Dhampir Part 29

Magiere ran down the near-black streets toward Brenden's shop until her lungs threatened to burst. Her long dress kept catching at her legs, but she pulled it up with her free hand and kept running.

What if Welstiel were right?

Truth hurt more than the exerted ache in her chest. How could she simply a.s.sume all danger had pa.s.sed because Leesil and Brenden believed the burning warehouse had caved in the tunnels? She ignored the pain in her legs and ran on, falchion in hand.

As the smith's shop came into sight, she called out, "Leesil!" not caring whom she woke up.

The front door was closed. She pounded on it.

"Leesil! Brenden?"

No one answered, and she tried to open it. The door was unlocked.

Magiere shoved it open and stepped inside, but there was no one at home in the small one-room cottage. Maybe Leesil and Brenden hadn't gone directly to the blacksmith's house. What if Leesil had tried to cheer his friend by hunting up a late game of cards somewhere else?

Yes, she comforted herself. Leesil had taken Brenden somewhere else, and they were probably both sitting in some decrepit little inn playing faro. But her hopes were hysterical attempts to create personal security, and she knew it. Aunt Bieja always said, "We mustn't worry until we have something to be worried about."

No, Leesil had said he wouldn't be long.

When she walked past the back window, a flash of white caught her eye. She turned and saw Brenden's shirt. He was lying near the woodpile, not far from the fading stains of Eliza's blood.

"No!"

She rushed out the back door and into the yard, dropping to the ground at the blacksmith's side. His flesh was alabaster, contrasting with the dark red of his torn throat. She crouched down in front of him. His expression was not horrible, but more peaceful than any she'd ever seen on his face. Bright red hair stood out starkly against wan skin.

There was little blood on the ground, as whatever had ripped his throat open had carefully consumed every drop. She tried to let the sight sink in, to allow it inside where she could properly absorb and deal with it. But she couldn't.

Brenden was the only truly brave member of this town, the only one to help her and Leesil. And what had his bravery purchased? What did standing by them bring him? It had brought him death.

She reached out with her free hand and touched his beard. Her hand moved down to his throat, where her fingertips pressed against the side as if to feel the blood pumping. Nothing. She already knew he was dead, and her actions futile, but now she was one of the desperate, and she was paying a price.

Magiere remembered him standing in front of the tavern door that morning, blocking Ellinwood's entrance, protecting her home.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to him. "I'm so sorry for everything."

Welstiel was right. She should have made sure. She should have searched for the bodies and never stopped until she made sure those vampires were truly dead. She had let Leesil and Brenden just walk out into the night air. This was her fault.

She dropped her falchion and gripped her own knees, rocking back and forth. It was too much.

Too much.

In the distance, an eerie keening wail broke through her inaction.

Magiere grabbed her falchion off the ground and ran out into the street near the front of Brenden's stables and forge.

Chap's cry sounded out again. Chap was hunting.

"Leesil."

Chapter Seventeen

After Leesil left Brenden, he started for The Sea Lion, then changed his mind. Sounds of the sea called him, and he wanted a bit more time to himself before going home, so he walked toward Miiska's waterfront instead of taking the streets back to the tavern.

Pity for Brenden occupied his thoughts, but he was also troubled by the realization that he wanted to tell his friend the truth-well, maybe not the entire truth, just the part about how he and Magiere had earned a living for several years. How would Brenden react when he realized he'd risked his life hunting undeads with two people who probably knew less about it than he did?

Then again, they had been successful and everyone in their group survived. Perhaps the truth didn't matter.

Before him, gravelly sand and water stretched up along the forested sh.o.r.e and to the docks farther down. The sea lapping gently in and out on the beach was strangely comforting in moonlight.

Leesil tried to push aside any troubles that did not require immediate attention and focus on the moment at hand. Of course, some memories, old and deep, haunted him no matter what, but tonight the beach was peaceful, Magiere was alive, and Brenden might finally be able to mourn and someday recover from the loss of his sister. And Chap was on the mend. What more could he ask of life?

