boot to her sternum, knocking the wind out of her and throwing her back into the water.

"Who's hunting you?!"

Vesarelle was livid. She began to glow, and the water around her began to steam. But Malphas met her glare with His own. He unsheathed a dagger as the ruby in His ring began to glow. Rocks started to fall like a light rain into the water. Vesarelle slowly moved forward as the water began to boil around her. She stepped onto the rock and rose an inch. Then she took another step, not over the rock, but almost into it. As she continued, Malphas could see the underwater stones melt into steps beneath her feet. With the same deliberate pace, she rose from the water and approached Malphas. The cavern was nearly bright as day around where she stood, glowing white-hot with anger. But Malphas was taut and uncowed. If this came to a test of speed, He liked His odds.

She finally stopped half an arm's length away. It was all Malphas could do not to let the heat make Him blink. Then she spoke two words that hit Him like a sucker punch:

"My husband."

Malphas was stunned. Vesarelle let the words hang in the air as Malphas reeled. His knife tip dropped, and he looked to his thoughts. How had he missed this? Why hadn't he foreseen it? What piece—

It was at this point the real sucker punch came. Malphas stumbled and grimaced, but he made no sound. He spat blood. She could have that.

"I've killed men for less, Malphas."

Her voice was bitter and icy as the water. But she dimmed. These displays of power had exhausted them both. Malphas sheathed His dagger.

"You have a husband."

"Yes."

"You've had a husband all this time."

"Yes."

"Never thought—"

"To mention him? To you? No, Malphas. Your jealousy smells like rancid garlic. Why would I invite it to dinner?"

Malphas shot an exasperated hand toward the nearly extinguished light from where his cottage burned.

"That information might have been important!"

"Only to your pitiful ego. It makes no difference anymore."

"No, no. You're not getting off that easy. This 'husband' of yours is formidable."

"Only in his tedious pursuit of me.”

“He’s like us Ves. Maybe stronger.”

"And how do you figure? Did he appear as a ghost in your mirror? Is he the one pissing in your whiskey?"

"The lichen."

Vesarelle paused, struggling to portray her indifference. But Malphas knew he had caught her. She finally burst out.

"Goddamn tattletale plant! What color is it now?"

"Pure white. It's dead."

Vesarelle seemed to shrink, her anger overtaken by the severity of the news.

"How? That shouldn't be... I've never even heard of that before."

"And I've never seen it, but here we are. Can he track you?"

"No. I don't think so. Or if he can, he never taught me."

Malphas raised an eyebrow.

"Then why did he show up at my home?"

"He could always sense magic, but not who is magical. The two of us together must have caught his attention."

At that moment, Malphas's attention was caught by the sound of men yelling around his cottage. This conversation would have to wait.

"We need to get out of this town, Ves. Disappear. Now."

"He expects that. He'll only track us faster, alone in the woods. We can't run."

"So what do you suggest? We hide from him down here like rats?"

"We disappear, like you said, but into the crowd. Find a cozy spot, right in the open, under everyone's nose."

Malphas's brow furrowed; this felt like folly. And worse, He hated the thought of being among the townsfolk. But Vesarelle seemed adamant, and as much as he hated to admit it, with a man of such capability out there, they were safer together.

"We have to get into town, Mal. It's our best bet. Besides, I could use some piss-free whiskey anyway."

"Fine. And then we're going to begin today's little chat over again. This time with you telling me the truth."

Vesarelle smiled, like she hadn't a care in the world.

"Would you settle for fewer lies?"

Chapter 5: A Variable

Making their way out of the cavern proved uneventful, yet still cold and wet—at least for Malphas. Vesarelle was perfectly content and warm, a comfort she did not offer to him—a price he paid for his anger before. Though if it were to happen all over again, he'd just as likely do the same thing, so he made no mention of it. For most of the way, they walked in silence.

The cavern let out into a lake just at the edge of town, saving them the task of getting there over land, where Vesarelle's husband might easily sense and overtake them. After not seeing, hearing, or smelling anyone around—a process Vesarelle compared to "the worst dog show at a circus of bad dog shows"—Malphas felt ready to get his answers.

"This husband. Why is he hunting you, and what did he look like last you saw him?"

"He's probably mad his new wife snapped his spine with her thighs. So, surprised?"

Malphas stopped walking and glared at her.

"He's tall, early fifties by now. White hair, white beard—"

"Closely trimmed or long?"

