The Beast

By A.R. Davis

Copyright © A.R. Davis 2015

Edited & Designed by Kathrin DePue, The Writing Mechanic

For my grandfather

Who would have loved every word.

Acknowledgements

I had a lot of really great people behind me while writing this book. It would not exist without them.

First, thanks to my editor extraordinaire, Kathrin DePue, who went over every sentence with a fine-tooth comb and carefully crafted the lovely interior. You made this book look and read better than my wildest imagination could conjure, and your lovely words of wisdom carried me through the stress and anxiety of publishing my first book.

For my friends who helped me with ideas, drafts, and listened to my whining: Sarah Bode, Michelle Southers, Anna Little, and Leonia Thevenin. Not only are you guys the best bridesmaids I could have ever had, you guys are great listeners and readers.

To Joseph Bradley: for the badass cover. To Venus Bradley: for the badass criticism.

To the Writer’s Group at Duke University Development, especially Brie Richards, who organized it all and who took the time out of her busy schedule to read the closest-to-last draft. Thank you for also hooking me up with Kathrin. 

To my number one fan: my loving husband, Richard Davis. You read every single, stinking draft. You were there for all of the tears and the joy. You were there at the rejection, and you were there to kick my butt into gear to keep me going. You were always there, even in the beginning, and this book would not have made it past the first page without your love and support.

Lastly, thank you, reader, for giving me a chance and picking up this book. I hope you enjoyed it and will support me as I continue to journey through this wacky, woolly world of writing.

Contents

Prologue: Tellervo & the Beast

Part 1: The Transformation

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Part II: Damien & Demon

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Part III: The City on the Sea

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

Prologue: Tellervo & the Beast

A girl asked her father to tell her a story. After pondering the question for a time, her father asked, “Do you know the story of the Beast?”

             From his pocket, he procured a small wooden figurine of a monster wearing an emerald green cloak. He sported twisted black horns, and he hunched over as though ready to attack. His little mouth was open, exposing his jagged, white teeth. The girl could almost hear his roar. 

She shook her head slowly as she examined the figure. It had been a long time since her father told her a story she had not heard before. Her father’s stories were always special. They did not include the typical hero-rescues-princess trope that she grew tired of. They were usually about normal people doing extraordinary things for the greater good. When the girl grew up, she wanted to be one of those people.

              “Would you like to?”

              “Yes, Papa. Very much.”

              “This story is a bit different from the ones I’ve told you,” her father said.

              “Does it have a happy ending?” the girl asked quietly.

              “I’ll have to leave that up to you.”

              The girl wanted to ask him what that meant, but he was already clearing his throat. He took a deep breath and began. 

Once upon a time, two kingdoms, the red and the white, were constantly at war. No one knew why it all began because the two sides had been fighting for so long. Death saturated the land and then drained it dry. Battle cries filled the air for days and echoed over the hills and rooftops.

              On the red side was a tyrannical captain who ordered his men to plow through the white villages and burn them to the ground. He smiled at the path of destruction he created; he loved the smell of burning skin and the taste of ash in his mouth. His palate could no longer appreciate the tastes of fine food. Instead, his teeth gnawed on the gritty black powder. He once had a life beyond this destruction—a normal life—but he could not remember what that was like, or if it was worth returning to.

              One day, he and his men were trying to cut down the trees in the white’s forest, but no matter how hard his men hit the trunks with their axes and no matter how many fires they lit, the trees would not come down. The captain insisted that they weren’t doing it properly, so he grabbed an axe and started chopping away at the nearest tree. The axe barely made a mark. The captain kept hitting it over and over, sweat coating his face, his muscles aching for some reprieve, but he could not cut down the tree.

              He turned around to face his men to insist that the axe simply wasn’t sharp enough, but he found that he was alone. The forest seemed to darken at this knowledge, as though the sunlight had been sucked out of the world.

              “Where are you, you cowards?” the captain barked to disguise his own cowardice. He swiveled his head around in every direction in search of a flash of armor.

              Suddenly, there was a light so bright that the captain had to shield his face for a moment as it came closer to him. As swift as it had come, the light faded, and from it emerged a doe. She stepped toward him as though she had nothing to fear—not the smell of death on his skin, nor the gunpowder in his pouch. Slowly, the captain reached for his rifle. His men would love to dine on fresh venison, and he might even consider letting them have it when they returned to work. He aimed the rifle at the doe’s chest. In her large black eye, the captain could see a reflection of himself slowly distorting, changing as though he was made of clay.

              At that moment, the captain’s muscles burned. His stomach seemed to fill with gas until it came close to bursting, and he doubled over in pain. Sweat coated his whole body. His armor became too tight for him and he wanted nothing more than to shed it like a heavy skin. He could hear the fine bones in his hands cracking. The captain fell to his knees, gasping for air. He yanked off his helmet and tore at his armor with his long fingernails. The scraping of metal made him grit his teeth. His chest plate burst apart, followed by his leggings.

              Finally, it stopped. He took in deep, rasping breaths. His undergarments lay in tatters around him. When he looked up to see the deer, he saw a woman in its place.

              This was no ordinary woman. Her skin was an olive green, her hair flowed wildly around her and looked to be made of twigs. Thick vines covered her body, accentuated by lush flowers in different shapes and colors. When she stepped forward, roots pushed up from the ground and spiraled into elaborate patterns.

              The captain had heard enough stories and legends to recognize this woman: she was known as the forest fairy, Tellervo. She was staring down at him with such a rage that his heart filled with fear.

              “How dare you!” Tellervo said, her voice echoing with the malice of a dangerously powerful creature. “I pour my life into these trees and fill the world with beauty. I protect the creatures that nest in my home—even you pitiful humans. I have given my life to this world because I have so much to give. What about you, dear captain? What do you have to offer?”

              The captain quivered. “Please, mercy, please…”

              “Nothing,” Tellervo spat. “Not even the mercy you beg for now. You are a monster, captain, such a monster that you no longer recognize yourself.”

              Tellervo gathered the dew drops from the grass and turned them into a mirror. She held it up for the captain to see.

              “Look at yourself,” she commanded.

              The captain shook his head. “I can’t.”

              “Do as I say.”

              The captain reluctantly raised his head. To his horror, his face was no longer that of the man he once knew. Fur covered his face, black bone horns grew out of his skull and twisted to the sky, and when he reached up to touch his cheek, his hands had black claws like thorns.

              “What have you done?” The captain cried.

              “I have made you what you are.”

              “Change me back!”

              “No.”

              The captain gave a booming roar. He lunged at Tellervo and sank his claws into her flesh, tearing it apart. He bit into the top of her head and chewed on her twig-like hair. The captain let it fall from his mouth, but all that came out was dirt. He discovered he was only ravaging the ground. For the first time since he was a small boy, he burst into tears, covering his ugly face and burying his mouth back into the ground.

              Tellervo’s hand rested on his hunched back and he jerked away from it; her touch burned through the muscles and seemed to infect his bones.

              “Though I am still angry with you and still see no good inside you, I am willing to grant you a reprieve.”

              The former captain slowly looked up. “Reprieve? Does that mean you’ll change me back?”

              “I will, only if you complete a task…”

              “Yes, yes, anything!” The monster folded his hands together.

              “In order to change back into your original form, you must complete one thousand good deeds.”

              “A thousand? But…but that is impossible! Who would want help from me? I will be like this forever.”

              “Those are my conditions,” Tellervo snapped. “Perform a thousand good deeds, and I will change you back.”

              With that, Tellervo dissipated into the slowly rolling fog, leaving the Beast with hopeless curdling in his belly.

              For days, the Beast wandered around the forest and hid from travelers and merchants. He buried himself in the mud to sleep. How was he going to complete his deeds? The fairy was torturing him.

              One afternoon, while he was trudging through the forest, he stumbled upon a man lying very still in the middle of a clearing. The Beast recognized the uniform the man was wearing; he was a soldier for the white side. The man’s breathing was shallow. Blood pooled around him. The Beast carefully stepped closer until he was standing over the man.

              “Who are you?” the man asked in a raspy voice. He was too preoccupied with thoughts of death to be afraid.

              “I am…” The Beast searched for a name, but he had none. “I am a monster.”

              “Well, I suppose a monster at my side is better than nothing. There are things I want to say, and for my last wish I want a pair of ears to listen. You seem to have a fine pair.”

              “I will listen,” said the Beast.

              “I never did anything right with my life,” the man began, tears welling in his bloodshot eyes. “I became only a murderer. I watched my own people suffer, and I made other people suffer. I should have done more.” The man started sobbing. “I should have done so much more. I once saw a child holding her doll and weeping beside the body of her dead mother. I brushed her aside like she was nothing. I laughed at death, but I suppose it is death who is laughing now.”

