Chapter 50: Under the Skin (1/2)

Behind the Dream, two minutes on foot eastward, one can find a small shop called the Seamstress Union. Every month, a cart makes the rounds of nearby farms to drop off spools of cotton thread and pick up finished cloth. The best are dyed and sold here to Marquette’s more affluent citizens, under the watchful eye of its proprietor.

“Good evening Debbie.”

“Ms Lethe.”

Deborah frowns. I’d like to think that, if I had stayed human, I would have been a bit like her. She has five children and a loving husband, a flourishing business, and bears her age with beauty and dignity. The grey in her auburn hair and the crow’s feet by her dark eyes fail to extinguish her charm. She carries herself with poise and confidence.

She is also an untrained mage. I can feel in her the telltale aura of spellcasters.

Perhaps because we are far from large cities, she never had any magical education and her potential only manifests in one curious quirk. She can spot lies in mortals.

“What is tonight’s guess?”

“Sophia.”

“Wrong again.”

“One day I’ll find out what your first name is.”

“Don’t bother, it’s Fernande.”

“Truly?”

“No, it is Berenice.”

“You are making a fool of me!”

She pretends to scowl, then we both chuckle.

“How do I even know that you will respect your promise? I still cannot tell when you deceive me.”

“I gave you my word.”

She snorts with bitter amusement.

“Who respects their promises nowadays?”

“I do.”

Our eyes meet and though I do not use Charm, she recoils and shivers. She is quite perceptive despite her lack of formal training, sensitive enough to pick up when my own aura flares. I hold my promises, oh yes. All of them.

“You are one strange woman, miss Lethe.”

“I will accept this as the compliment I am sure this was meant to be.”

“Ah yes, of course.” She answers, lowering her eyes.

I need to remember to blink more often. I did not mean to be intimidating.

“There is something I would like to know.”

“Yes?”

“The caravan Roger was in, was there anyone new in it?”

“The murders. Why can you never ask me about the latest gossip like everyone else? It’s always dark things with you.”

“Someone has to ask, or nothing is ever solved. Speaking of which… I would like my answer now.”

“Yes, sorry. It was only the old team. They struggled to make their way here from Springfield through all that snow and I don’t think they could have a stowaway. Not unless it could have gotten its water from sucking icicles.”

“Fair enough, tell me of Mrs. Tucker’s death.”

She shivers and crosses herself. I resist the urge to hiss softly.

“Dreadful affair, that. She was found in her bedroom earlier today if you will believe it, only a few hours after attending Mrs. Callaghan’s tea party. Did you… Did you go to her house?”

“I did. Unfortunately, the body had been picked up and dragged to the morgue under the judge’s office. He made it clear to his doorman that I was persona non grata.”

There was only a pool of congealed blood in her study, a sure sign that she was slaughtered on location. It was old as well, at least a day.

“Pushing you away, is he? Don’t you think you ought to let him work? I know that John of yours is a fearsome lad but… It may not be enough this time if that madman comes after you.”

“Two persons were butchered Debbie, people are scared and when they are, they tend to do unwise things.”

“But it’s good for your business, right? Desperate people do things to feel alive? So, it’s not too bad?”

I stop flat and study my counterpart. This was… Odd. For a mortal. Valuing profit over gruesome death is considered amoral. I know she is not, and her tone is slightly hesitant. Why would she ever risk appearing callous? Unless…

“Are you worried about me?”

The mask breaks and she explodes.

“Dear lord woman, this is not your duty! Do you know how horrible the town center was before you settled in? I remember it well! What happens if that maniac goes after you and your dunce of a bodyguard misses him? Everything will go to hell, again!”

“Calm your nerves Debbie, I have taken precautions. Should I disappear, the Dream will be taken over by people I trust.”

“Everybody may be replaceable Ms. Lethe, but not always by their match. Just… Keep it in mind. Before you end up way over your head.”

“I shall take your advice under consideration. Now, the murder please.”

“You know, I don’t need any intuition to know that was a crock of shit.”

“I did not lie just now; I used a polite yet unambiguous way to tell you off.”

Debbie shakes her head and leans against the counter. A deep breath later, she returns her attention to me.

“I didn’t want to tell you this. That old bat has been harping since yesterday about the dangers of accepting misfits and the inevitable fate that befalls those who frequent them. She insisted that God protected her because she was living a life of purity and avoided the congress of whores, witches, savages and foreigners.”

“Charming.”

“Is it not?”

“It’s almost as if she provoked whatever killed Roger and the thing answered.”

We stare at each other, the silence pregnant with signs of dispute. Debbie cracks first.

“You’re going to do it, aren't you? Set yourself as bait.”

“It could work.”

“Jesus Christ, I knew it!”

“I will be careful.”

“Right you are. Just… Get out. And don’t you dare die on me you hear?”

I wave goodbye as I turn around. Her concern is touching, but I am not exactly defenseless, and it has been too long since I had a proper meal.

A welcoming party awaits my return to the Dream, one I could have done without.

“Judge Sullivan.”

“Miss Lethe, I was wondering if you could clarify some elements for me.”

