Thief of Lives

Chapter 6

The Burdock was a modest but clean inn, nestled in a merchant district on the south side of Bela. After council hall of elites, this suited Leesil. Magiere had paid for two small rooms next to each other, the arrangement similar to the Sea Lion's upstairs. Each room held a narrow bed, a window, a tiny side table, plus a candle for an extra copper penny. Chap wandered about Magiere's room and poked his nose through the open chest. As Leesil stood in the doorway, watching Magiere unload her belongings, a strange isolation crept over him.

Indeed, they had their own rooms at the tavern, which was pure pleasure after years of sleeping on the ground. A warm, dry bed was a luxury that never wore off, but in this little inn a new change entered Leesil's awareness.

For years on the road, they'd kept together-Magiere, Chap, and himself. On rare occasions they'd rented a room or a farmer's barn loft. They huddled in the same space to save money and maintain a sense of sanctuary in a world into which neither of them had been welcomed. At the time, he hadn't given thought to Magiere as more than a close companion and partner.

There‘ d been so much fear, hers perhaps greater than his, as they slowly discovered what little they now knew of her dhampir nature. Perhaps more apprehension came from what she didn't know of her past. In the face of that, he'd found himself wanting more from her. And now, in spite of her penny-pinching…

Magiere had acquired separate rooms.

Pulling on her hauberk, she buckled her sword belt across it, checking that the blade slipped smoothly from its sheath. She removed a brush and an extra leather hair thong from her pack and placed them on the table. It was her way now to make any space hers. He'd never realized this out on the open road, nor how important a sense of home was to her. Perhaps she wasn't aware of it herself. For Leesil, home was wherever she and Chap happened to be.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"That we're in over our heads, and we can't back out," he replied. "That pack of wolves on the council might share traits with village elders you've dazzled, but there are differences. They're landed gentry and wealthy merchants. Did you see their faces when we walked in?"

"Yes." She stopped to pull the chest's lid closed. "But if I think like that, I won't be able to go on."

"Then we avoid the council." He nodded, white-blond hair waving as he leaned against the doorway, reluctant to enter the room. "We go to Lanjov's, and maybe Chap picks up a scent from the dead girl's clothes. Then we start hunting. We're in the largest city in the country, and this won't be simple. We aren't trackers, but we'll have to play the part and hope for luck." He lifted his head with a narrow-lipped smile. "Maybe if we blunder along, the bloodthirsty little monster will panic and try to kill one of us. That would get things out in the open."

"You're not funny," Magiere replied. "We've done this once. We can do it again."

Leesil wanted to believe her.

In spite of her attempted confidence, Magiere was overwhelmed as they stepped through the iron front gate at Lanjov's home. Constructed of finely masoned stone, the house was easily large enough for three families back in Miiska. When they climbed the three steps to the door, she grasped the large brass knocker, then paused and glanced at Leesil.

"You need that shirt fixed. Or better, buy a new one. You look like a beggar."

"I could pretend I'm in disguise."

She glared at him and rapped the knocker against the door.

Chap sniffed the front porch in some agitation. When Magiere looked to see what had captured his interest, she noticed that, unlike the clean stone in the walkway, the mortar between the left side porch stones was dark, as if stained.

A young maid opened the door and peered out, wearing a simple muslin dress covered by a clean apron, her hair tucked completely under a white linen cap. She looked at Magiere and then Leesil, and her eyes widened with fright.

"We have an appointment with Councilman Lanjov," Magiere said quickly. "He is expecting us."

The maid nodded, half hiding behind the door as she stepped aside to let them enter.

"H-he…" she stuttered, looking at Leesil, then quickly averting her nervous eyes, "he told me to have you wait in the lower study."

She seemed even more flustered when Chap entered behind them. Leesil flashed her a smile, which only caused her skin to pale as she turned to lead them down a hall and through an open archway.

"Please sit," she managed to say, motioning to a green velvet divan, and then she fled.

"Don't smile at the help," Magiere said, settling on the divan. "They aren't used to it."

Leesil rolled his eyes. Instead of taking a seat next to her, he peered about at luxurious knickknacks and bric-a-brac carefully placed about the room. A crystal vase and a silver inkwell held his attention for a short while, and then he stopped at an antique gold candleholder on the end table next to the divan.

"Do you suppose this is genuine?" Leesil asked.

"Stop it!" she warned.

Leesil returned an innocent stare. "What?"

"I know what you're doing."

"What am I doing? I'm admiring the man's taste."

"If anything comes up missing"-she grabbed for his arm, but he stepped out of reach-"I'll stuff you in our trunk and save them the trouble of arresting you."

Before Magiere could force him to sit, a deep voice interrupted.

"How kind. I see you can appreciate some of the finer things."

Lanjov stood in the study's archway. Though he was still as freshly dressed as this afternoon, his expression was tired and worn. He'd obviously had a long day.

"I'm sorry about the evening visit," Magiere replied. "But we need to know more of what happened. Your daughter was killed on the front porch? Who found the body?"

"I did," he answered with difficulty, staring at Leesil's torn shirt. He studied Magiere's partner for a moment, and a narrow-eyed expression passed over his face that she couldn't fathom. It was most certainly time to change Leesil's look, if they were to continue dealing with the councilman and his kind. Lanjov's gaze lifted to Leesil's face, or perhaps his hair, and Magiere grew more puzzled. The councilman's observation moved back downward to where Chap sniffed at the divan's legs.

"Then you weren't home?" Magiere asked. "Where were you?"

"At the Knight's House playing cards. I came home quite late and she…" His gaze grew unfocused, until he finally closed his eyes.

Magiere waited, allowing Lanjov to compose himself. "Was anyone else at home?"

He paused in thought. "Only my cook, who also serves as housekeeper. My coachman was with me. I was unaware that my maid and my houseboy were missing. When I questioned them later, I learned that Chesna had been giving them the same midweek night off for nearly a year. I always go to the Knight's House on the same evenings."