              The man was too sad to go on.

              “I was once a captain,” the Beast said. “I was just like you.”

              “Then there’s no real difference between us,” the man said, laughing bitterly.

              “No,” the Beast lamented. “No difference at all.”

              “Will you hold my hand? I don’t think I will be here much longer.”

              The Beast wrapped his large fingers around the man’s small hand. The Beast was crying now because he did not want the man to die. He had forgotten what loneliness felt like until this moment.

              “Maybe you are different,” the man said, his voice barely a whisper. His eyes were slowly closing. “Other people only dream of dying in the arms of someone who understands.”

              The Beast closed his eyes and looked away. After a long time, the man’s shallow breathing stopped and his hand went limp, but the Beast could not let go. At night, the Beast took the time to bury the man. He wished desperately that he had learned his name.

              The Beast stayed at the gravesite for three days before moving on. He encountered a woman whose clothes hung like rags from her body. The woman had bald patches on her scalp, and what little hair she had was very thin and limp. She was scrounging around for something to eat.

              When she saw the Beast, she took a hesitant step back. “Have you come to kill me, monster?” Her voice quivered.

              “No,” said the Beast. “I am here to help you if you need it.”

              “Why?”

              “It is how I will be free from this curse. What do you need?”

              The woman still looked distrustful, but the Beast was patient.

              “I need food,” the woman said, rubbing her arm. “And I need something else.”

              “And what is that?”

              “Bring me something to eat and I will tell you.”

              The Beast hunted for her and brought her back some deer meat. He waited while she cooked and ate.

              “I want to feel beautiful,” the woman said, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I have never felt beautiful, even when I was a child.”

              “I don’t know how to do that,” the Beast admitted.

              “I just want to hear someone say it. Just once.”

              The Beast looked deep into her berry blue eyes, and suddenly, she was beautiful. In his eyes, her hair seemed to be restored to its full, black beauty. Her dirty skin was smooth and clean, and her smile was like a tiny light in a dark room.

              “You are beautiful,” the Beast said, and she believed him.

              “Thank you, Beast. You are very kind-hearted.”

              She reached up to kiss his cheek and the Beast felt warmth surge through his muscles. Then, just as she had appeared in his life, she vanished, and again he wished he had learned her name.

              Days and months passed, and as they did, the Beast encountered more strangers along the way who were in desperate need of his help. Some had reservations about his appearance, but once they recovered from their initial shock, they found they could care less what he looked like. Much like the dying white soldier, they all agreed that they were quite happy that he was there for them. Even so, the Beast found that he could not enter any of the towns. He made the forest his home, quietly tucking himself away, but he did not hide himself so completely that none could find him if they needed him. 

              On the eve of his final deed, Tellervo came to him, glowing under the moonlight. There was a smile on her green lips.

              “You have almost completed my task,” the fairy said. “Soon you will return to your old self.”

              “And what will I be then?” the Beast asked.

              Tellervo studied him curiously. “You will be what you were before I changed you.”

              “The captain,” the Beast said. “But I don’t know him. He’s a stranger. When I looked at his image, I could not share it. I can’t be him. I have done so much. Yet, I feel it is not enough.”

              “You are right. You have done so much, and you are no longer the cruel man I met many years ago. You will be a new man.”

              The Beast laughed bitterly. “I doubt that very much.”

              In the morning, a crowd of people were anxiously awaiting the Beast’s appearance. He was completely overwhelmed by the crowd’s cries for help. The Beast listened patiently to all of their stories. When he was done, he studied their faces over and over; nameless faces that needed so much from him. But what would happen after this? Who would they turn to then?

              “I’m sorry,” the Beast said, “but I cannot choose.”

              The crowd erupted into shocked whispers.

              “I will conceal myself deep into this forest to await the one most deserving of my final good deed.”

              With that, the Beast retreated into the gloom, away from the anguished cries.

“Who will help us now?” he heard them shout. He heard them sob and it tore at his heart.

              The Beast found a lonely log to sit on. He couldn’t believe how weary he felt.

              Tellervo came to him once again. “What are you doing?” she asked.

              “Waiting for the right deed to come.”

              “Why?”

              “Because when it does, then that will mean it is over.”

              Tellervo could not understand these mixed emotions swirling through her, like thick clouds of pollen in the spring.

              “I will sit and wait with you,” she said.

              “That would be very nice,” said the Beast. 

              So they sat and waited. People passed them by, but the Beast insisted that it was not enough. Each time someone came, Tellervo would glance at the Beast, and her heart ached at his labored sigh. Not enough, he would insist. They sat quietly together and watched the sun as it came up and went down and then watched the moon glowing between the branches. Moss covered their legs, flies and insects crawled on their bodies. They remained unmoved.

              Eventually, the people took to helping each other, lending an ear or a kind word to those in need. Soon, the Beast was all but forgotten. However, the people would sometimes still whisper about him over a meal or a good drink. They would wonder about him, wonder if he was still sitting there, waiting.

“Who was he?” they asked sporadically. “Where did he come from?”

It was as though he were a great flame in their time of darkness, lighting the way to a new era of prosperity. They never found the answer, and many years later, when they went to look for him, they could not find him.

              “Is that really the end?” the girl asked.

              “Indeed it is,” her father replied.

              “But what happened to the Beast and Tellervo? Did he ever change back?”

              Her father smiled like he was about to part a long-kept secret. “That, my dear, is entirely up to you.”

Part 1: The Transformation

Chapter 1

Valerie Mason emerged from the relative quiet of the forest and stepped back into the town of Leola just as the sun peaked above the buildings. She carried a bag of two dead rabbits whose blood was seeping through the bottom. She wrapped her arms around the bundle and walked as quickly and inconspicuously as she could, though the obvious tears around the skirt of her dress made it hard for her to blend in with the crowd. The hunters would not appreciate her encroaching on their territory again. She had been scolded a few times. The last time, they had taken her cargo away from her. She could not afford to have that happen again.

              On her way to the marketplace, she passed the pub her father frequented. Valerie wondered if her father was in there now. She had half a mind to go look, but it would only delay her and it was quite useless otherwise. Last night, her father had returned home with a black eye and shards of glass embedded in his arm. With their combined salary, they were able to cover most of the doctor’s expenses. Whenever Valerie had any doubts about the necessity of her going into the forest to steal, she was reminded of the reason she had to continue with this dirty business. If Valerie refused to steal meat from the hunters’ traps, they would have had to choose between rent and supper—or doctor’s visits and rent and supper. Was it so wrong with the fact that she did not want them to starve?

              Her father was, of course, apologetic as always, and as always, she forgave him before the words were even out of his mouth. It was easier for Valerie to forgive than to be angry with him. After all, he was all she had left, and she could not lose him, even if sometimes it felt like he was determined to be lost. Her father assured her that the other man struck first. The childish part of Valerie wanted to ask, “But why did you have to strike back?”

              Valerie turned sixteen the previous spring, and she was too old to ask such naïve questions. She was of age to be considered for marriage, but there were no suitors lining up at her door, not that Valerie was interested in such things. She was only thinking about her father. Although, if she married, it might be easier to take care of him.

              The town of Leola was drinking in the remains of late-summer. Women hung their laundry out the window, on the line between buildings. Wet slopping sounds of waste being tossed down into the alleyways could be heard as it spilled down the cobble-stone streets toward the main road. Lord Aubrey’s guardsmen marched in a unified line carrying rifles, their metal armor winking in the sunlight. Several passersby waved hello to Valerie, and she waved back cautiously. Children ran breathlessly as they chased each other, their laughter ringing in the air and mixing with the incoherent shouts of stall owners. Horses clopped lazily along pulling their carriages with heads bowed low as though they feared to make eye contact with beings around them. The aromas of waste, horse hide, and baking bread created a strange concoction in the air. All of this blended together to form the smell of the town that Valerie knew best.

              She stopped in front of the tailor’s display window. The tailor himself was arranging a beautiful emerald gown for all of Leola to see. There was already a group of girls standing in front of the window, pointing, giggling, and gossiping. Valerie took a moment to imagine herself in that gown. Maybe she would join the girls in their gossip. Maybe she would be invited to one of Lord Aubrey’s parties, and he would be so impressed by her wit and charm that he would give her enough money to take care of her father forever.

              The weight of the dead rabbits was enough to snap her out of her momentary daydream. No lady could carry such cargo and still be considered lovely or charming or witty. Valerie thought she had completely rid herself of such fantasies, but they kept finding her as though she was engaging them in an endless game of hide and seek.

              A severely strict looking woman, who wore her hair in a bun so tight that it appeared to pull her face up toward her ears, was just turning the sign from Closed to Open on the front door of the bookshop. Valerie waited patiently for Mrs. Lind to finish arranging the books in front of the display window before walking inside.

