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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
assume all danger had passed 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.
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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.
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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 shore 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 shoreline 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
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