Leesil stepped away from the candlesticks and spoke to Lanjov for the first time.

"You leave the house on the same nights, and your daughter had a habit of letting the servants off for those evenings?"

Lanjov seemed disturbed at being addressed directly by Leesil, but he tightened his jaw and nodded. "Yes, but I did not find this out until after Chesna's death."

Leesil glanced at Magiere, and she knew his mind was now busy. That was what she needed. This one connection was easy to spot, but he often picked up on things she didn't.

"We'll need to speak with the servants," Magiere said quietly.

"Why?" Lanjov was back on his guard. "I've told you everything they told me. They feel guilty enough about then-betrayal. What possible reason is there for upsetting them further?"

Betrayal? This man thought a few servants indulging in a night off was betrayal?

"You said the cook was at home," Magiere pressed. "I at least need to speak with her."

With his jaw still tight, Lanjov backed through the archway to speak low and harshly to the young maid. Soon after, a portly woman in her mid-fifties appeared.

Unlike the maid, she didn't appear frightened. Her red-and-gray hair was bound in a bun, and her apron, although clean, bore a few faded stains. She sized up Magiere.

"So you're the hunter. You're not what anyone expected."

Magiere almost smiled. "Apparently not." She turned to Lanjov. "Could we speak with her alone?"

"No," he said flatly. "Any questioning will take place in my presence."

It became clear to Magiere that for all his words to the council concerning cooperation, he had little intention of doing so himself. He probably expected her to stay far from him and his home, and use some mystical power to track down Chesna's killer. Then he would expect proof for the council, so they could pat her on the head, give her a bank draft, and send her out of sight.

"What's your name?" Magiere asked the cook.

"Dyta."

"Tell us what happened the night Chesna was killed."

"I already told the master everything. I didn't know the poor mistress had even opened the front door. I never heard the knock."

Magiere nodded. "No one is blaming you, but I need you to tell us exactly what you did that night. It might help us find her killer."

Dyta pursed her lips. "Chesna was a sweet girl. Always sent Hedi and young Andrey out for a little amusement whenever the master was off to the cards. She stayed home and read or visited with me. That night, I was busy in the kitchen, storing up dried plums for winter. I didn't hear no knocking. I didn't hear no voices, because the kitchen is out back of the house. But I did catch a sharp draft when I opened the back door for a bit of air. I thought maybe a window out front might have been left open. So I went to see and found the front door ajar."

She stopped. Before tears could get the better of her, Dyta scowled hard, anger replacing anguish.

"I closed it. The poor lamb was lying out on the steps, and I never saw her or thought for a moment she'd be anywhere but in her room. I just closed the door."

Lanjov listened attentively, but at those words his head dropped slightly.

"Wasn't until later," Dyta continued, "past midnight, I heard the master shouting. I was already settled in bed in my room out back, so I found my robe and ran out. I heard him outside and opened the door as Lord Kushev came running up the front walk."

"Who's Kushev?" Leesil asked.

"A neighbor," Lanjov answered. "He was playing cards at the Knight's House with me."

"The saddest sight," Dyta whispered, "with her dress all torn, and throat so-"

"Enough," Lanjov ordered in a ragged voice. "I don't see how any of this will help."

Leesil raised his eyebrows, but Magiere couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"I assume you saved the dress?" she asked.

"Yes," Lanjov answered. "Captain Chetnik of the city guard told me that I must keep it, even after she was buried."

Magiere committed the name to memory. So far, few people in this had shown much sense, but this captain apparently had, and it might be worth the time to speak with him.

"I'll need to see it." She paused and felt some embarrassment. "Actually"-she pointed to Chap-"our tracker needs to smell it."

Lanjov's face paled again. The thought of a dog sniffing over his dead daughter's clothing was pushing this evening past his tolerance. To his credit, he simply said, "It's in her room. Follow me."

As Dyta left, Magiere, Leesil, and Chap followed Lanjov back into the hallway and to the right. The hall opened up in a wider area with a curved staircase. Lanjov led them up to the third floor and into a bedroom.

Cream draperies hung from a four-poster bed with a matching comforter. Small whitewashed shelves were attached to the walls at heights low enough for a young girl to reach, and the number of dolls that filled them surprised Magiere. Leesil looked at them too. At least a score of dolls, intermingled with occasional toy animals or a foppish marionette, were displayed along one wall alone. Some were blond, some had dark ringlets, and one had hair of auburn red. All of their heads were porcelain and most wore pink, lavender, or yellow lace dresses.

"How old was your daughter?" Magiere asked.

"Sixteen," Lanjov answered.

At that, Leesil's eyebrows rose, and he rolled his eyes as well.

"Where is her mother?" Leesil asked.

Again, Lanjov paused as if the question were not only irrelevant but impertinent.

"She died the night Chesna was born," he answered.

Magiere couldn't help pitying this arrogant man. He'd lost his wife in childbirth, and now lost his only child. Perhaps he'd been in no hurry to see his daughter grow into a life of her own.

Lanjov opened the doors of a tall wardrobe and removed a cloth-wrapped bundle. He carried it to bed as if it were both precious and horrifying to the touch. Inside was what had once been an elegant day dress of lavender with saffron trim. The neckline and left shoulder were stained with dried blood.

Chap trotted to the bed and looked up at Lanjov expectantly, but the councilman merely stepped back. Leesil reached out and took the dress, letting it unfold until the skirt hem touched the floor.

From its size, the girl would have stood no taller than Magiere's shoulder, but what caught her attention most was its condition. The front was shredded and torn open from bodice to hem. Magiere's stomach began to burn, accompanied by a familiar ache in her jaw that she quickly suppressed. But anger still crawled up her throat and into her head.

Those lower slashes hadn't been done to feed or kill. An ugly question needed to be asked, but when she looked at Lanjov's face, she couldn't voice it.