              The bell rang when Valerie pushed the door open. Mrs. Lind promptly swiveled around wearing a scarily forced smile and folded her hands in front of her. Her voice rose to an unnaturally high pitch.

“Wel –” she said before dropping three octaves into a low, disappointed tone. “Oh. It’s you”—her substitute for “Good morning.”

              Altogether, it wasn’t said unkindly, though anyone else might have taken offense. Valerie simply shrugged it off.

              Mrs. Lind snatched the bag away from Valerie. She made a face like something smelled rotten. “Did anyone see you?”

              “No, ma’am.” If they did, you would already know, Valerie thought. It was best to keep such comments to herself. She didn’t want to argue with Mrs. Lind and lose her job. Even though she was only allowed to clean the shop and alphabetize the books, Valerie enjoyed it. There was something about being quiet in a room where hundreds of stories were at her fingertips. It was the only place where Valerie felt she was in control of anything.

              “If they catch you, I’ll have to fire you. And I’ll pretend I knew nothing.”

              “Yes, ma’am.”

              Mrs. Lind sniffed. “Is that all you can say to me?” She imitated Valerie’s tone, “Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. Are you a machine?”

              Valerie didn’t know how else to respond to that question. “No, ma’am.” Though some days, she did feel like a machine. This was one of those days.             

Mrs. Lind sighed with a hint of pity and stored the bag in a safe place where the rabbits would take longer to rot. Then she returned to Valerie, touting.

              “What on earth are we going to do with you, child?” Mrs. Lind asked as she pinched Valerie’s torn skirt. “If your father finds out about this, he’ll have my head!”

              Valerie wondered what Mrs. Lind would say if she told her that not only did her father already know but that he had given her a knife for her birthday. “If you’re going to disobey me,” he said, “you may as well defend yourself while you do so.” Valerie had only ever used it to finish what the traps started.

              Mrs. Lind continued to fret over Valerie and Valerie let her because, in a way, it was nice to be the subject of someone else’s worry, rather than the worrier, for a change.

              “If you leave this with me tomorrow, I can probably fix it,” Mrs. Lind said about the sleeve of Valerie’s dress, “I can’t make any promises, however.”

              “Thank you, ma’am,” Valerie said.

              “Yes, yes. You can keep your thanks. I’d rather you show your gratitude by stopping this nonsense altogether.”

              Mrs. Lind narrowed her eyes at Valerie as though waiting for her to promise that she would do just that. But Valerie couldn’t, and, frankly, Mrs. Lind knew that too.

              After a moment of silence between them, Mrs. Lind said, “Can you please re-alphabetize the adventure stories? And when you’re done, dust the top of the shelves.”

              “Yes –”

              “If you finish saying what I think you’re going to say, so help me, I will do what your father refuses to.”

              “Yes, ma’am,” Valerie said under her breath.

Mrs. Lind resigned to the counter while Valerie started her work. Children were their most frequent patrons, and sometimes they would leave sections in disarray. They loved holding the books in their hands and looking at the pictures. Some of them couldn’t quite make out the words. Sometimes Valerie would read to them. She liked watching their eyes widen in wonder. It reminded her of when she was a little girl; she used to stay up late to listen to her father’s stories, especially the one about the Beast. That was always her favorite.

Valerie could appreciate the adventures of dreaded pirates and Greek heroes, but her favorite genre was romance. There were rarely any female characters in adventure stories, and most of them were spoken of rather than seen. In the romance books, the ladies were sometimes permitted to follow the hero wherever he went. There was a sort of magic to them; no matter what dire situations the couples were plagued with, they always succeeded and ended up together. Valerie once thought her parents would make great characters in a romance novel. Her father was utterly mad about her mother, and her death was almost too much for him to bear. Coupled with what happened to him during the war, Valerie could almost understand why he turned to drinking and fighting. In a way, reading those books was Valerie’s “drink.” When she read about heroines like Caroline and Cynthia and Emily, she found herself stepping into their shoes, becoming mysterious, sweet, and desirable all at once. Sometimes, when she looked at herself in the mirror, she would recall her favorite lines and pretend she was wearing those pretty dresses in the window of the tailor’s shop. And the heroes they met weren’t half bad, either. Saxon and Daniel and Gregory: she could see herself spending time with them if they were real.

What she could live without was the stupid dialogue between the characters, the proclamations of everlasting love. Love was not everlasting.

Her mother’s death had taught her that much.

Mrs. Lind promptly closed shop when the clock tower began to ring the four o’clock hour. She gave Valerie a wary glance as she held up the bag of dead rabbits, as though she was deciding whether or not to give it back and whether doing so would be an act of encouragement. It spoke volumes that Mrs. Lind handed over Valerie’s pay before she handed over the rabbits. In the end, she gave them to Valerie without much fuss.

“Until tomorrow,” she said.

Valerie wished her a good evening (adding a “ma’am” at the end for good measure) and proceeded down the lane to her house. The buildings along her street reminded her of crooked teeth in a grey mouth. They certainly weren’t as nice as the buildings near Aubrey Manor. The manor rested on the tallest hill in Leola, and Valerie saw it as a white eye staring down at the rest of the town. Valerie had only ever seen Lord Aubrey once when he dismissed her father from the guardsmen’s service. She barely remembered him. She supposed she should hate Lord Aubrey—that she should blame him for everything her father went through—but being angry at him was like being angry at the wall. There were more important matters that required her energy, such as making it home in time to make a good rabbit stew and whether or not her father would be home on time to enjoy it.

She entered her house to see her father sitting at the dining table as though he had been waiting for her for quite some time. He undoubtedly still felt guilty about last night. He meant well. He always did.

Valerie resembled her father more than her mother. She had his dark brown eyes and long, lanky frame. She did not have her father’s scarred, leathery skin and the despair he often wore like a branding mark. War left him to deal with ghosts and a bad leg. When her mother was alive, her father smiled all the time. When she reminded her father of that now, he replied, “Now I save all my best smiles for you.”

Her father was offering his best smile now. He greeted her with an embrace and a kiss to the top of her head. “Did you have a good day at the shop?” he asked. He glanced down at the bag in her hand and then quickly looked away as though he could not bear to see it.

“Yes, Papa. Did you have a good day at the smith’s?”

Her father worked at the gunsmith near the edge of upper-Leola. He helped make guns for Lord Aubrey’s men.

“It was tolerable,” her father said. “Everyone is stressed about the deadline. It seems nobody is ready for Lord Aubrey’s son to take the seat.”

Valerie set the dead rabbits on the counter. “I’m sure you will make it. You always do.”

Her father stood at the dining table. Valerie could feel his eyes on her back.

“Did you have many customers?” he asked.

“A few. They came in sparingly.”

“That is unfortunate. Did you bring anything to read?”

“A Saxon Matthews book.” Saxon Matthews was a romance series that Valerie loved. She sometimes read them to her father while he sat in his chair and smoked his pipe. He’d say, “Now there’s a man I’d want to see you with,” at her description of the series hero.

“Ah. I wonder what he’s up to this time.”

“Well, we’ll see after supper.”

Valerie succeeded in removing the heads and began skinning the bodies. The smell of blood was potent.

“Did you hear about Mr. Randall?” her father asked.

Valerie sighed. She did not know Mr. Randall, but she was certain she knew what happened to him. “No, I did not.”

“He’s gone missing—has been gone for several days now.”

Valerie had heard such stories of people vanishing in the forest. At first, she thought they were tales to warn children against going in and getting lost under the dense crown of trees. However, a few days after her birthday, Mrs. Knott’s son left to get married and was never heard from again. Disappearing was a frightening prospect, but to Valerie, starvation was worse.

“That is unfortunate, Papa.”

“It’s been happening quite a lot recently—more people missing every day. I hear Lord Aubrey is considering sending his men into the forest to investigate.”

“Hmm.”

“The guards might catch you stealing.”

If they do, I’ll act like I’m thick in the head, Valerie thought. That’s what got her out of most similar situations. I don’t know any better, sirs. I was just trying to help the poor animal.

“Or you might be…”

Valerie turned to face her father. His hand was on his mouth as though he couldn’t bear to say the word.

“You know I don’t mean to keep…” His shoulders slumped over in defeat.

“I know,” Valerie said softly.

“Things are going to get better,” he continued. “I’m not going to keep forcing you to put yourself in danger. I’m going to get better. I’m going to be a better father.”

“Papa –”

He held up his hand. “Don’t. I’m supposed to keep us together. If I can’t fulfill that duty, then I am less than a man.”

Valerie walked over to him and embraced him as tight as she could. She had heard those words before. Their effect had dulled over time, but she could never stop loving her father.