"Trimmed. He also had a mole on his ass. Did I miss a detail?"

Malphas grunted and continued their walk into town.

"What was this man's station? What's his name?"

"Count Fullbright. He was a royal advisor—influential and trusted by the royal family of Auraria to the north. Rich but not ostentatious. Well received at court. He was kind."

"So naturally you tried to kill him."

She ignored the statement. But He could have sworn he saw a flash of sadness cross her eyes before being replaced by a playful sparkle.

"We'll need to get me something suitable to wear."

"Suitable for what? You're already in your traveling dress."

"Suitable for a ball, you half-wit."

"You can't—"

"Possibly be serious? God, men are predictable. Yes, Mal, a crowd is what I said was safest. So we're going to the biggest crowd we can find."

She quickened her pace as she strode into town, leaving him to catch up. She seemed to know, preternaturally, right where the tailor would be. Upon entering his shop, the tailor's eyes lit up behind his glasses as he puffed himself to his full stature, which at his age was half at best.

"M'lady! You do me great honor with your presence."

The tailor assuming she was of noble birth was nearly as annoying as Vesarelle's indulgence of it. Malphas tried distracting himself by looking at other wares.

"Don't be touchin' things without my say-so, now! Apologies, m'lady, I don't know where these ruffians come from these days."

"Ruffians? What news have you heard?"

Vesarelle's over-the-top fake concern was not noticed by the tailor, who took up the gossip with conspiratorial relish.

"Well, m'lady, a man's been murdered—in his own bed even! Cut a square in his leg!

"Oh my! Are we in any danger?"

"Not in here, m'lady. The ne'er-do-wells know not to come messing around my shop. Besides, the constabulary is all over the countryside looking for whoever did it. So you're safe here with me."

Malphas didn't need to see her "I told you so" look. He could feel it drilling into the side of his skull.

"Well, I hope your stitching is half as good as your protection, my dear man."

Vesarelle then pointed to a gleaming blue dress with white trimmings.

"May I try this?"

"It would be my greatest joy! And you—"

Malphas sighed.

"Don't you put your hands on nothin' while we're in the back!"

A short while later, Vesarelle appeared and looked in every way the noblewoman.

"I'm afraid I don't have any money on me after my journey. Boy? Boy, have you any money?"

The number of ways Malphas wanted to kill her in that moment was myriad. As always, however, he held his tongue.

"No matter, m'lady! It's on me! Please, I insist! Just make sure to tell everyone at the ball you got it from—"

They had both left the shop and were headed down the street before he could say his name.

"What a little troll of a man."

"He seemed to like you."

"Yes. Just like everyone else."

She paused and gave a gleeful gasp, then headed directly for a building with a wooden sign in the shape of a mug.

"Ves, wait!"

She ignored him and strode in. As he entered half a second later, he realized he was too late. She had already caught sight of a woman with a fresh scar on her cheek behind the bar and was walking toward her with an air of haughty comfort that only aristocrats can display.

"Hullo, m'lady! I apologize for the state of the place. I'm not used to such fine company. May I get you some wine?"

"Whiskey, thank you..."

The barmaid was slightly puzzled by the request before picking up on the extended "you" that hung in the air.

"Oh, Elizabeth, m'lady. But most folks call me—"

"Beth."

"Why, yes! How did you know?"

Vesarelle didn't respond. The game was over too quickly for her to care about niceties. It was then, however, she caught Beth looking at the necklace she was wearing. At the same moment, two guards, fully armed, walked into the tavern. Malphas grew tense, feeling exposed. He couldn't hear what Vesarelle was saying, but her sudden wicked grin didn't ease his mind.

"Not my usual gems, no. It was a strange gift from a man who said it was special to him. Would you like it? Please, take it as a show of my gratitude to your fine tavern."

Beth showed the conflict of a thousand questions, yet overawed as she was, she didn't refuse.

"Turn around now and let me put it on you. There we are. Beautiful. Now no one will immediately see that scar!"

Beth's face was a contorted mix of thanks and shame. Malphas grimly thought that while he twisted real knives, Vesarelle needed none, and they were still somehow sharper. As she walked back to the table where Malphas had taken a seat, she whispered something to one of the guards, who shot an eye to Beth. She then sat down next to Malphas as if the curtain were about to rise over her favorite show.

"What did you do?"

Vesarelle took a deep drink from her mug.

"Is the whiskey in this town just made of piss?"