Lanjov stood silent and never blinked as he stared at the dress. His hands were tightly closed at his sides, and Magiere saw his throat clench as he swallowed.

Chap started at the hem of the torn skirt, pushing at it with his nose. As he worked upward, Leesil dropped down until the hound could reach the collar. Chap looked up at Leesil and back to Magiere and whined. Magiere knelt down next to the hound.

"Nothing?" Grabbing the shredded fabric in her fist, she shoved it at Chap, nearly jerking the dress out of Leesil's hands. "Again… pay attention!"

It wasn't that Chap understood her words, but Magiere had come to recognize that he knew exactly what his role was in their trio.

Chap looked into her eyes for a moment, and Magiere felt as if he returned her own dissatisfaction with a faint rumble in his throat. He again breathed in the dress, working along the folds and up to the bodice and shoulders. He finished and then whined.

"That's enough," Leesil said. "He's not getting anything. Perhaps it's been too long."

"Well?" Lanjov demanded, as if expecting them to have some new dram of insight after this painful indignity.

"We need to take it with us," Leesil said. He stood to face the councilman, leaving the dress in Magiere's hands. "Chap might not know what he's scenting yet."

Magiere knew well enough that her partner was now telling tales. She bunched the lavender dress in both hands. Part of her didn't want to know what had been done to this girl as she bled to death. She suddenly envisioned the mother she'd never seen being taken away in the dark to a fief keep. Rumors passed among the villagers of a woman glimpsed on rare nights, wandering, full with a child sired by what Magiere now had accepted was a walking abomination masquerading as a man. Just before her mother died, Magiere was born, unnatural and half-tied to the world of the undead. She squeezed Chesna's dress between her fingers and closed her eyes.

Teeth clamped down on her wrist, and Magiere's eyes snapped open.

Chap had her wrist wrapped in his jaws, and he tugged at her as he backed toward the door. She pulled out of his grip and looked at Leesil.

"I don't know." He shook his head. "Just follow him."

At that, Chap whirled about, trotting out of the bedroom door. With dress still in hand, Magiere went after him, Leesil following, and from behind, she heard the breathy irritation of Lanjov. Chap stayed well ahead and, upon reaching the main floor, bolted toward the front of the house. Magiere chased him, coming to a stop in the main entryway. Chap stood grunting and growling as he pawed at the front door.

"It appears your dog needs to go outside," Lanjov said coldly. "Perhaps you gave him too much water before coming."

Leesil turned on the councilman and was about to spit something out, when Magiere interceded. "He wants to see the front porch again."

Lanjov blinked. With a deep sigh of resignation, he opened the door.

Chap lunged out and did exactly as Magiere had expected. He stopped with nose down, sniffing the dark-stained grout between the porch stones.

Stepping out, Magiere studied the spot that Chap inspected. In the low light of the porch lanterns, it was hard to see it clearly. Her gaze still on the porch stones, she reached for the left-side lantern to turn up its knob and extend the wick for more light. Instead of growing brighter, the light dimmed.

Magiere looked to see if she'd mistakenly turned the wick down and snuffed it out. The wick was fully extended, and the flame burned wildly, licking the top of the lantern. The light was so bright that she pulled her gloved hand back to shield her eyes.

Her gloved hand. She didn't wear gloves.

Chap yipped, leaping aside as Magiere stumbled down the porch steps. She stood in the walkway, hand held before her, and stared at her fingers.

There was no glove on her hand.

"Magiere?" Leesil asked hesitantly. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," Magiere muttered.

When she pulled her awareness back to the moment, Leesil stood before her, studying her face with wide-eyed puzzlement.

"I'm…" she began. "It's nothing."

She glanced once more at her hand, the right empty and the left still clutching the bloodstained dress, and shook her head. Stepping around Leesil, she headed purposefully up the right side of the steps, watching the left-side lantern suspiciously. A trick of the light was all it had been, and she grabbed the railing to steady herself.

The porch was empty and silent.

Magiere stared at the closed front door with its outer carved panels of detailed doves and vines. She tried to look about and find where Leesil or Chap or even Lanjov had disappeared to, but her head wouldn't turn.

Her hand reached for the door's side lanterns, first the right and then the left, turning down the wicks until then-light dimmed just short of going out. Her hand wore a well-tailored, tight-fitting, black leather glove. The hand itself was wrong, wider than it should be. It grasped the brass knocker, clacked it twice against the door, but there was no sound. Magiere tried to back away but couldn't move.

Moments passed. The door cracked open. A fresh young face peered out.

She was a pretty girl with dark ringlets of hair that hung to her shoulders. The girl released a smile, as if knowing Magiere as a familiar acquaintance. Magiere had no recollection of ever seeing or meeting her before, but something about her appearance was familiar. When the girl spoke, Magiere couldn't hear the words, but dark ringlets swayed across the shoulders of her lavender gown with its saffron trim.

"Chesna?" Magiere whispered, or thought she had. The sound never reached her ears. The only thing she heard was her heart hammering.

Jaw now aching, Magiere felt her canines elongate, pushing against the clench of her teeth. Her gloved hand snatched the girl's neck and wrenched the young woman closer. When her mouth clamped around the girl's throat, lips sealing across smooth, warm skin, there came the scent of lilac from perfume or soap. Chesna's throat collapsed between Magiere's teeth as blood seeped into her mouth.

Magiere wanted to let go and scrape the taste from her tongue with her fingernails. Its thick warmth trickled to the back of her throat. Her head abruptly ripped back, and Magiere saw the side of the girl's throat open, exposing sinew and bleeding veins. Her hand still clenched around the girl's neck, she shook Chesna until blood soaked the lavender bodice. Her free hand came up, fingers snarling in the front of the lavender dress…

Chesna's empty eyes rolled.

"Stop it! Wake up!"

Magiere jerked away, both hands to her face as she clawed at her own mouth.

Her foot slipped off the edge of the porch. A hand snatched her upper arm, and she snarled in fear and pulled free, tumbling down the stairs to land facedown on the walkway.