He meant well.

He always did.

Chapter 2

Beyond the gardens of the Aubrey manor was a place where nothing grew, guarded by a slightly rusted gate that creaked when it was pushed open. The pristine white stone had a large letter “A” carved into the center. Young Aubrey was ten when he first laid eyes on it; his father took him there for a “history lesson.” Young Aubrey believed there was some sort of hidden treasure room beneath the stone, where chests overflowing with gold were waiting for his greedy fingers. Lord Aubrey stepped up to the stone and gestured to it with a smile.

              “This is where our ancestors, the Aubreys, are buried, son,” Lord Aubrey said. “This is where you will bury me when my time is done, and this is the place your son will lay you down.”

              Dread bore down in Young Aubrey’s belly. He thought of all the bones that were piled up underneath his feet. He pictured his grandfather rolling and turning in the sunless damp ground where the worms prepared for a feast.

              “Why don’t we have our own gravestones, Father?” Young Aubrey asked, refusing to come any closer.

              “We are a continuation of what came before,” Lord Aubrey said. “This grave is a symbol of the idea that, though the body should perish, the legacy shall live on.”

After that lesson, Young Aubrey poured through the records to learn more about this legacy. He had to turn back all the way to the first Lord Aubrey, the one who founded Leola, before he found anything worthwhile. Every Aubrey after the first contributed very little; they mostly continued what the first Lord Aubrey had established. It was then that Young Aubrey understood what his father meant when he said each Aubrey was a continuation of the last Aubrey. He stared at the record of his grandfather, which was barely a paragraph long. What would be said about Young Aubrey when his time came? What more could be said?

Now, on the brink of taking over for his father as Lord, he felt as small as he did when he visited the Aubrey grave nine years earlier. He supposed he should have felt powerful, almost invincible, but all he could think about was the dead Lord Aubreys buried beyond the garden where nothing grew nor flourished. Did anyone remember what his great-great grandfather looked like? Would anyone remember his appearance when he was dropped into the grave to rot with the bones of his ancestors? And what of the Aubrey persona? Were his hopes and dreams his own, or were they a product of his lineage?

There had to be a way to do more. There had to be a way to make the people remember his face when they spoke the name “Aubrey.”

He turned to see his father strolling down the hall, flanked by two guardsmen. Lord Aubrey looked resplendent in his red cape and gold and black doublet. His long, blonde locks were pulled back in a ponytail, exposing his handsome face and proud smile. He clapped his son on the shoulder once he reached him.

“Good to see you are up before your father,” Lord Aubrey said.

“Good morning, Father,” Young Aubrey said.

“Captain Yendel tells me that you’ve been practicing for the hunt.”

The hunt was an event that every Aubrey took part in before he could take the title of Lord. It wasn’t over until Aubrey killed a deer. The deer’s head was then mounted on the wall behind the Aubrey seat. Young Aubrey didn’t understand the symbolic meaning behind it, or if there even was one. He only knew that it had been done for generations, so it was only logical that he partake in it as well.

“Yes, Father,” Young Aubrey replied. “In fact, I was trying to recall the number of points on your deer head to see if it was possible to best you.” He was so able to naturally conceal his fears that it was as though he had donned a mask before his father.

Lord Aubrey gave a hearty laugh and clapped his son more firmly on the shoulder. He addressed his guards. “Never let it be said that we Aubreys are not ambitious. My boy will do the line proud.”

How can the dead show pride? Young Aubrey thought as he followed his father into the office. It seemed less intimidating now that Lord Aubrey was in his proper place. The deer head’s coal black eyes bored deep into Young Aubrey’s. It seemed to be daring him to replace it. He sat across from his father and tried to ignore the pit that was forming in his stomach.

Lord Aubrey folded his hands on his desk. “You two are dismissed,” he said to his guards. “I want to be alone with my son.” The guards obeyed.

When they were alone, Lord Aubrey addressed his son. “We will soon be on opposite sides of this desk.” He let that statement sink in for a moment. “I must admit, I have been looking forward to this day ever since you were born.”

Young Aubrey smiled on cue. The words felt wrong to him. Did his father really not see any other possible future for him? Did he only see this?

“I am…pleased,” Young Aubrey said.

“Pleased? You should be excited and proud! Though, if you’re feeling nervous, that is understandable.” Lord Aubrey leaned forward in his seat. “When I was your age, sitting where you are now, I felt absolutely terrified of the responsibilities I would have to take on. But I’ll tell you what my father told me–”

“Father, I’m not nervous.”

Lord Aubrey stared at him warily. “No?”

“You’ve taught me well, Father. I am confident that I’ll be able to govern just as efficiently as you have.”

Lord Aubrey folded his hands. “Take care not to be overly confident. It can cause you to make careless mistakes.”

Young Aubrey forced a laugh. “Father –”

“I am serious, son. You don’t want to appear arrogant to the people. They are quick in their judgments, and it is not easy to earn their forgiveness if you wrong them. Your great grandfather learned that the hard way. And I suppose I did as well when I sent our good men to war.”

Young Aubrey barely remembered those times. Ships of foreigners from overseas threatened to take over the land. They burned down half the towns as they made their way towards Merrion, the city closest to Leola. His father had reluctantly sent out countless men to assist in a war that lasted three years. He feared that if he had not gotten involved then Leola would have been the next to burn. Young Aubrey, however, knew that his father was only following the orders of the other lords. 

“Father, you taught me that all men do wrong sometimes,” Young Aubrey said.

“This is true.” He recited the well-worn phrase, “Evil men must be punished. However, I do not wish for you to be one of those men, and I do not want you to be blighted by hubris. This work is not always easy. But I would never want you to take the easy road if it meant you were doing wrong.”

Young Aubrey lowered his gaze to the edge of the desk.

“I know you say that you aren’t nervous, but I believe you fear I would think less of you if you spoke the truth.” Lord Aubrey slowly shook his head. “I would never, especially since I have been in your position. I want you to know that I will be here for you, whether it be your first step or your last. I will be here until my time is done.”

Young Aubrey looked his father in the eye. Some part of him was moved by his father’s words; another part believed bitterly that his father did not come up with them on his own. And then, from the back of his mind came the softest of whispers: How are you going to prove you are a great Lord with your father at your back?

“Thank you, Father,” he said warmly though his insides were cold. “That eases my heart.”

Young Aubrey participated in his morning lessons listlessly. He knew all of the procedures and oaths so well that he was sure they were branded onto his memory. Young Aubrey felt mechanical as he recited everything that was instilled in him since he was a boy. As he listed off the names of the twelve remaining lords, he studied what made them…unique—what made them memorable. When he said their names aloud, he could clearly picture a distinct face for each. He wondered how he could make that happen for himself.

There had to be a way.

At supper, he picked at his roast goose, feeling sickened by the grease that pooled underneath it. His father ate more fervently.

“You’re not eating,” Lord Aubrey said.

              “I’m not hungry,” he replied.

              “Because you’re nervous.”

              “No, I’m not, Father.”

              “Anxious, then. Either way, you should still eat to keep up your strength.”

              Young Aubrey ate as little as he could without drawing suspicion, deliberately leaving a healthy pile of scraps. When he was certain his father wouldn’t protest, he asked, “May I be excused, Father?”

              Lord Aubrey quickly glanced over at him before returning his gaze to his own plate. “You may,” he said and waved him off.

              Very quietly, Young Aubrey slipped away from the table, carrying his half-eaten plate with him. His heart thudded loudly in his ears, though he was sure his father hadn’t seen him. Once he left the dining room, he crept down the hallway towards the stairs leading to the cellar. At the stairway, he checked left and right, then back again, and waited to hear if anybody was headed his way. Then he slowly went down the stairs, wincing when he heard a creak.

              The door at the bottom was closed as usual. Young Aubrey felt a wave disappointment. She should have known he was coming. He walked up to the door, set the plate down in front of it, then knocked. He quickly raced back up the stairs and hid around the corner. He waited.

              Downstairs, he heard the door open and dared to peer out of his hiding place. He saw the sliver of a hand reaching out for the leftover goose. The hand grabbed the plate, then pulled it back into the room and softly shut the door. Young Aubrey felt his heart thump as though it was in his throat. He stood there for a few more moments staring at the spot where he saw the hand.

              When I am Lord, he thought, I will set you free.

*

The sky was light purple when Valerie got out of bed. As quietly as she could, she got dressed, pulled on her boots, grabbed her knife and her bag, and then walked down the stairs.