“Of course, would you like to step inside?”

“I would rather not.”

Three of his marshals move to surround me and John in a thinly veiled gesture of intimidation. I raise one brow in mock surprise then we wait in silence. I have perfected the effect of annoyed boredom over the years and this is the expression I serve them now.

Behind the judge, the gates of the Dream open and a man steps out, then gets back in. Annoyed at the delay, Sullivan speaks first.

“Two people have been horribly murdered in the past few days.”

Silence.

“I could not help but notice that old man Roger was working for you.”

“Indirectly, yes. And?”

“There are rumors that he stole merchandise destined for the Dream.”

I shrug.

“It would not matter. We check every delivery and only pay for goods that actually enter storage.”

“And Mrs. Tucker was quite vocal in her condemnation of your… Establishment.”

“Her and quite a few others.”

While we were talking, a steady stream of armed men have been leaving the Dream and casually taking position around our group. The marshals notice it but too late, they are already surrounded and vastly outnumbered.

They think they can pull an intimidation on me? Preposterous.

“Do not play coy with me woman. I just arrived here and a killer butchers two citizens, whose disappearances favor you? It seems like somebody is killing two birds with one stone, removing opposition while making me look incompetent.”

“Why would I produce any effort towards an end that you yourself pursue so relentlessly?”

“You dare!”

Sullivan takes a step forward only for John to repel him with a small hand push. Despite my bodyguard’s apparent restraint, the older man almost loses balance. Only his associates manage to hold him upright. Sullivan inflates with anger like a furious toad but finally notices the dire straits he finds himself in.

Most of my guards have completely encircled the lawmen. They stand close enough that any conflict will end up with the defenders quickly overwhelmed. Sullivan realizes this, just as he realizes that quite a few patrons have come to witness the debacle.

I could make an effort to salvage the man’s honor. On the other hand, I have the perfect opportunity to impart some rules to the newcomer. About our respective balance of power, for example.

“I find it curious as well. The deaths occurred shortly after your arrival, after all. Perhaps a member of your party is a monster in human clothes?”

“Scandalous! This… Slander!”

“Just a theory, one that has as much merit as your own. More, perhaps. I have suffered insults from the likes of Tucker for more than a decade without ever losing composure. I have little reason to act now, especially because Mr. Tucker himself is one of our regulars.”

“What?!”

“Surprised? You should not be. All of those gossips, the town’s history, and information on its most influential members are easily acquired through simple conversations with your constituents. And yet you did not even bother. Instead, you brought your goons from out of town and strut around like a rooster, throwing empty theories in the winds. We, the town council, have kept order since your predecessor’s untimely death and you would do well to remember that we can still have you recalled. Now, if you will excuse me…”

I walk without resistance past the judge and his small squad with my men trailing behind. There are quite a few sniggers and I hear the distinctive sound of Horrigan spitting on someone’s shoes. Lovely. And a waste of my time. I need a plan to have Sullivan expelled from the city just in case he perseveres in his error. Killing a judge would be messy and I have reached my quota of “mysterious disappearances” for the year. One more hurdle.

I walk to the bar and smile at the friendly greetings I receive. Removing my coat, I lean forward over the bar to a few appreciative “aaahs”. Oscar nods in greeting.

“I need a rumor started.”

“Yea?”

“Make sure everyone hears that I think Roger’s killer is a coward, that he would never have the balls to come here and that my room is the safest place in the city. Safer than the bank vault.”

The head barman stops wiping a glass and fixes me with his sad chocolate eyes.

“You sure about this boss?”

“Very sure.”

“… Alright then. I see how it is. Be careful though.”

I make my way to my bedroom. The truth is that I know too little about my target. I smelled nothing inhuman around the bodies, nor were there any traces of aura nearby. The only elements I have come from the victims. First, the corpses were left in supposedly secured locations where they would inevitably be found. The warehouse has a large traffic, even now, and Mrs. Tucker’s house is a normal place of gathering for righteous old harpies to eat cake, break wind and blame it on their rat-like dogs. This speaks of supreme self-confidence. The monster does not care to stay hidden, for it believes that the entire population is powerless to stop it, which leads to the second point. If the bodies are messages, then Roger was meant to announce its arrival and Tucker’s, to show that no one is safe. My intuition tells me that my target’s arrogance knows no bounds, and that it delights in putting a show.

Clearly, it has never come face to face with a vampire.

In any case, setting a bait should work better than running around and attempting to track a creature that can quite obviously hide its presence. In the meanwhile, there is the small matter of securing my bedroom against further visits from my secret admirer. Then I will teach him or her the meaning of boundaries, one phalanx at a time.

One night later.

All my preparations are complete. I reinforced my door with two more locks and installed one of my creations near every exit. Based on Loth’s take on a magical capacitor, the tool is a piece of silver looking like a drill on one end, and a key on the other. Its function is simple. Any spell cast in its vicinity will be disrupted and its energies absorbed. It will allow me to circumvent my own lack of magical skill and hopefully provide a bit of a surprise to any spellcaster who will not expect it, should they attempt to gain ingress through supernatural means. An elegant solution, if I do say so myself. There are limits of course. The range is extremely limited for one, and I also doubt that it will affect spells that are already cast. To guard my nest, it should be enough.