Suddenly there was a commotion. Beth was yelling for the guards to get their hands off her, but they ignored her pleas. One guard ripped her apron from her dress, and just as Malphas was about to stand, Vesarelle subtly lifted a finger, gesturing for him to wait.

"There it was! It was in 'er apron!"

The guard lifted his hand high, holding the bloody cloth pocket that Malphas had carved off the man the night before. Vesarelle had lifted both from him. He filled with impotent rage. There was nothing he could do that wouldn't draw attention. He watched Beth get dragged out of the tavern, protesting her innocence, while the guards boasted about having found the killer.

Malphas began to wonder if coming into the town wasn't also her way of neutralizing him. He worked alone, in shadow. He was completely out of his element in a crowd, and she knew that all too well.

A commotion could be heard outside as people rushed in to see what they had missed. Following this crowd were three more men: two guards and what Malphas took as their leader—a tall, sturdy man who projected authority effortlessly. Older but refined, with white hair and a neatly trimmed white beard. The guards went about their business keeping order while the taller man scanned the room. He was just about to turn and leave when he stopped abruptly. He locked eyes with her.

"Vesarelle?"

Chapter 6: A Volta

Vesarelle didn't move, nor did she look away. She seemed frozen, betraying no sign of emotion. The dim light of the tavern cast shadows across her face, masking any hint of fear or surprise. Malphas knew this was up to Him, and He had little time to act. A crowded tavern filled with murmuring patrons, two armed guards, and this man—Count Fullbright—stood between them and escape. Killing all of them was probably not the best option, though it was His first thought.

Fullbright spoke—not with the commanding authority he naturally projected, but with a subtle sadness that silenced the room.

"Men, please detain this woman for questioning."

The guards fixed their eyes on Vesarelle, who remained motionless. All her wiles were useless against this man who knew who and what she truly was. Malphas, without a plan and wholly out of His element, decided to improvise.

"Who dares encroach upon Lady Esmel?! Handmaiden to Queen Celestine of the Seven Sceptered Mountains and my charge since infancy!"

Gasps rippled through the tavern. Malphas had memorized their backstories in their entirety. The guards scoffed.

"A lady-in-waitin’ in a common tavern?"

Malphas gestured broadly to the patrons, stepping closer to the guards, just out of arm's reach. The scent of ale and smoke hung heavy in the air.

"Lady Esmel is a friend to all. She feels no shame being seen among the good people of the realm."

The guards exchanged uneasy glances and looked back at Fullbright, uncertain. The Count's eyes reflected deep sorrow as he gave a reluctant nod. But the fight was over before they could react. As Fullbright's head began to dip, Malphas struck. His hand chopped into the throat of the guard to His left while His boot crashed into the knee of the guard on His right. The left guard collapsed, clawing for breath. As the other began to crumple with a scream, Malphas seized his head and smashed it into a nearby table, splintering wood and sending mugs flying. The tavern erupted in shock.

With both guards unconscious at His feet, Malphas weighed His options: kill this man now or kill him later. Forced by circumstance, He chose later.

"You seem to believe you know my lady's name, my lord. But I never had the pleasure of hearing yours."

"I am Count Fullbright of Auraria, and I—"

"Am not in Auraria. And we don't take kindly to our noblewomen being run roughshod by foreign nobles. Do we, boys?!"

A murmur of agreement swelled into shouts. The tavern's patrons, emboldened by drink and the display of prowess, began to stand, fists raised. A mob was forming, and it fueled His hatred.

"My lady's dance card is full tonight, my lord. But mine's not."

Fullbright met Malphas's stare unflinchingly. He was truly not a man to scare easily. Yet the tone of his voice remained steady, diligent, tinged with grief.

"I am tracking a killer. Merciless and without empathy. Every moment they're free, an innocent could die. I do not have time for games."

"Your back is too stiff, my lord. Perhaps you're not up for a dance after all."

Roars of approval echoed off the tavern's wooden beams. Malphas flashed the devils own grin at the crowd. They saw His triumph; what He felt was disgust—at the mob for being so easily swayed, at Vesarelle for being the cause of this chaos, and at this weak man before Him, defanged by melancholy when his goal stood before him.

"What a waste."

He muttered it more to Himself than anyone else. Turning, He found Vesarelle gazing at Him with a fire in her eyes that was most definitely not anger. Continuing His charade, He bowed deeply before her, then took her hand. Together, they moved gracefully toward the back exit, the tavern erupting in cheers and applause.