Her father’s office door was closed, and no light came from the room. She hadn’t heard him go to bed, so she figured he must have fallen asleep in there. Gently, she opened the door. Her father was resting his head on his desk. The wooden Beast figurine stood ever vigilant on the corner of it. Metal pieces from the pistol her father was working on were stuck to his cheek. He mumbled something in his sleep. To Valerie, it sounded like he was telling someone to run. Another nightmare, she thought. The very few times her father spoke of the war, he said he had to watch a lot of good men die and he had to kill a lot of good men, too. “And that is why…” he had said as he raised the bottle to his lips. He never said the rest of it. He never said why. She tiptoed up to the desk and bent down to kiss her father’s cheek. She liked to think her touch helped pull him to safety in his dream world.

              The forest was a great deal darker than the streets of Leola. A heady scent of moss and wet earth permeated the predawn air. It was rather quiet, save for the trilling birds and the dry leaves crunching under Valerie’s feet. After walking a mile on the path, she decided to stray off, pushing beyond the bushes and low-hanging branches. When the thicket became too dense, Valerie had to pull out her knife and cut her way through. In the distance, she spotted a few deer ruminating the ground; their ears perked up when they heard her coming. Valerie stayed out of their path.

              To her, the forest was her refuge. After losing her mother, it was the place to which she retreated when she wanted to be alone. Sometimes she’d run as far from the path as she could until her lungs hurt. She would then sit among the trees and cry. It was ok to cry in front of the trees. The trees could not ask you to be an adult when you weren’t ready to grow up. She remembered the day they buried her mother and how hard it was not to cry and to stand as tall as the trees. Her father broke down and sobbed beside her. She held his hand tightly. She wanted to say, “It’s all right, Papa.” But she knew it was not all right. It was the furthest thing from all right. It was emptiness and loneliness, and she knew she would never be big enough for this, not even when she was a lady. Not ever. She often asked herself, What am I going to do? She never came up with an answer. But somehow she always managed. As long as I can do that, then everything is all right.

              At some point along her journey, she noted that her surroundings were dead quiet. The birds stopped their maddened chirping, the cries of foxes ceased, even the shushing in the treetops had seemed to halt.

              Valerie paused for a moment and looked around her. An unsettling sensation was slowly building up in her belly, rising to her throat. She didn’t know why, but it felt as though everything had suddenly died.

              The hairs at the back of her neck stood up. She looked all around her, but she saw nothing. She kept moving, tentatively now—more vigilant. Her hand grasped the knife in her pocket, just in case.

              Maybe it was nothing, she thought after a time.

              There was a soft rustling noise behind her.

              Startled, she whipped around, holding the knife out in front of her.

              “Who’s there?” she demanded. Her voice quivered a bit.

              The rustling stopped. Valerie took a step back; she readied herself to run if she needed to. She preferred to run than to fight.

              She tensed again as the rustling started again. It was becoming harder to firmly grip the knife in her sweaty hand. So many thoughts ran through her head at once: Bandits, wolves, bears, wild men, they want to kill me, they want me dead, stay calm, don’t move, you can run. 

              A rabbit emerged from the bushes. It sniffed the air for half a second before scurrying back the way it came.

              Valerie let out a breath and dropped her knife-hand back to her side. She suddenly felt very stupid. She shook her head; all those stories were getting to her. Her heartbeat slowed back down to a steady rhythm. After she calmed down, she took a few more steps onward.

There was an audible snapping sound.

              She didn’t have time to scream.

              Suddenly, she was launched into the air. Her stomach burying itself down farther and farther into her body as she went up and up, almost touching the treetops. Then she fell and fell, and the ground rose to meet her as her stomach rose into her throat.

              The net yanked her back up before she hit the ground. She bobbed and swung for a few moments before finally coming to a stop. Valerie was clutching the net, the scream still trapped in her mouth. Her whole body shook. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she breathed deeply, in and out, over and over, until she could think clearly again.

              I’ve got to get out of here.

              She remembered her knife. After a bit of fumbling, she managed to reach into her pocket.

              It was gone.

              She looked down.

              Lying in the dirt, glinting in the sparse light, was her knife.

              She was then able to scream. “Help! Somebody, please! Help me!”

              Echoes of her cries came back to her.

              She shook the net a few times. She tried to pry the rope apart and tried to rip through it with her teeth. It wouldn’t give. “Help!” she shrieked.

              Nothing.

              She couldn’t see anyone through the thicket; she didn’t hear a single sound of anyone returning. But someone has to, right? Someone set up this trap—a hunter. Surely he would come back. He might even scold her, might tell her she deserved this for all the times she stole. Either way, all she had to do was wait and she would be free again.

              That’s right, she thought as she did her best to calm herself again. Somebody will come back. I won’t be here for long.

              To say being strung up in the net was uncomfortable felt like an understatement. Her body felt like it was twisted up like a cleaning cloth being wrung out. Valerie’s ankles kept falling through and getting caught in the space between the braids. She eventually decided to stop moving altogether. She leaned against the back of the net and felt her heart dropping into despair as the minutes passed.

              Minute after minute dwindled by. Soon it became harder to tell herself that someone was coming back. She tried not to think about what time it was. Mrs. Lind must be waiting for her. By now she must think I’m gone for good. She was probably on her way to tell the guards. More likely, she was going to fetch her father. Valerie could picture her father’s anxious face when he learned that she was missing and his fearful expression when he discovered where she went. He’d probably forbid her from returning to the forest. She was sure she will have disappointed him. 

              Another hour passed, and another. Valerie’s body cramped up, but she would not let go. My father will come, she thought desperately. He’ll be here soon.

              Unless he went to the pub.

              OK, she thought. It’s OK. At least you’re relatively safe up here. Whatever comes along will have a hard time getting to you. You’ll be OK. You’ll be OK.

              Suddenly, the net gave a violent shudder. She yelped.

              Something was above her.

              She looked up; she couldn’t help it. It felt as though an invisible hand was tilting her chin up.

              A man in a black hood stared down at her.

Chapter 3

Valerie couldn’t see his face, but she knew—she knew—he was looking at her. And for a moment, she was transfixed in that black circle, sucked in entirely.

              “Wh-Who are you?” she asked, her voice cracking. 

The stranger said nothing. He started tearing at the rope that was wound around the tree branch under his feet.

“Did you set this trap?”

Again, no response.

“H-hey! Hey! Will you answer me? Please?”

It was like speaking to the trees. He spoke not a word, nor did he give any indication that he was listening. What if he means to kill me? she thought. The panic rose in her chest and her fingers and feet went numb. Maybe this wasn’t a trap meant for animals; maybe this was for people.

Once the rope was completely cut, he started slowly lowering her to the ground. Valerie’s heart rose in her mouth with each jerk and start. The only hope she had of defending herself was to find her knife.

As soon as she was completely on the ground Valerie frantically searched around for her knife. Her fingers traced over dirt and dead leaves. Every time she thought she felt the handle, it turned out to only be a branch. The man landed with a thud a few inches away from her. She knew she had only seconds left.

But she needn’t have bothered.

My knife.

The man had it.

The blade winked at her in the light.

What little determination she had dissipated.

Valerie crawled back as far as she could, wishing she could shrink or burrow down into the dirt. The man sawed at the net with her knife, and Valerie shielded her face and eyes, wondering if those parts of her would be first to feel the pain.

The man cut a hole large enough for her to escape, but Valerie felt too numb to move. He was standing over her, looking as though he was made of darkness. How could she even try to stand?

Valerie flinched when he reached towards her.

He was handing her the knife handle-first.

Valerie stared quizzically at it for a time. Was this a trick? Tentatively, she reached out and plucked it from his gloved hand.

The man began to limp away.

“Hey,” Valerie said softly. “Are you all right?”

She watched as he clumsily sat on the ground with his back against a tree.

              “Sir?” she asked as she crept toward him. “Do you need help?”

              “No,” he said. His voice sounded as though there were small rocks grinding against each other in his throat.

              Valerie knelt in front of him, trying to assess his injury. “You’re bleeding,” she said when she saw his arm. “Were you in an accident?”

              “No,” he said.

              “What happened?”

              “Was in a fight.”

              “With who?”

              “He…It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter anymore.”

              Valerie was taken aback for a moment. She tried to get a look at the man’s face, but she couldn’t make it out even in the light. She tore off a long strip from the bottom of her skirt.

              “What are you doing?” he asked.

              “Helping you,” she said as she grabbed hold of his arm.

              The man jerked away. “I don’t need help.”

              “It would be poor manners on my part not to do at least a little something for you.” She inspected the wound carefully. “This looks like a cut.”

              “He fought dirty.”

              Valerie made to roll up the man’s sleeve, but he pulled away again.

              “You really don’t need to do this,” he said.

              “At least allow me to stop the bleeding.” Valerie tightly wound the fabric around his arm and then tied it in place. “There. When you get home, you should clean it properly so you won’t get an infection.”