Magiere lay still, unable to do anything but hold her bare hands across her face. She could still taste blood. Her heart raced so fast that she couldn't separate the pounding beats in her ears.

Hands grabbed her shoulders from behind, trying to pull her over onto her back. She blindly swung a backhand fist at her attacker. Her wrist was snatched in a grip that pulled her up and around to her knees.

"Valhachkasej'a! Open your eyes!"

Magiere obeyed.

Everything in the pitch dark around her appeared thinly luminous.

Leesil knelt before her, one hand on her shoulder, the other still gripping her wrist. The door lanterns behind him burned so brightly she couldn't look at them, and yet his face wasn't night-shadowed. She saw his features clearly, from the fine hairs of his slanted eyebrows to the faint scars on his jawline where the small undead, Ratboy, had tried to claw his throat open months ago.

"What is this?" Lanjov shouted. "What is wrong with her?"

The councilman stood in the house's entryway back from the door and stared in horrified astonishment at the two of them kneeling on his front walk.

"Quiet, please," Leesil snapped in annoyance.

"No!" Lanjov shouted. "Enough of this ridiculous-"

"I said quiet!" Leesil repeated, and leaned around to face the councilman.

Magiere couldn't see her companion's face, but Lanjov's reaction was plain. The councilman lost all semblance of anger and took a further step back into his home.

Leesil turned back to her, and Magiere saw a change pass across his features. His narrow jaw tightened, and large amber eyes flinched and widened, and she felt his sudden twitch through his tightening grip on her wrist. He looked afraid. She shrank back from him, but he held her in place.

The ache in her jaw began to fade. Leesil slowly released her wrist and tried gently to pull her other hand from covering her mouth. She jerked her head away.

"Let me see," he whispered.

This time, she let him push her hand aside. She felt his fingertips gently spread her lips. He frowned and gave a shallow nod.

"It's all right now," he assured her. "Nothing to hide anymore."

"She knew him," Magiere choked out, and ran her own fingers over her teeth. There was nothing strange to her touch.

Leesil took hold of her upper arms and pulled her to her feet.

"What are you talking about?" Leesil asked.

"I saw… felt him," Magiere tried to answer. "Chesna. She knew him."

"How could you see…" Leesil started. "What do you mean, him?”

She didn't know how to explain that she'd seen through the eyes of the murderer, followed his steps, and lived inside his moment. Tasted his kill.

"My hands." Magiere shook her head. "They were too wide for a woman. And the gloves I… he was wearing were fine leather. Custom-fitted."

"All right." Leesil hesitated as he looked her over. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "This ‘seeing' we'll get to later, but the gloves… means maybe he's masquerading as an elite or noble perhaps."

"He didn't feed," she continued. "This wasn't for blood."

"No more!" Lanjov shouted harshly through the doorway. "I have answered your questions and let you paw over her dress. You should be out in the streets hunting this creature, not putting on a spectacle for my neighbors."

Magiere slipped around Leesil and up the steps. "Chesna knew him. Who else comes here? Does anyone else come regularly to the house?"

Ashen with anger, Lanjov spit his words. "Are you suggesting the murderer is not a vampire?"

"No-he's an undead." Magiere shook her head, the vision now crystallized in her thoughts. And that one word hung in her mind-murderer. "But he didn't feed on her blood. I think he wanted it all over her. He wanted someone to find her that way."

"Leave my home at once," Lanjov said. "My daughter did not know this creature. It… he is a fiend, like those of your own town. The guard captain has taken accounts from those who were either attacked or viewed attacks by this thing, and I assure you, it was not a nobleman."

"There have been other attacks?" Leesil's voiced betrayed an annoyance Magiere could hear growing into open outrage. "With survivors? Why didn't anyone tell us this?"

Lanjov stared blankly at him, searching for a response to a question that apparently made no sense to him.

"There was no need. The city guard took the reports, and the victims were-"

"Common folk," Magiere finished in disgust. "You didn't see a need to call for me until one of your own died. So some survived these attacks to report them, but what about bodies? Besides Chesna, where are the other bodies?"

"I do not know," Lanjov answered tiredly. "Now, please, leave my home. This is a prowling creature that kills at random. If you wish to be paid, take that dog into the sewers or any other place where such things hide, and do not mention this ridiculous theory of a nobleman again."

He closed the door, and Magiere heard the bolts inside slide sharply into place.

"Are you all right?" Leesil asked.

Magiere ran her hand across her mouth, wiping at the lingering taste and touch.

"I saw her die," she said. "I saw it through his eyes. I felt it."

"I know, and I believe you, though…" He paused, and then hesitantly asked, "What did you see when you opened your eyes?"

"Just your face, the lanterns, the walkway, but… as if everything were touched by a hidden, soft light that let me see it more clearly. Why?"

Leesil stepped off the porch and looked away from her as he spoke.

"Your eyes. They were completely black, like their centers opened up and swallowed all the color out of them."

A thickness settled in Magiere's limbs. She was tired enough to crawl away into a small place, not to emerge for as long as she could remain undiscovered.

"I thought this was all done with," she said. "How many more twisted parts of me do I have to face?"

Leesil took her by the arm and pulled her into motion, headed for the front gate.

"We know the Noble Dead can see in the dark. It makes sense that you'd have some of that as well. It's night sight, Magiere. My mother's people have something akin to it, and I do partly as well. As to what you saw through the killer-"

"Why now?" she insisted. "Why haven't I had visions before?"

Leesil shook his head. "Perhaps the dress?"

"Then why didn't it happen in the bedroom when I first touched it?" Magiere held up the bunched ball of the dress.

"I don't know. It could be… I just don't know," was all he could say.

"I want no more of this."

Magiere looked about the street, its cobblestones illuminated by spaced oil lanterns atop posts or hanging from brackets fixed to the inner ring wall across the way. There was no movement and nothing to see in the empty night. Except for Chap, who had somehow passed them by and sat waiting patiently outside the gate.