The moment the door closed behind them, Vesarelle spun around and slammed Malphas against the stone wall of the alley, pressing her lips to His in a rough kiss. Her hands fumbled urgently at His belt.

"Take them off."

Malphas reacted swiftly, spinning her around and pinning her against the wall. Her expression remained ecstatic, eyes wild. His anger flared, and He grabbed her by the throat.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? We could still be killed any moment."

Her breath quickened, but not from fear. It was as if she turned pain into pleasure. He would never understand this woman. Then again, perhaps that was true of women in general—what moves their minds? He released her and stepped back to a safer distance.

"We need to get to the ball and create a diversion."

"So eager! What if we made a diversion first? Practice, practice, practice."

Malphas clenched His fist. He couldn't bruise her face or exposed skin, but the rest of her... Vesarelle drew a deep breath and exhaled a long, disappointed sigh.

"Always too little and over too soon. Lead the way, you groinless bore."

Chapter 7: A Volte-face

Getting into the ball proved trivial. The guards were so enamored with "Lady Esmel" that she could have drooled on their boots and they would have carried her in on their backs. Malphas expected Fullbright to be on their heels, but before he could relay the urgency, Vesarelle had already ingratiated herself with a group of ladies near the high table. So he remained toward the back of the room by the entrance doors, tense and alert. Waiting.

The hall itself was larger and far more richly adorned than Malphas would have expected, this being a smaller kingdom within the continent. It appeared that many foreign nobles had traveled to be here for the festivities. Why had so many come to this princeling's debut ball? His sudden awareness of his own ignorance irked him, and while he had no one to blame but himself, it fueled his suspicions. He had heard many stories of this court spoken in whispers. Even Vesarelle claimed to know things about them. His darkening thoughts were cut off by the sound of trumpets. The royal family had arrived. All the niceties ensued—even Malphas went through the motions—and without wasting a second, Vesarelle had positioned herself as close to the Prince as anyone could hope to get. Moments later, the music began, and Vesarelle was at the front of the line for the dance, with many a royal lady feeling entirely put out and not afraid to show it. Vesarelle wasn't making any friends, though he hardly expected her to notice or care.

As the dance began, Malphas's wait ended—Count Fullbright entered the hall. But not through the entrance like the rest of the guests; he entered from the same direction as the royals themselves did, a fact that put Malphas on high alert. Fullbright must have said something. How could he not? What were they planning? The dance ended, and here Fullbright made his move. Malphas prepared for a fight but was shocked to see that Fullbright was making the same reluctant, pained show of force as before. No new ploy, no heightened aggression, but full of caution that went almost unnoticed by most of those gathered. His hatred for this mewling cur and the delicate way he wielded his power only rose. How many ways had Vesarelle neutered him that even after she attempted to kill him and ran away, he could still be in thrall to her?

Three guards slowly moved toward Vesarelle, and Malphas could see at least five converging on him, with a bit more enthusiasm in their steps. Now was the time to create a diversion. They had discussed Vesarelle fainting if things should start going south, allowing him to scoop her up and lead them out of the hall and then to a back exit. But Vesarelle did not faint. Instead, she ran directly to Fullbright with the Prince in tow. Malphas couldn't hear what was said, but as soon as he saw Vesarelle point at him with tears running down her face, He knew what was meant. Her entire plan became clear: use Him to get her to the ball without Fullbright stopping her, reach the Prince, and then land her final betrayal. With Malphas eliminated no one would question her story. No loose ends. Clever.

The entire hall spun round to look at Him in shock; guards rushed around to cut off any attempt to run, and the King himself stood in indignation. The King was just about to yell something—probably "Seize him"—when the ground began to shake and a sound outside evoked massive hail. The hall began to tremble beneath their feet, with the ever-louder crashing against the roof and walls. The guards were terrified and looked back for orders, but no sound could be heard over the thunderous, shaking din.

Yes. I will be your Villain, Malphas thought. And I will be your doom.

The massive doors of the hall fell, and blackbirds like locusts flew in by the thousands. The loud thudding on the roof gave way to more blackbirds breaking through the ceiling—a dark wave coming to sweep away this putrid coterie. Malphas could see Fullbright begin to throw up his hands to control the fall of wood and stone from the collapsing ceiling, other court mages placing flimsy shields around the royal family as they tried to escape. But it was Vesarelle that He focused on, funneling all His rage upon her. Her eyes returned no venom; her body was still, even calm, as the blackbirds attacked everything in sight. When finally, with a mighty roar, the entire hall fell in on them, and the world went silent and black. The last thing He thought He saw was her smile.