              The man inspected her work and then said, “Thank you.”

              “You’re welcome. Are you all right to get home?”

              “Yes. I can walk fine.”

              “Where do you live?”

              “Somewhere far. And before you ask, no, you’re not coming with me. As I said, I’m all right.”

              “Valerie!”

              They were both startled at the shout. Valerie straightened when she realized she knew who was shouting for her. “Papa!” she yelled back.

              “You should go,” the man said, already scrambling to his feet.

              Her father’s shouts were getting louder. Valerie looked toward the sound, then to the man, and back again.

              “I’m sure my father could –”

              “He can’t. Go. You’ve done enough.” The man turned his back on her and limped as quickly as he could into the trees.

              Valerie noticed something on the floor. It was a coin bag. She scooped it up and ran after the man.

              “Wait, you dropped this.” 

              But he was gone.

“Papa, I’m here!” she yelled.

Valerie could see three guards scouring the forest with her father. He was crying. His eyes widened with disbelief as she approached. He closed the short distance between them and gathered her up in a clumsy embrace. He sobbed. Valerie did her best not to cry with him.

“This your daughter, sir?” one of the guards asked.

“Yes, sir,” Valerie replied over her father’s shoulder. “I am.”

“I thought I lost you,” her father said. “I thought you were gone.”

Valerie shushed him and gently patted his back. “I’m all right, Papa. I’m sorry.”

“What were you doing roaming about in the forest?” another guard asked irritably.

Valerie reminded herself not to scowl. “It was such a nice day out, sir…I thought I would go for a short stroll. Unfortunately, I was trapped in a net.”

“And how did you get out?”

“A man helped me.”

Her father released her and looked in her eyes. “A man?”

“What did this man look like?” the guard asked.

“I don’t know, sir. He was wearing a cloak and I couldn’t see his face. He didn’t hurt me or anything. He just helped me get free.”

“Lawrence, tell the hunters to make a note of any strange men wearing cloaks roaming the forest. I’m sure Captain Yendel will want to hear of this as well.”

Valerie wrenched herself away from her father to stand in front of the guardsman. “I told you he didn’t do anything, sir.”

“That may be true,” the guard responded nonchalantly. “Either way, he’s wanted for questioning, miss.”

“Why?”

“They found…a body,” her father said softly. “I thought…That’s why I thought you were gone. I thought for sure it was you until I saw it. And even then I thought…” He broke down again. Valerie held him, but her thoughts were on the man in the black cloak.

He had made no mention of winning that fight.

*

The bullet split through the dummy’s head, showering the training ground with dust and splinters. Young Aubrey lowered his rifle to inspect the damage. If that was a real man, he would be dead. He had images of shooting a killer and the people cheering upon his triumphant return—hailing him not just as a great Lord Aubrey but simply as a great Lord. They would weep for him when he died and bury him in a place where they would always see him.

              “That was a beautiful shot, Master Aubrey.”

              Young Aubrey turned around to see Captain Yendel strolling across the grounds toward him. He had been in Lord Aubrey’s service since he was around Young Aubrey’s age. The Captain was known as a friendly yet fair man. Women in town tripped over their own feet in their eagerness to speak with him. Captain Yendel was nearing his forties, but he still held the same smooth, boyish features. Even with his helmet on, Young Aubrey could see his dark blue eyes and a few strands of curly blonde hair. When he was younger, Young Aubrey very much desired to be everything Captain Yendel was. Like everything else, he kept that desire firmly to himself.

              “I had a good teacher,” Young Aubrey said.

              Captain Yendel placed a hand gently on Young Aubrey’s shoulder. “You will do well during the Aubrey hunt,” he said, nodding once before adding, “I am…very proud of you.”

              Young Aubrey hid his embarrassment at the sentiment. Lord Aubrey had never spoken those words. It was always, “I know you will do well.” Lord Aubrey had never stopped to take in his son’s accomplishments. But how much pride could you have in watching someone tread your same path?

              “Thank you, Captain,” Young Aubrey replied, returning his attention to the wooden dummy. “How goes the reconnaissance?” he asked as he took aim.

              “My men found no black-cloaked killers when they searched, Master Aubrey. You needn’t worry.”

              “I wasn’t worried.” Young Aubrey fired and the loud bang echoed in his ears. The bullet went through the dummy’s neck. He assessed the damage for a moment. “That’s disappointing.”

              “Am I distracting you, Master Aubrey?”

              “No. That wound would be just as fatal as the last. Whether it be an animal or a black-cloaked killer. Do you think that girl was speaking falsely?”

              Lord Aubrey had plenty to say about the girl when he was first told of this matter. “Perhaps she was making the whole damn thing up. You lads know how girls are: squeaking at any little thing they deem suspicious. For all we know, she was only speaking about a strange man so that she could avoid punishment from her father. You can’t trust their words on such matters. It’s why they are best left at home.” Young Aubrey hated his father’s words, but he would hate them more if Lord Aubrey turned out to be correct.

              “It is hard to say for certain, Master Aubrey,” Captain Yendel said and took his guardsman’s stance. “If there is such a man, he wasn’t found. My men saw only animals.”

              “Then maybe an animal killed that man.” Young Aubrey lowered his rifle, staring at the blistering hole in the dummy’s neck.

              “If that is the case, Master Aubrey, then you shall shortly have the opportunity to bring the killer beast down.”

              Young Aubrey nodded absentmindedly. He certainly liked that idea, but he knew it would not be enough. Several years into his lordship, nobody would remember him bringing down the animal that had taken a life. He saw his portrait being hung in the corridor along with the other Aubreys, and his features twisted into that of his father’s, and that of the others, until he was no longer himself.

              “Are you nervous about the hunt?” Captain Yendel asked.

              Young Aubrey forced himself to smile. “No.”

              “Are you nervous about becoming Lord?”

              Young Aubrey laughed. “Why is everyone asking me that? No, of course not.”

              “It is a large task, Master Aubrey. Most men could not handle the responsibilities that come with the title.”

              “Then it is fortunate for me that I was born into it.”

              “The name alone isn’t everything, Master Aubrey.”

              Of that I am very well aware, Young Aubrey thought. “Did you always want to be a captain?”

              “A guardsman, yes. A captain, not so much.”

              “Yet you became one. Why?”

              “Because I enjoyed the feeling of enacting justice. As Captain, I could easily preserve peace and order. Believe me, there is no greater feeling than having men willing to follow you to the depths of the earth and back because they believe in achieving the same goals.”

              Young Aubrey took a moment as the words sunk in. “But you’ve accomplished much in your life. Any man would have every reason to follow you.”

              “And those same men have every reason to follow you. Your father has taught you well. I can see it when I look at you. He passed on his morals, his goodness, and his sense of justice. There is no reason why our loyalties should be swayed. My men and I will give you our honor and our lives, just as we have for your father.”

              Young Aubrey did not doubt the sincerity in Captain Yendel’s words. He never did. There was a hollow ache in his heart. He wished he could tell Captain Yendel everything that was churning in his mind—the thoughts that kept him up at night and haunted him in the daylight hours. But there was a risk that the Captain would take his words back to Lord Aubrey. He could never explain to his father the overwhelming feeling of never being good enough.

              “Now,” Captain Yendel said, clapping his iron hands together, “why don’t you try to show me that lovely aim of yours?”

              Young Aubrey reloaded as another dummy was strung up. Listlessly, he raised the rifle eye-level. The dummy’s face appeared like that of his father’s; then, rolling back and back in time, the face morphed into that of the first Lord Aubrey, smiling and smiling at him.

              He took the shot, and it was perfect.

Chapter 4

It was utterly dark except for the moon breaking through bits of the canopy. It was also deathly quiet, which he liked best. At first, he didn’t like that animals refused to approach him. Now, he couldn’t even stand looking at them, whether they were dead or alive, and they smelled terrible. Sometimes he wondered if he smelled just like them. Maybe not, since the girl sat next to him. Then again, she didn’t seem like the type to say outright that he smelled funny. However, she was the type to tell others about him. Talking to her was a stupid mistake on his part. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

              He washed his hands by the stream, cupped them full of water, and took a drink to wash the blood out of his mouth. He hated the taste of blood. It felt like he was constantly sucking on a dirty coin. Once he was clean (or as clean as he could be), there was nothing else to do but return home.

              Home, he thought. It felt like a strange word. Yet, if there was a better one, he could not think of it.

              As he neared the house, he procured a key from within his cloak.

              The door was already open.

              His heart jumped into his throat. The hunters found me. They are in there right now, guns at the ready.

              He did not feel ready, but he opened the door anyway.

              The entrance room was empty. There was not even a swirl of dust to signify that someone was still there. The smell of burnt sausages hung in the air.