"No more," she added. "I feel tainted all the time as it is."

"Give me that." Leesil took the dress from her hand. "We won't risk setting it off again, however it happened. We'll walk until we spot a coach to take us to the inn."

Magiere gripped her falchion's hilt, squeezing it tight like a single handhold over a chasm. Who were they fooling? She was an ex-mountebank and a tavern owner. Leesil was an ex-thief and a gambler who loved his wine too much. Yes, they could fight, even against the undead. They'd proven that much in Miiska, but this was different.

"They were right about murder," she said, shamed at what she'd seen, her hand-his hand-around Chesna's torn throat. "He slaughtered that girl with barely a swallow and left her there on purpose. What is happening here?"

"I'll find us a coach," Leesil muttered. "And we'll get you away from here."

After a light breakfast of porridge and grainy apples the next morning, a hired coach took them back to the inner ring wall and the recently built barracks of the Strazhy-shlyahketne, the royal guard division assigned to the king's city. Magiere noticed that Leesil had mended his shirt sometime in the night. Over breakfast, he'd questioned her about the vision. It was disturbing to remember, let alone ponder why it happened at all.

They knew the Noble Dead varied some in powers and abilities. Now, Magiere found her dhampir state continuing to mimic them.

She was changing. She could sense the sun. She'd awoken that morning at almost the moment it arose, though the curtains on her window were closed.

Even in the upper-class districts, people went about on daily business, though fewer street hawkers and peddlers wandered about. Most shops here served the whims and fancies of the privileged. Next to a clothier selling cloaks and voluminous capes trimmed in satins and rare furs stood a wine house built of dark timbers and white plastered walls.

They passed by other shops along the way, from a bakery with full tables of glazed goods to a large cartwright station for the sale and repair of carriages and coaches. At first, Magiere was puzzled when they entered this district rather than Lanjov's, but it made sense that even a king's guard division deployed for the city's protection wouldn't be housed among the homes of the elite. No, even the Strazhy-shlyahketne were still common folk, regardless of their standing. After dealing with Lanjov, Magiere hoped this Captain Chetnik might be less deluded and caste-conscious.

Lost in thought, Magiere was jarred back to awareness as the coach rocked to a halt.

Stepping into bright daylight, Magiere shielded her eyes and looked inside the purse Karlin had given to her. Their coin was holding, but they would spend quite a bit getting around in a place as large as Bela, and she paid the coachman with reluctance. It was either coaches or buy horses, and that meant stable fees as well. On the Stravinan back roads, they'd walked or paid fare on a barge or ferry traveling the main rivers, but time meant little back then, and horses were an unnecessary extravagance. Now, they couldn't spend half the days getting from one place to another.

"Can you ride?" she asked Leesil as the coach pulled away.

"You mean a horse? Only if I have to. I don't care to be at the mercy of a bag of lunacy lunging around on four sticks."

"Well, you may have to. The price of coaches will drain us soon enough."

He stopped his apprehensive examination of the barracks' outer stockade and looked at her.

"You're worried about the price of coaches? Forgetful gods, Magiere, I have never met another spirit as mean with money as you."

"Well, one of us has to be!"

Magiere pushed past him, heading for the gate to the barracks' grounds. She wasn't mean with money. She simply planned ahead. That was more than anyone could say of him.

The barracks' crafted stockade around its grounds was twice a man's height, with a double-wide gate that stood open. Four guards manned the portal, while others inside went about in the cool morning air, drilling at arms. All were similarly outfitted in ring mail beneath white surcoats and armed with sabers. Some, on their way out to posts around the city, carried long, pronged pikes and white shields emblazoned with twin sea hawks. The center ridges of their helms were trimmed in the feathers of these same birds.

Magiere paused before one gate guard. "Pardon, I'm looking for Captain Chetnik."

The man appraised her briefly, but spoke politely in turn and gestured toward the building directly ahead. "In the main hall. Ask at the front entry."

Magiere nodded her thanks and headed across the grounds, with Chap at pace beside her and Leesil following behind.

The main hall was two stories of masoned stone, the front doors propped open to let in the morning air. The entryway led into a small room, plain and sparse. From down one of the side halls came an angry voice, though Magiere couldn't quite make out what was being said. Behind the front desk was a balding little clerk, clean-shaven and plain-clothed, who raised his head and gave them a brief and polite nod.

"How may I help you?" he asked.

"We're here to speak with Captain Chetnik," Magiere replied. "At the request of Councilman Lanjov."

"And this pertains to?" the clerk asked.

"The councilman's deceased daughter," she answered. "We were called upon by the city council to look into her death. The captain has reports from citizens that might be of help."

The clerk seemed momentarily agitated but, with a short sigh, nodded in understanding. "Please wait. I'll see if the captain can meet with you."

At that, he disappeared down the left hallway toward the voice Magiere had heard, only to return moments later.

"The captain is currently with someone, but he said you are to come in anyway." He motioned Magiere around the desk and gestured toward the hallway. "Just go down to the end door."

Chap trotted ahead to the corridor's end. His whole attention focused through the open door at whoever waited inside. Magiere caught up to the hound, wondering what had his interest, when voices inside the room became clear.

"Are you suggesting my son would just leave the city without a word?"

The question came from a stout, middle-aged man sitting on the near side of the room in front of a large, dark-wood table. Dressed modestly in a short burgundy cloak with cap to match, he had an ample and sculpted beard dropping to a point from his chin.

"Captain, my son and his wife have been missing for days," he continued shouting. "Will you do nothing?"

Behind the table sat a hefty man in ring mail armor with a broad nose. A mass of dark brown curls hung from his head, trimmed off around his face as if his helmet had been used as a shearing guide. Among the table's clutter of scrolls and parchment was a helmet similar to those of the Strazhy but with more ridges and one plume of feathers arcing back over the crests from the noseguard. This, Magiere assumed, would be Captain Chetnik.