Epilogue: A Vindication

The sounds that reached the dungeon were faint, but the caw of birds was clear. Even after the earth-shattering crash, the birds continued to get louder. Screams of guards were frantic before they were abruptly silenced. Beth huddled in the back of her cell, trying to make herself invisible, when what appeared to be two blackbirds landed on the bars of her cell door. The birds seemed to hold things in their beaks, but she couldn't make them out in the dark. She heard two loud clangs and closed her eyes, fearing the worst. After a moment, she opened them, seeing the birds were gone. As she crawled to the barred door, she felt a key ring. Baffled by this, she jolted her hands up and cut herself on something sharp. She sucked on the small cut and squinted. Next to the key ring was a dagger. She picked it up slowly, and a red ruby in the hilt began to glow. The cut on her hand healed instantly. Her other hand shot to her face, and she felt no scar. She was flooded with emotion. But it wasn't relief that she felt. It was anger.

"Never again."

She took the keys and opened the cell door.

I watched you die.

Will, cradling your head, weeping.

I thought it was just a threat.

I’ve never put much stock in curses.

I watched them cease fire and leave.

They left their relic.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t cry.

I stared into nothing.

No

Time felt like it slowed. My vision started to curve(?) or warp like everything was folding into the middle of me. The relic burned in my pocket.

“You’ll watch your nearest die tonight!”

A branch slashes my face. I’m sprinting. It’s earlier this morning and Will is right behind me. This isn’t Deja vu. I’m back there again. I’m back in time.

We’re running from our captors. We have their relic. The one they happened to catch us trying to steal last night. It’s as powerful as we hoped. It glowed so bright when I first held it, it was hot to the touch. I dart my hand into my pocket and instead of the relic I pull out a handful of ash. I don’t remember ash being in my pocket. Things can change.

Their alarms ring in the distance. Their leader shouts her threats and gruesome promises. Will laughs and feigns relief. He quips that maybe the Witch Queen would compromise and just kill the people near him who wake up before 10. We make it to the train tracks in time to hop on a boxcar. I send word ahead that we’re free and that the plan was a success after all. Will is giddy. The kind you get after escaping yet another near death encounter. He makes a grandiose mock toast, thanking us all for never losing faith in him.

I spend the rest of that ride talking to Will in a way I never had before. I asked him about his life and interests. I’ve always been cautious around Will. I know he holds feelings for me. But I was honest with him there. Yes, I knew how he’d take it. But it was easy to be open with him. There was nothing fake about that. I want you to know. As we were about to hop off the train and head to the compound, he kissed me. I did have a pheromone stim in my system. I’m not sure if it mattered.

We obviously weren’t the only ones who sent a message forward. Some goon must have recognized me in those cages and linked me back to the compound. The attack was full on by the time we arrived.

You were out on patrol. Just like last time. Will regrouped with the crew in the main yard and instead of running off to be a decoy, I stayed with the group as well. Near to everyone this time. Not because I don’t believe in curses. I do. I do now.

I didn’t see the shot catch Will. But I heard it on my left. I felt his blood hit me. I turned and started dragging him away from the front and behind cover. I couldn’t look at him writhing in pain and coughing blood. I tried dressing his wound but my hands were shaking. It wouldn’t have helped. You slid up behind us just then and cradled his head. I saw you bathed in light, alive and fighting like an angel come to liberate Hell. Will’s breathing slowed and he looked up at us and smiled, then he breathed his last and you wept.

That’s when, and why, the fighting stopped. It got its pound of flesh. Not them, it.

Curses aren’t tricks. They’re not clever. They’re about pain. Twisted and cruel.

“You’ll watch your nearest die tonight!”

It was an old fashioned love curse. I know this because you died first. And you died because you love me. This isn’t how I wanted to tell you I knew.

This kind of curse is said to radiate out from you. Killing the first person it touches that loves you. It’s not just a curse to kill your loved one. It wants you close. It’s a curse to make you watch. But it isn’t picky about what affection filled heart it stamps out.

The only way you wouldn’t die is if someone else who loved me was closer.

I didn’t seduce Will. I didn’t need to. I gave him words and he took them and made them what he wanted. The pheromone stim was more for me.

But yes, I traded his life for yours.

I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.

Someday, I’ll tell her.