              His ears pricked when he heard the sound of a fork scraping loudly against a plate. The muscles in his stomach tensed. Carefully, he pushed the swinging door just enough to peer through.

              He was taken aback when he saw who sat at his kitchen table. It had been a long time since he last saw Dante. The last time, Dante gave him a look of pure loathing as he stood above him with his fists bloody and his teeth bared. Now, he was casually eating as if none of that had happened. He did not know whether to be happy or angry. He didn’t think Dante would ever come back.

              Of course he would, he thought.

              But for how long?

              Tentatively, he entered the kitchen. He still remembered how much pain the last encounter caused, and he wondered if Dante was hiding his anger behind his casual demeanor. Dante loftily raised his hand in greeting, his mouth stuffed with sausages.

              “Hello,” he said. 

              The way he said it…the way he just sat there…it really seemed as though Dante had completely forgotten the incident or that it no longer mattered to him.

              “What are you doing here?” he asked in a harsher tone than he intended.

              Dante gestured to the food in front of him. “Eating. I was tired of waiting for you.”

              “I didn’t know you were coming.”

              Dante reached for his cup and took a drink. “You going to keep standing there, or are you going to join me?”

              He took a seat across from Dante, who didn’t bother to offer some of his food, not that he would have taken him up on it if he had.

              “I must admit,” Dante said, “I was worried about you for a minute.”

              “Just a minute?”

              “Don’t be like that, Damien. I was sure you were fine.” Dante chewed like a cow.

              Upon hearing his name, Damien flinched. The last time he had heard Dante use his name…

              “Are you still upset about our fight?” Dante asked, staring at his plate as though he did not want to bring it up.

              Damien’s memory flashed to Dante’s fist bearing into his cheek and his ribs. He felt Dante’s kick to his shin, he heard him shouting in his ear, telling him that he hated him so much. There was pain and nothing else. 

              “No,” Damien said.

              “Well, good. It was pretty stupid. We can just bury it.”

              Along with everything else, Damien thought.

              “How’s your leg?” Dante asked.

              “I can still walk.”

              Dante nodded. “You…you did the right thing. I just wish you had…I don’t know. I wish you had done it differently.”

              Damien didn’t know what to say to this. He didn’t know what to say when Dante struck him either, so it felt appropriate.

              Dante sighed and Damien knew what was coming. “They found a body earlier this week.” Dante tapped his fingers twice on the tabletop. “There were a lot of rumors about some madman in the forest who might have done it.”

              Damien’s body tensed as the silence was drawn out. Dante took another sip.

              “I want you to know, whether it was your work or not, I took care of it,” Dante said. “Just be more careful in the future.” There was a hint of disappointment in his voice.

              “What – What did you do?”

              “Does it matter? I took care of it. You’re safe.”

              “OK…Thank you.”

              “Don’t thank me for something I had to do.” The edge of bitterness was hard to miss.

              “All the same…Thank you.”

              Dante shrugged and downed the rest of whatever was in his cup.

              The unspoken question was hanging between them. Damien did his best to swallow it down, but it bubbled up like bile. He had to ask, “Are you…are you coming back?”

              “What do you mean?”

              Did he really have to make him say it? “Your room is still the way you left it.”

              “Dingy and suffocating?”

              “N-no. I mean –”

              “I know what you meant. The thing is…I like it out there. I get to see people and enjoy their company and vice versa. It’s like the way things used to be. And maybe it’s best if I’m gone, you know?”

              Damien did not know why this shocked him as much as it did. And it hurt like hell, too—worse than any punch he could have received from Dante…worse than being told he was hated.

              “Maybe it is,” he said. He paused. And then he blurted out, “I saved a girl.”

              Dante stared at him dubiously. “Oh? From what?”

              “She got caught in one of the hunter’s traps.”

              “That’s nice.”

              Damien didn’t know why, but he expected a bigger reaction. He grew disheartened. “You don’t believe me.” He thought that this, at least, would get Dante to forgive him—if only a little. All he received was a humorless smile as Dante rubbed his hands together.

              “I have to admit, it’s a tad farfetched.”

              “Why?”

              Dante looked about the room. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s something about the way you live.”

              “The way we live,” Damien corrected.

              Dante chuckled. “The way I used to live.” He lifted his empty cup.

              At that moment, Damien remembered being stranded at sea with the waves curling over his body and filling his stomach with salt until it looked like a sickly balloon. Who should be there beside him to pull him up from the storm?

              “Well, I’m heading off,” Dante said. He stretched and then scraped the chair across the floor as he got to his feet. He paused. “Is there anything you need me to get you?”

              “How long will you be gone?” Damien asked, his eyes still on the empty plate and his thoughts still floating in the sea.

              “I don’t know. A few days. A few weeks. Either way, I’ll be back.”

              The waves were pulling them apart. The sea beneath them was fathomless. They could not see each other’s bodies floating in the blackness; their hands did not reach for one another.

              “Thank you for the food,” Dante said as he pulled his cloak over his shoulders.

              “I didn’t offer you any,” Damien replied. “You just took it.”

*

Dawn was still hours away, but Young Aubrey was wide awake as the dread-filled anticipation ate away at him. His fear wasn’t simply of the idea of the hunt taking place in the morning; it was sneaking around the Aubrey manor that added to his anxiety. He carried no lantern in case someone else was creeping in the dark, and he didn’t want anyone stopping him to ask what he was doing. He carried a plate of sugared pastries and wondered if she would like them.

              He reached the stairwell without any interruptions. On tip toes he made his way downstairs to the cellar door—his heart beating wildly.

              What would he do if it was locked? It had been quite a while since she allowed him to see her. Each time he found the door locked, he felt an ache in his chest. But today was important. Surely she would want to see him…surely.

              He turned the knob of the basement door.

              To his relief, the door gave way.

              Stepping inside the room was like entering a melancholy painting. The room was barren with the exception of a lumpy looking bed and a chair in the center of it all. Sitting in that chair was a very pale woman bent over her knitting. Her hair hung in wisps in front of her ashen face and lay on her lap like a worn scarf. She wore a dark blue dress that buttoned up at the neck. The only bright color in the room was the fabric she was working with: a bright, sky-blue that looked like water spilling from her lap. Young Aubrey never knew what she made, or if she ever finished anything; he only knew that she spent all of her time doing it. Perhaps she thought that, once she was finished, she would have no other purpose to serve.

              “Hello, Mother,” Young Aubrey said softly.

              She didn’t respond; she never responded. Instead, her needles clicked eagerly. He took it as a sign that she was happy to see him.

              Young Aubrey took a seat on the floor in front of her like a boy preparing to listen to a story. He watched as she moved the needles back and forth, the length of the woven fabric growing as long as her hair. Her lap was there in front of him, still and warm, yet he resisted the urge to lay his head there. He peered up at her face.

              His mother’s looks were tainted with burn marks. He didn’t know all of the details, but there was supposedly a kitchen accident that caused her dress to catch fire. Even now, as Young Aubrey looked up at his mother, she looked as though she was melting in front of his eyes. Her neck was mottled like meat falling off the bone. This wasn’t known for certain, but Young Aubrey assumed her grotesque features were what kept her living down here with only her knitting to keep her company.

              The room smelled musty and oily; it had been a long time since she had bathed or been bathed. Young Aubrey wasn’t sure if any of the servants bothered to come down here besides to deliver her meals. He especially doubted that his father ever came here. Most of the time, Lord Aubrey acted as though Young Aubrey’s mother never existed and Young Aubrey had just sprung into being because that was the Aubrey way. Young Aubrey never told his father that he went down to see his mother, and he dreaded what his father would say if he did. There was never talk of love in the Aubrey manor. They spoke only of duty and honor, but Young Aubrey could not help but love his mother, for she never expected anything from him.

              “This is for you,” Young Aubrey said, pushing the plate of pastries towards her.

              She didn’t stare down at it. In fact, she acted as though nothing had happened. Young Aubrey was used to this, but he was rather hoping that she would acknowledge him by now.

              “If you don’t like them, I can always get you something else.”

              This time the clicking stopped. Very slowly, his mother inclined her head to the ground. She stared at the pastries as though they were an interesting specimen. She blinked a few times, and then, to his sheer delight, she lifted the plate from the floor and placed it in her lap. With her nimble fingers, she plucked up a pastry and nibbled on the end. He watched as she licked the powder from her lips.

              But even then she would not look at him.