"What else would you have me do?" the captain asked, too quietly for his stature.

Magiere expected him to be bored by merchant's outburst, or at best, in a hurry to take the man's statement and shove him out the door. That had been her previous experience with constables and guards, but this captain appeared patiently sad.

"According to your statement," he went on with equal softness, "your son, Simask, and his wife, Luiza, were here with you on business. They went out to seek patronage for your vineyard from local innkeepers but didn't return. Guards have made inquiries, and I've notified the district constables in the area and the two local districts where they'd likely have gone. But there are no witnesses and no evidence of foul play. What more would you have me do?"

"Look for them!" the merchant answered in frustration.

"Where? In which part of the city should I search? Where were they last seen? We've had to guess at best."

The merchant collapsed in his chair under a sudden weight of fatigue.

"We separated to work different sides of the city," he continued more quietly. "I didn't even realize they were missing for a full day. I don't know where they might have gone, but my son is dependable. He wouldn't have missed our meeting day."

It was then that the captain noticed Magiere and Leesil standing in the doorway, and he stood up. The girth of his belly was wide, but appeared more muscle than the bulk of a sedentary man.

"Go back to your inn and rest," he told the merchant. "We'll do what we can. If there is any news, I'll send word without hesitation. Now you must excuse me, as there is another matter that needs my attention."

The merchant's face was drawn and hopeless as he stood. Magiere pitied him, but she didn't know what to say. When he turned to leave, he spotted her in the doorway and looked back at the captain.

"Luiza is fair, almost like that," he said, pointing at Magiere. "And black hair, but she is shorter, smaller."

The captain nodded. "I will make a note of it."

With nothing else to say, the merchant shuffled out past Magiere and down the corridor.

"Can I help you?" the captain asked, looking her up and down. He picked up a leather-bound sheaf of parchment and flipped the loose cover open. "I don't have any other appointments this morning, but I'm due to meet with the local constabulary in a short while."

"This won't take long," she said. "I'm Magiere. The council hired me to investigate the death of Councilman Lanjov's daughter."

At her words, Chetnik scowled and shook his head as he dropped the sheaf on the table. He studied her a moment, with only a brief appraisal of Leesil and Chap. A slightly amused smile bent his mouth up as he folded his arms.

"You're the hunter. Who's he?"

"My partner, Leesil."

Chap was sniffing the air about the room, but he looked over at Chetnik intently.

"That's our tracker," Magiere added. "But the trail is cold, and we need to limit our search. Lanjov said there are reports of attacks by a night assailant. We'd like to talk with some of these people. Can you give us a list of names and where to find them?"

Chetnik stood there, still smiling faintly. "You aren't what I expected."

If there was one phrase Magiere was most tired of hearing, this was certainly it.

"Indeed," she responded.

Chetnik laughed aloud, and the last of the sad strain vanished from his eyes.

"No, no," he added. "I expected some pompous mystic or aspiring alchemist throwing potions and powders about. I was none too pleased when the council took this case out of our hands. But our hands are full, and the district constabularies are hired locals not always suited to the task. You at least look like you can handle a fight."

His goading good humor proved mildly settling, and Magiere relaxed a little. Although Chetnik's continually eyeing her was more than a little puzzling. In fact, it made her rather uncomfortable.

"Can you give us a list?" she asked more politely.

"Hmmm… perhaps you've time for an exchange." His thick eyebrows arched. "I don't care who catches this murderer, but I want it done with."

Leesil stepped closer. Magiere noticed that he appeared to be strangely put out by this conversation.

"What do you mean, ‘exchange'?" he asked.

Chetnik acknowledged him briefly and turned his full attention back to Magiere.

"No matter how good you are, you may need help sooner or later. I've spoken with all of Count Lanjov's neighbors. I'd be willing to share their statements, if you'll tell me what you've come up with so far or what you discover along the way."

Magiere suppressed the urge to immediately agree. Chetnik was more than a soldier. As captain, he might know the city as well as any of the local constables assigned to its separate districts. Anything the constabularies heard would likely be passed to Chetnik. She and Leesil were working blind. On the other hand, she didn't want to appear too eager. If Miiska was to be saved, she and Leesil-not the Strazhy-shlyahketne-had to produce the remains of an undead.

Chetnik's warm eyes watched her expectantly. She returned him a shallow nod of agreement, though she wouldn't necessarily share everything.

"Have you found any bodies?" she asked.

The blunt question surprised him. Likely he thought he would be the first to get some answers.

"No," he answered. "We mostly hear about disappearances. One way or another such things often get resolved, for better or worse. In the last month, there've been more reports and fewer resolved. There are now more missing people than we can possibly search for at once."

None of this made sense to Magiere. So many missing, yet Chesna had been left to die on her own front porch in plain view.

"Chesna's killer wanted her body found," she said aloud. "I think he mutilated her and left her there intentionally."

"I'd considered that, but why?" Chetnik asked thoughtfully. "It doesn't fit with any of the disappearances."

He stepped around the table and closer to Magiere, his brows knitted. As he settled on the table's edge, he leaned toward her just a bit.

"And what makes you certain it's a man?" he asked, and his gaze wandered a bit.

Leesil let out a sharp breath. "I think we've taken up enough of the captain's time. If you could give us the list, we'll be on our way."

Leesil's voice was icy, and Magiere could tell he wanted out of here for some reason. The tone wasn't lost on Chetnik, who grunted and walked to a short chest of drawers against the wall.

"There isn't any list," he said. "I can get you started with a few statements, but I expect them back." He dug through parchments in the top drawer and pulled out a stack as thick as his thumb. "Names and addresses are all written out. Can you read?"

"He can," she answered without embarrassment, giving a nod in Leesil's direction. "But that's quite a few statements."

"They aren't all going to help you," he said, again rather friendly and chatty. "A drunk or two have been known to see monsters in the dark, and there are always those who latch on to rumors and tavern tales to blame for misfortune."