He strolled down the sh.o.r.eline at a steady pace, and soon he found himself thinking about the tavern roof and getting an advance from Magiere for some new clothes. She needed some as well. Had she mentioned something about already ordering a new shirt? Maybe she had. Magiere.

He tried hard not to think of the previous night, and found himself testing the bandage around his wrist. He felt the lingering ghost of her lips and teeth on his arm.

Leesil shook himself. It wasn't bad enough that the whole event had been macabre and grotesque-it was somehow alluring. Or perhaps that was just because of her and not what had happened, what he'd been forced to do not to lose her.

A small wave lapped near his feet and then a high-pitched wail exploded near the tree line. He froze. Impossible.

It was impossible for Chap to be hunting. That cry he had only used when pursuing vampires. There was nothing left to hunt.

Leesil bolted down the beach toward the docks. "Chap!" he yelled. "Hold! Wait for me." The small bay grew deeper as he approached the docks, and the beach disappeared into the water until only rock and earth slanted sharply up to the edge of town. He climbed the rough embankment and kept going, not even pausing at the burned remains of the warehouse. When he reached a point where The Sea Lion was just up ahead, he stopped to listen. Leesil turned slowly around, waiting to hear Chap's howl again. When it came, the eerie sound was out in the trees beyond the tavern and the south end of town. He bolted again, not bothering to wonder what he would do when he caught up.

"Chap!" he shouted while still in motion. "You stop. I mean it!"

The dog's cry stopped briefly, but Leesil couldn't tell if this had anything to do with his orders or not. As suddenly as it stopped, the wail burst out again, but it changed directions.

Leesil stopped in a small clearing, panting among the giant firs and brush, in almost total darkness. Though the moon was bright, it did not penetrate the forest completely. He forced himself to stand still and just listen. The howls were growing quickly louder, now separated by barks and snarls. Then he realized that Chap-or whatever the dog pursued-was coming directly toward him.

Almost too late, Leesil dropped and tried to roll as a blurred form flew at him from nowhere, striking him hard across the jaw. Dazed and gasping for breath, he looked around wildly, still not sure what had hit him.

"Why don't you run?" a faintly familiar voice asked with gleeful intent. "Run and I'll catch you again."

Despite severe dizziness, fear caused Leesil to push himself upward and see the creature taunting him: a dirty, brown urchin with a skeletal face and torn clothing.

Ratboy.

"How?" he tried to whisper, but his mouth wouldn't work.

With unnatural quickness, Ratboy dropped to a crouch as if he wanted to talk. He half smiled, but the gesture did nothing to ease Leesil's panic.

"You know," Ratboy said, "I've never been one to play with my food, but now I feel like taking my time." His smile faded. "Where's your oil? Your stakes? Your hunter?"

Leesil tried to swallow, to think. In one flick he could have a stiletto in each hand. Would such weapons help him? Could he even get close to this... this thing that moved faster than he could see?

Chap's voice grew closer, and Leesil willed him to hurry. How had this creature survived the fire?

Ratboy's face caught and held Leesil's attention for a blink of time. So human, so young and lean and sharp like his body. Brown eyes glared, shining with the emotions of hate and triumph. Leesil had to remind himself that he wasn't facing an unkempt teenage boy.

Where was Chap?

"Perhaps we could call this a draw?" Leesil joked to buy time. "I promise not to hurt you."

"Oh, but I want to hurt you."

Ratboy jumped up and kicked him in the ribcage hard enough to flip him over onto his back. A loud crack resonated through Leesil's body, and he felt at least two of his ribs snap. For a moment, the pain blinded him.

And then, like a song cut short, the eerie baying stopped, as if Chap had disappeared.

Ratboy's head swiveled toward the trees and back again.

"Is that what you were waiting for, the dog? I'm strong enough for him now, too, but my pretty partner must have finished with your blacksmith and come to a.s.sist me. I do apologize."

He leaned down and grabbed Leesil by the shirt.

As Ratboy pulled him to his feet, Leesil curled his hands and flicked open the holding straps of the sheaths on his forearms. Stilettos dropped out of his sleeves into each hand.

He slammed both hilt-deep into Ratboy's sides.

