Barb Hendee - Dhampir

Little Rose sat near the fire behind Chap, who occasionally checked on her while she drew with charcoal on some faded parchment Leesil had bought for her.

Every time the door opened, Magiere couldn't help anxiously glancing over to see if it might be the intrusive visitor, Welstiel, from their first night here. As the evening wore on with no sign of him, she stopped eyeing every person who walked through the door and relaxed just a little more. If this was the first of many such nights to come, she might actually find the peace she'd imagined.

She did not hear the door open, but rather felt the wind and heard Leesil call out a ritual welcome. When she turned from an ale barrel, her first glance told her something was out of place.

He wasn't a merchant, not like those she'd seen in town. Nor was he a dockworker or bargeman, though his build would have made such work no strain at all. A sailor or even captain was out of the question, for his skin was so pale it hadn't seen a full day's sun in a long while. He stood across from her on the other side of the bar, unusually tall with a heavy bone structure and cropped black hair. A well-tailored burgundy tunic did little to hide the tight muscles in his arms. His eyes caught and held hers. Clear blue, almost transparent, they reminded her of Chap's. He bore himself like a noble, but if that were true, what was he doing here in a dockside tavern?

A low rumbling sound took a moment to register in Magiere's awareness beneath the din in the room. It pulled her attention mostly because she wasn't sure why she could hear it at all amidst the chatter of the patrons. But it was familiar in an unsettling way. Her eyes shifted toward its source.

Chap was on his feet in front of the hearth, lips quivering just short of a snarl. He was growling.

Her gaze clicked back to the man in front of her, then back to the dog-and little Rose, who sat round-eyed in surprise behind the hound. Chap had not reacted once all evening to any other patron.

"Quiet, Chap," Magiere snapped loud enough for the dog to hear.

He stopped growling but remained rigid, even when Rose began pulling on his tail.

Magiere turned her full attention back to the nobleman. "What can I get for you?"

"Red wine." His voice was hollow and deep.

This new habit of forming rapid impressions of people was beginning to bother Magiere. Ever since she'd come to Miiska, certain inhabitants had caused her to reach quick assessments, or perhaps she'd never before spent so much time around so many people. She distinctly experienced immediate dislike for Constable Ellinwood, an uncharacteristic goodwill toward Caleb and Beth-rae, an unexplainable fear of Welstiel, and now a new emotion created by this nobleman-caution.

She poured wine from a cask into a tin goblet, then set it on the bar. The man held out three copper coins. He knew the price and so had been here before under the previous owner. For some reason, she wanted him to lay the coins on the bar rather than take them from his hand. Nonetheless she reached out and snatched the coins. The nobleman didn't touch his wine. His gaze remained on her face, as if he were memorizing each feature.

"A fine place," he said. "Nothing like the taverns in Bela, but very comfortable for Miiska. I have some friends I'd like to bring sometime."

"Any good patron is always welcome," she answered politely with a courteous nod.

He nodded in return without smiling, and then his expression grew even colder. "You're the one, aren't you?" he said. "The one who hunts Noble Dead?"

The buzz of laughter and chatter all around her grew faint as a dull throb pounded in her ears. She couldn't help letting her gaze slip quickly around the room to see if anyone had heard. Noble Dead-she'd never heard that expression, but his meaning seemed clear.

"I don't do that anymore."

"You are a killer," he said quietly. "I have seen one or two true killers before. They never stop. They can't."

"There's faro in the corner, if you care to play cards, or find a table and order some food. I have customers to attend."

Magiere turned back to the wine casks, wanting to dismiss him and yet suddenly nervous about exposing her back. She heard Chap's growl again, but when she looked back this time, the nobleman was gone. Chap was no longer by the hearth but sniffing at the closed tavern door, his lip still curling just short of a snarl. She let out a slow exhale.

"Come away from there," she called, to the dog.

Chap didn't move, watching the door until little Rose came between the tables to drag him back to the fire as if he were a giant wooden pull-toy. The dog reluctantly followed her.

Magiere enjoyed no more of the pleasant sounds around her that night and continued drawing ale with numb hands until the last guest left. She had suspected this might happen eventually. It was always a possibility that someone who knew of her previous life would stumble across her. She simply hadn't expected it to be so soon-and twice within the first week, so perhaps the gossip was already spreading. And both occurrences seemed less a query or recognition than a challenge for denial.

"What a night," Leesil said, still looking down at the cloth-covered faro table with the thirteen ranks of spades laid out. Copper coins, and one silver, were piled highest on queens, tens, and threes for some reason.

Magiere pulled out of her own thoughts. "How'd we do?"

"Fine," he answered. "A little less than a fourth above the starting pot, but I was gentle with them. We'll make enough on food and drink, so best not to scare them off by emptying their pockets too quickly."

Surprise at his clarity of thought almost cut away her black mood, but not quite.

What had that nobleman wanted? She had never seen him before, and yet he'd seemed to recognize her on sight. He'd done no searching of the room when he entered but came directly to her. Then again, perhaps others in town were talking about her. She tended to stand out some, and there certainly weren't any other armed women strolling through town on their first day with a half-elf and oversized dog in tow. But what was going on? And an unexplained death the night before her arrival didn't help matters. It was too close to the pattern of the game she and Leesil had played for years.

"So… Magiere?" Leesil said, sounding a little annoyed for being ignored. "What's your problem? Been sampling the casks too much tonight?"

The large empty room suddenly felt more enclosed than when filled with people. She thought of the dead girl Ellinwood mentioned and Karlin's reaction. Had there been other murders in this small coastal town?

"Caleb," she asked, "who is Brenden?"

The old man was wiping out tankards and hesitated as though wondering about her question.

"The blacksmith," he answered simply. "His shop's near the market at the north end of town, on the shore side."

"I need some air," Magiere said, grabbing her falchion from under the bar and strapping it on, not caring what anyone thought, including Leesil. "Can you clean up by yourselves?"

Her partner blinked. "Do you want company?"

"No."

She practically fled the tavern, sucking in cool gulps of salt air after closing the front door behind herself. All around, Miiska lay sleeping, but in a few hours some of the fishermen would rise well before dawn to prepare their nets and lines. Not allowing herself to think, Magiere walked down rows of cottages, houses, and shops without really seeing anything. She took no notice of the very few street torches and lanterns still burning or the stragglers stumbling from another tavern or inn as it finally closed well past midnight. She just wanted to clear her head of all the plaguing thoughts running through her mind.

Scents began to register in her smothered thoughts-horse dung, charcoal, and soot. The blacksmith's shop and stables. Magiere stopped in the middle of the street, uncertain and wavering between directions.