Leesil snatched the stack from his hand. "Thank you. Let's go."

He headed straight for the door. With little choice, Magiere hurried after him, urging Chap ahead.

"Keep me informed, and if you need anything else," Chetnik called after, "stop by and let me know."

Magiere merely waved in thanks and hurried out. By the time she reached the courtyard, Leesil was already in the street hailing a coach.

Although Leesil considered himself adept at talking to almost anyone, by the time the sun dipped low at dusk, he didn't care if he ever spoke a word again. They'd been over half the city. All right, so it was probably a tenth or twentieth, but it felt like half, and they'd managed to find only eight people noted in the reports Chetnik had given them. Chap became more restless throughout their search, and twice Leesil had to go scouting about neighborhoods and markets to track him down.

Magiere had been severely shaken by her experience at Lanjov's, as had he. He'd wanted to both comfort her and fathom what was happening to her before it happened again. But in typical fashion, she grudgingly put up with a few questions over breakfast and then refused all further efforts to discuss these newly manifesting abilities. The "sight" was not so surprising, but the vision, and what had triggered it, was another matter.

It couldn't have been the dress, for she'd handled items-even bloodied ones-from victims before in Miiska. The same reasoning stood for walking in the footsteps of an undead at the site of a killing. In spite of this unsettling awareness she'd developed, a part of him felt they shouldn't be thrown by any kind of unexpected help. They had no trail, not many clues, nothing to hunt, and on top of that, the guard captain had spent the better part of their brief meeting appraising Magiere as if he wished to make her part of his breakfast, or perhaps a late evening repast. Leesil didn't like this Chetnik one bit.

He was tired, hungry, and sick of listening to sad, despondent folk relive unsettling experiences. They'd talked to cobblers' daughters, tanners and sons, barkeeps, and even low-ranking gentry. So far, only one tanner's son and one young noble-who hadn't even wanted them in his home-had managed to produce coherent and unified stories. Both men had encountered a female with bright blue eyes in garish clothes. Of those tales, neither teller remembered what had happened, only that they'd found themselves wandering later in a befuddled and weak state, torn wounds in their throats.

"The sun is going down," he said. "Let's just go back to the inn. We can start again tomorrow."

"One more," Magiere said absently, staring at a parchment.

She could make out a few words at a time, and Leesil sat watching her read the same line of ink scrawl three times. It was getting even darker outside. Most shops they passed were closed. Chap lay on the seat across the coach, and Leesil had the oddest impression the dog looked sullen.

"Bright blue… blue… blue eyes," Magiere mumbled as she worked word by word through the scribed report.

Leesil groaned. "Let's at least have some supper first."

"Isn't this another name for a brothel?"

He reached out. "Let me see that."

"Oh, yes," she said in mild disgust. "That would get your attention."

"Not funny," Leesil eluded, and scanned the parchment.

Just over a moon ago, a woman with bright blue eyes-like "crystals," the witness had said-attacked a hired guard named Koh'in ib'Sune serving at one of Bela's loftier "domvolyne," a house of leisure. In other words, a brothel for those who preferred not to frequent an establishment that might actually be called a brothel.

"It's the same description," Magiere said. "Like the tanner's son and that haughty little noble."

Leesil nodded.

"That makes three matching accounts," she said.

"All right, all right. One more and then back to the inn. But there's no exact address." He leaned through the coach door window and called to the driver. "Do you know the Blue Dove?"

The driver looked at him cautiously. "I know where it is, if that's what you mean."

"Take us there." Leesil ducked back inside the coach.

Chap let out a whine without lifting his head. They rode for a while in silence until finally the driver called out their destination: "The Blue Dove."

Leesil hadn't paid attention to their progress and was surprised to find they'd passed back into the inner wall ring. What they knew from the reports didn't add up in a way that would lead to this place.

The young noble who'd seen the blue-eyed woman lived inside the second ring wall in a respectable but not overly wealthy area. The tanner's son lived in the outer ring. The three encounters had occurred in different parts of the city, but still, it wasn't unimaginable that an undead would range so widely.

Magiere paid the coachman, asked him to wait, and then stood next to Leesil, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The brothel was a lavish stone dwelling with two large braziers on each side of a door painted sky blue. The building's unusually small windows were shuttered tight, so no one could see inside. As they stood there with Chap looking about, a few people, particularly one elder couple, passed them with disapproving glances.

"I've never been inside a brothel before," she said finally.

Leesil grinned at her. "Neither have I. How tragic is that?"

"For who?" she muttered under her breath. "You or the women?"

"The women, of course," Leesil answered. "And from what I've heard, these places serve a wide variety of entertainment. Some even employ young boys, and I know of a place in the Warlands with a large mastiff that-"

"Not another word." She gripped his arm, pulled him up the steps and knocked on the door.

A gargantuan man opened it and looked down at them in surprise. His head was as clean-shaven as his wide, cleft chin, and his eyes were a brown so dark they were nearly black. But his most noticeable feature was his deep brown skin. He wore dark green breeches and an open vest with no shirt, and the handle of a flanged mace was slipped through the side of a wine-red silk belt wrapped more than a dozen times around his waist.

"You are too early," he said.

"Uh, no…" Magiere stammered. "You don't understand. We're looking for a man named Koh'in ib'Sune. Is he here?"

The man's body blocked the entire doorway.

"I am Koh'in, but I do not know you."

Leesil noted that his accent was smooth and fluid, like Lord Au'shiyn's from the city council.

"We're working with the city guard," he lied. "We wanted to speak with you about a report describing a woman with crystal-blue eyes who attacked you. There've been other reports, and we're trying to find any link between them."

Koh'in's stern expression didn't change. "You do not look like the city guard."

"We're not," Leesil replied, exhaustion getting the better of him. Bluntness seemed to be the only option. "We're vampire hunters working for the city guard. Can we come in?"