"One good... turn for another," he gasped out and then wrenched both hilts down.

Ratboy's mouth dropped open at the sound of his own ribs snapping. One of the stiletto hilts came away in Leesil's hand, its blade breaking off inside the vampire's body.

Without exerting himself, Ratboy flung the half-elf through the air.

Leesil's body glanced off a tree trunk into a low branch. His impact severed the branch, and he fell hard to the forest floor.

Choking, fighting for air, half-blinded by pain, Leesil clutched the broken piece of wood and held on tight.

Magiere cursed her long skirt as she ran into the forest, following the sound of Chap's voice. Catching on brush and hitting her ankles, the heavy fabric slowed her pace.

Something told her not to cry out, not to call for the dog.

Who murdered Brenden? How many of the vampires had escaped Leesil's fire? Why had they lured Chap into the forest? If they wanted to kill the dog, they could have done it while he slept alone by the tavern's fire.

The dog's cry suddenly stopped. So did she.

Two breaths later, the wail burst out of the night again, and she could tell Chap had changed directions. He was chasing something through the trees. Or was something leading him?

She realized that crashing through the forest like a wounded bear would only give her away, so she gathered her skirt in one hand, clutched her falchion in the other, and moved more carefully through the trees.

d.a.m.n Welstiel. How had he known? Leesil was neither careless nor foolish, and he'd been certain nothing could survive the burning collapse of that warehouse. The brush was dense around her, and she stepped cautiously over bushes and through damp nettles.

Chap's voice was closer now. An odd relief grew inside her that she would see him within a wail or two. Then, like a bird shot in flight, his death song ended. It did not return.

Throwing caution aside, Magiere ran in the direction of his last cry. Falling into a small clear patch, she scarcely believed the sight.

A lovely young woman with dark brown curls and a torn red dress stood calmly, holding one hand out, speaking soft words. An arm's length away from her, Chap stood quivering and trembling. He growled, but his voice and expression lacked conviction. If he'd been a human, Magiere would have called him "confused."

"It's all right, my sweet," the woman said, her tiny, pale hand offering him a caress. "Come and sit with me here. You are very special."

Both dog and woman were so intent upon each other that neither noticed Magiere's entrance-though it could hardly be called a quiet one.

"Chap!" she snapped. "Get away from her."

Both sets of eyes turned in her direction, and the haze left Chap's expression. He shook his head and charged to her side. He whined, pacing back and forth around her and watching the small woman in red.

"Is that how you killed Brenden?" Magiere asked, falchion pointing at the woman. "You used some trick?"

The woman smiled, and Magiere felt its power like a physical blow. Small white teeth flashed from a face so gentle and innocent and warm that she might have been the source of love.

"You need to talk," she said. 'To tell someone your troubles. I know these things. You've lost your friend... Leesil? Is that his name? Come sit with me, and I will listen. Tell me everything and then perhaps we can find him together."

On a starkly conscious level, Magiere desired nothing more than to sink down beside this woman and pour out the last twenty years of her life. But she did not. Rage swelled up inside her, and fangs began to grow inside her mouth with a sharp, but now familiar, speed.

"That won't work," she half whispered. "Not on me." She stepped closer. "Are you armed? For your sake, I hope so."

Images from the woman's mind floated into Magiere's.

Teesha. This woman's name was Teesha.

"I think not," Teesha answered calmly. "Why should I when I have a swordsman?"

"I don't see him here," Magiere replied, but banter grew difficult, and she feared losing control.

There was no rage or l.u.s.t for revenge or madness in Teesha's eyes. Everything she did, everything she said, was calculated. Magiere hesitated, uncertain. This creature's powers were different from Rashed's or Ratboy's.

Chap growled low, and Magiere clung to rational thought. Teesha backed slowly toward the tree line. This vampire was afraid.

"You didn't think I'd be here, did you?" Magiere asked. "Or you would have come prepared." The truth became clear. This was all some plan to remove Leesil and Brenden. "I can kill you, and you can't stop me."

She stepped forward to swing, but the ground where Teesha stood was vacant. A rapidly fleeing voice echoed through the trees.