In the end, I decided against placing mouse traps in strategic places. I would rather break those fingers myself.

The last measure I took concerns my fellow hunter. She is ready and more than eager.

And since everything is done I have no further excuses. Paperwork it is! I am not sure why I am billed fifty chicken but there better be fifty damn chicken on that Christmas table or I know how I will use those feathers. I will even pay for the tar out of my own pocket.

A pair of footsteps announce the arrival of visitors. I recognize Margaret’s fearful touch but not the other. Heavier. A man.

After a moment of hesitation, Margaret knocks and I answer.

“Mistress, Mr Tucker is here. He wants to talk to you about the murders.”

How interesting.

“Come in.”

Margaret lets the man enter and leaves immediately, as ordered, and I take a moment to inspect my guest.

Mr. Tucker is a mousey man. He has been one of our more discreet guests over the past few years. He owns shares of the mines, and works at one of the city’s two banks as an accountant. Or owned, I suppose. Under his normal human smell, there is now another one, the light rot of a dried corpse. I would not have noticed it in a crowd, only the clean environment of my room allows me to pick it up with ease. There is still no trace of aura.

“Ms. Lethe. Good evening,” he says as he holds his hat between two nervous hands. An impressive facsimile, even to the mannerism.

“Ah Mr. Tucker, we have been friends for a long time, you and I, have we not?”

The man blinks, then lowers his head nervously.

“I wouldn’t say that…”

Alright, I am impressed. And a tad worried. Was it a lucky guess, or does it have access to its victim’s memories? If it does, then I hope there is a limit to it or this creature may have access to the collected knowledge of humanity.

It would be dangerous if it had a physique to match.

“You were going to speak about the murder? You know what I find the most interesting?”

I turn away and approach one of the two windows leading to the inner court, opening it despite the weather and the late hour.

“The victims were seen moving after they were dead.”

I duck under the swipe of eagle-like talons coming from an elegant sleeve, grab it and pull. The thing that used to be Mr. Tucker is sent screaming into the night, properly defenestrated.

I’m not going to risk a fight indoors, not with how much furniture costs in this forsaken place.

I jump lightly and land in a crouch next to the creature as it stands up. Besides the clawed hands, the thing’s head is also split in half by a nightmarish mouth covered by a forest of needle-like teeth. Strands of skin peel off from the inhuman parts as if they had burst from the inside. The rank smell of carrion is stronger and I can finally feel the beginning of an aura. Where a werewolf is anger and unbridled fury, this thing is envy and pride, meant to pervert and desecrate. I feel disgusted at its sight and outraged at the challenge it dared offer.

Judging from the speed of its attack and the strength it exhibited when slaughtering its prey, the creature is slightly more dangerous than a Wendigo.

I am offended that something so weak would trespass on my territory.

“What are you?”

It still speaks. I, however, am done. I move in and dig a hand in its chest to find… Nothing. Not a hint of blood. Only layers upon layers of parchment-like skin. I recoil in surprise and swipe its face with a similar result. Only a trickle of blood drips from a few teeth I raked in passing.

Before I can attack again, Tucker’s face just falls from the monster’s head like a poorly pinned drawing from a wall and below I find a young, handsome man with a haughty composure and deep blue eyes. The clawed hand extends towards me and my foe’s aura flares, its tainted nature supplemented by the shimmering aura of spellcasters.

“Firewhip!”

I focus. Deep in my mind palace, the statue of the transformed Herald shines an ominous blue light and in the real world, purple essence lines my claws. I swipe and the spell breaks, its heat dispersing harmlessly in the winter air.

The surprise in its eyes is precious. An instant later, I pierce them and see a satisfying fountain of fluid emerges from the wound. Then the creature screams. The horrible and tremulous sound is ear-shattering, and the music inside of the Dream stops.

“What the HELL was that!?”

Oh no you little prick, that’s my business you are trying to disrupt! I prepare to jump after it but reconsider. The creature is turning tail and I cannot butcher it in the courtyard. Curtains are already being thrown aside by alarmed patrons. A change of scenery is called for.

I let it run away and whistle. On my right, the stable’s door bangs open and Metis comes out, fully harnessed.

She is massive, a towering black presence that fills its surroundings with an ominous aura. Her hooves thunder on the packed snow as she trudges forward. I grab a leather strap on her chest and nimbly twist around as she passes me by, landing on her back. Metis is never saddled. The harness is only here to keep my hunting implements secured.

I don a black cloak I had prepared and we rush left on a side street after the fleeing shadow. The creature is fast, but Metis is faster. The light of the moon reflects on a pair of panicked eyes, dark brown this time. A new face is shed and its limbs grow thinner and longer, then it jumps on a nearby roof.

Wendigo. It can mimic magical creatures, not just mages. I lean to the side as my mount turns without prompt. When Metis has prey in her sight, a forest fire would not stop her.