Koh'in blinked twice with a flare of his wide nostrils as his expression changed to mild concern.

"Come to the kitchen," he said, shifting slowly aside. "My mistress was displeased that I reported the event at all. She correctly believes such a stain on our reputation may hurt business."

With a quick glance behind himself, he ushered them toward the back of the house.

Leesil was curious to see the parlor, but he barely got a peek from the foyer before being hurried away to the kitchens. Pillows of shimmering fabrics rested upon divans and couches, and rich, thick draperies were pulled across the windows. Following Koh'in, he looked at the man's bulging shoulders straining the back of his vest. It was likely the patrons of this domvolyne conducted themselves with every bit of good manners.

The kitchen was well kept with pottery stacked about, and a warm, low fire in the cooking hearth. The room already contained two occupants. A beautiful woman with a generous figure and a mass of chocolate-brown hair sat at the kitchen table drinking tea, while a lovely blond nymph curled the woman's already impressively spiraled tresses. They wore matching silk dressing gowns of amber with embroidered white roses.

"This is Brita," Koh'in said, respectfully gesturing to the seated woman, and then lifted his hand toward the other. "And young Natasha. They must prepare each other while we talk."

"Koh'in, what is this?" Brita asked disdainfully, taking in Magiere's breeches and falchion. "You know the mistress doesn't allow visitors at this hour. And a dog?"

"They are from the city guard," Koh'in whispered, "and need to ask me questions about… the woman."

"Oh." Brita immediately stood up, and at full height she was taller than Leesil. She stepped directly in front of Koh'in as if to block passage. "Well, you can pose any questions in front of us. The guard helps us little enough, and troubles us plenty when some fop starts complaining. Ask your questions-and then leave him in peace."

Natasha set her curling rod on the stove and stepped close to Koh'in's side, crossing her arms in agreement. Next to the tall Suman guard, she looked like a tiny porcelain figurine.

"Yes," she said with some bitterness. "Poor Koh'in was attacked in the alley nearly a moon ago. The slashes on his throat are already healed, yet this is the first time you decide to look into this?"

"We don't actually work for the guard," Magiere replied, both empty hands in front of her, seemingly on the defensive. "We're working for the city council on another matter, but it might be connected to what happened. We may be tracking whoever attacked your friend here."

"Vampire hunters," Koh'in whispered to Brita.

Brita snorted and crossed her arms, crinkling her amber silk sleeves.

"That's what the council is spending taxes on? What happened, some pasty-skinned noble get his throat cut? But when it happens elsewhere, it's no concern of theirs."

Leesil shifted uncomfortably at how closely she assessed the situation.

"Can you just tell us what happened?" he asked tiredly.

Koh'in nodded. "I always make sure all the ladies are safe, alone in their rooms, before I lock up the downstairs."

Natasha wrapped her dainty hands around the large man's forearm. It took both hands to encompass the bulk of his limb.

"But before locking up," he went on, "I walk the outside, all around the house, to be sure no one remains, someone looking up at one of the windows, if you understand."

Leesil nodded.

"That night," Koh'in said, "I saw a red dress and blond curls in the alley behind the house. I thought one of the ladies had been called to a party and was coming home late. I hurried to take her inside. She was not one of ours."

"What exactly did she look like?" Magiere asked.

"Pretty. Small. Dark-blond rings of hair and bright blue eyes. So bright they made me think of gems, like they could reflect the light from the street lamps. But the mistress would not hire her to work here."

"Why not?" Leesil asked, and Koh'in frowned.

"Her dress was rich satin, but she looked…"-he searched for the right word-"cheap-not like Brita or Natasha. Perhaps it was her face, the way she looked. I cannot explain. I thought to help her, as she should not be alone in the alley. She smiled and asked me where we might go to be alone. Then I thought she was a poor street whore in a stolen dress trying to make coins from our patrons passing by. So I went to chase her off, and…"

The large man's eyes wandered, and he wrung his hands as Natasha leaned her head against his upper arm. He appeared shamed.

"She pushed me against the alley wall. Her mouth opened, and I saw her teeth come for my throat. They were like those of a numar."

"A what?" Leesil asked.

"A large wild black cat in my homeland," Koh'in explained. "Fanged above and below. I threw her off, but she was strong-so strong-and I ran. I did not know I was bleeding until back inside with the door bolted. This was not a real woman."

Natasha patted his arm softly. "It's all right. There was nothing more you could do."

"Did you manage to rip part of her dress or anything she was wearing?" Magiere asked.

"What kind of a question is that?" Brita snapped.

Magiere pointed at Chap. "He tracks. If you have anything that belonged to this woman, it would help us."

"Oh." Brita's demeanor softened. "Koh'in?"

The Suman shook his head. "No. I did not think of anything but to get inside."

Leesil hadn't expected much, but the man's description of the woman closely matched that of the tanner's son and the noble.

"So now you'll catch this thing?" Natasha asked.

"We'll try," Leesil said, for lack of a better answer.

Brita looked at them both and said, grudgingly but politely, "Thank you for coming. At least finally someone has."

With a few promises and good-byes, Leesil found himself once again climbing into the coach, but this time heading back to the inn and a hot supper. Only now, he found no joy or comfort in the thought of rest and warm food. One fact hung in the silent air between himself and Magiere.

"There are two," she said finally. "We're hunting two of them."

"If your vision was correct," he added.

"My vision is correct. And we've hunted more than one before."

"Do you think they're connected?" Leesil suggested. "Are we dealing with another pack?"

Magiere shook her head in uncertainty.

"The council can quake in their houses for all I care," Leesil added. "But I liked Koh'in-and Brita and Natasha. Besides the other common folk, the pier boys and such, these are the first people I've met worth protecting."

"And Chesna, who's now beyond our help " Magiere glanced sidelong at him. "We'll protect them. That's what we're here to do-so it seems."

Leesil leaned back. A fight was coming their way, and he smiled with a mordant sense of contentment for the first time since they'd left home.