              “I’m going on the hunt today,” he began. “This will be the start of my tests to become Lord Aubrey.” He smiled, but it made his mouth feel funny. “And soon, I’ll be able to get you out of here. You’ll have your own room and be properly cared for. The servants will have to listen to me. Everyone will.” He swallowed. “Everyone will listen to me.” Until I am dead and buried in the Aubrey ground. “I have been preparing for this day for a long time. You know that, right? I feel like I’ve spoken about it to you for years and years. Do you remember how eager I was to sit in Father’s chair?” He laughed weakly. “I was such a silly boy with silly boy dreams. Somehow, though, I still feel like I am a boy. Isn’t that so very strange?” His mother continued to eat. “Just a boy in a man’s flesh.” He balled his hands into fists. “And when I see that chair, I only see my death.” He let those words hang in the air around them.

              His mother sucked the sugar off her fingers. She placed the barren plate on the floor and then went back to her knitting, making no remark about any of his concerns. The clicking of the needles was like the sound of ants marching into his brain.

              “Would you care if I died?” he asked, though he knew she would not answer. “Would you care if your son was gone or if the legacy was left unfulfilled? Maybe you wouldn’t care either way. But I’d like to think that some part of you would…mourn.” He stared at the yarn in his mother’s lap—bright blue like a summer’s day. “I think you would mourn for me.”

              Young Aubrey wanted to reach out and touch her hand. He wondered if it would be as dusty as it looked or if there was smoothness to it. His hands remained in fists while hers whiled away as if she had not a care in the world.

              “Will you look at me before I go?” he asked. “I want you to see me as your boy for the last time. I want you to at least have that.” He searched her expressionless face—the mottled skin around her left eye, the smooth curve of her right. Her eyes did not leave her knitting just as his hands did not leave his side.

              “Please,” he said softly, “look at me.”

              He waited and waited as he always did before he left. This was her last chance, and she was running out of time. Soon he would be gone, and he would return as someone else entirely.

              “Mother?”

              The ants marched on.

Chapter 5

The sun peaked over the horizon like a spy peering over a windowsill. It watched as the people of Leola stretched and yawned before being roused from their beds. Lord Aubrey and his men spent the morning getting dressed and prepared for the hunt. By this time, Young Aubrey was safely in his room being helped into his leather trousers. When all was ready, they set out on horseback toward the forest border. The guardsmen, led by Captain Yendel, brought two hunting dogs that padded alongside the horses obediently. They rode through the relatively empty streets; one or two passers-by looked in awe at Lord Aubrey, who smiled down at them and gave a friendly wave. Looking up, Young Aubrey could see a few faces with flattened noses through the windows—smashing their faces against the glass to get a good look at their procession. Children ducked behind water barrels and giggled into their hands when they were spotted by Lord Aubrey. Only one of them was brave enough to say, “G’day, muh’Lord.”

              This will all be mine, Young Aubrey thought as he looked all around him. Every last inch of this place. To an outsider, it wouldn’t seem like much. To Young Aubrey, it was his own small piece of the world.

              A quarter of an hour later, they reached the forest. Here, they dismounted; it would be easier to hunt on foot than on horseback. One of the dogs sat next to Young Aubrey and panted in the summer heat. The other sat by his father. Before entering the forest, Lord Aubrey clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder.

              “Make me proud, son,” he said.

              “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you, Father,” Young Aubrey replied.

              They set out into the forest with the dogs in the lead. Captain Yendel and his men followed shortly after, allowing Young Aubrey and his father some breathing room. They diverted from the path after the buildings behind them were completely eclipsed by the trees.

              Young Aubrey knew he was supposed to be paying attention to his dog’s signals, but he couldn’t stop thinking about his mother. Even after I begged her, he thought, she would not look at me. Why does she treat me as though I was the one that put her there? Is it because I am my father’s son? How can she not see how much I care for her, how I would never hurt her like my father hurt her?

              Beside him, his father was making the same careful stride over tree roots and foliage. Both sets of boots crushed the sparse grass and dead leaves beneath them. Young Aubrey wished he would go away; he had already claimed a deer head and the seat. He did not need another.

              Above them, the birds only made the occasional chirp. Below, the dogs sniffed and scratched at the ground. There was a moment of promise when Young Aubrey’s mutt paused by a tree, but then he was let down when the damn beast lifted its hind leg. It stared stupidly at him. Young Aubrey bristled when he heard the sound of his father’s muffled laughter.

              Finally, after an hour of silent walking, Young Aubrey’s dog froze and pointed straight ahead. In the distance, Young Aubrey could see a stag with a magnificent set of antlers. Its head was bent to the ground as it fed. With his heart beating furiously, he raised his rifle eye-level and took a few deep breaths.

              Before he could pull the trigger, however, the deer was startled, as though it knew it was in direct line of a rifle. Young Aubrey desperately tried to adjust his aim, but the deer burst into a sprint.

              Young Aubrey chased after it with his dog at his heels. He heard his father call for him, but he would not obey. Nothing was going to rob him of his moment. Frantically, he tore through the low-hanging branches. His lungs were aflame when he reached the spot he last saw the deer.

              “Come on, you stupid beast,” he said through gritted teeth. He nudged the dog with his foot. “Help me find it.”

              The dog took a step forward.

              Then it let out a horrible, high-pitched howl.

              “Shut up!” Young Aubrey said, nudging the dog again. “You’re going to scare –”

              The dog quickly bounded back the way it came, its tail between its legs.

              Young Aubrey swore through his teeth as he stared after his dog.

              Well, this was certainly a wonderful start.

Instead of going back to his father and Captain Yendel, Young Aubrey moved forward. He couldn’t stomach the thought of having to return with neither a deer nor a dog. He would find the deer on his own, and perhaps he would look all the better for it. Yet as he walked on, he saw no sign of any deer, or any animal for that matter. Trees and bushes were all that stretched out before him.

              All was still.

              It was eerie, as though he was walking through a nightmare in which he was the only being that existed. He almost wanted to shout just to prove that he wasn’t. He wiped the slow build of sweat from his face. Never before had his heartbeat sounded so loud in his ears.

              Young Aubrey held the rifle out in front of him and parted the shrubbery with the barrel. He wasn’t sure, but he swore he could hear a wet, tearing sound that grew louder the farther he walked. And as he came closer, he heard something else…

              An unhuman growl.

              He wanted to tell himself that he was not afraid, but soon the terrible noises seemed to fill the forest air, replacing the natural with the unnatural. His gut twisted and churned the biscuit he had eaten for breakfast. But like a moth to the flame, he was drawn to the sounds.

              A violent snapping made him jump.

              Whatever had made that noise was around the oak tree in front of him.

              Did he dare go around to look?

              He didn’t think he had much of a choice. Besides, he had his rifle, and he knew he was a good shot.

              There was nothing to be afraid of.

              Nothing.

              As slowly as his feet would allow, he turned the corner of the oak tree.

*

              Valerie wiped the sweat off her brow as she hung the last of the laundry on the line. The different colors of the skirts and tunics rippled in the dawn light. To Valerie, it was almost the perfect image of summer. All she needed was the tartness of apples on her tongue to complete it.

              Her father was already at work. He usually left at dawn or later when his hangover from the night before subsided. He was still sore with her after her encounter in the forest. The night before, he kept looking as though he was about to tell her he forbid her visits. He asked her about the strange man again, but she merely said she had already told him all she knew, that she wasn’t hurt, and that if he didn’t eat his supper it was likely to get cold. She could feel his displeasure the whole time she was cooking, but she held her tongue.

              It was not she who spread the rumor about a murderer. She had only spoken of a cloaked man in the forest. She didn’t dare say that she had helped him because that would only lead to more questions, and she had already received plenty. Didn’t you know? Weren’t you frightened? Valerie answered as politely as she could with the thick-in-the-head manner she was accustomed to. She would not go to the execution when they found him. She supposed she would never know if he was really a murderer or not.

Valerie also did not tell her father about the coin bag she hid under her bed. She told herself that it was only going to be used for emergencies. Sometimes, however, she could not stop herself from fantasizing. I could go somewhere with this money, she thought. I could take a small trip to Merrion, only for a few days. I would come back. She did not like to think of herself as a selfish person. When her father returned from work (or the pub), she felt shame dust her skin. 

              Valerie had her father’s tunic in her hands and the pins between her teeth. She was about to hang it up, but a banging sound behind her startled her. She turned to see a fellow gunsmith standing there, his brow beaded with sweat and oil. His face was pale and his eyes were wide.

              She spat the pins out of her mouth and was about to ask what he was doing there.

              “Come quick,” he said. “It’s your father.”

              Two gunsmiths led her shaking, bleeding father into the sitting room. Valerie kept asking what had happened, but her ears seemed to be filled with a loud buzzing and she couldn’t hear the answer. There was so much blood; it trailed all the way to the front door and maybe even outside, too, but Valerie was too much in a panic to check. She didn’t even know why she would want to. Where was the blood coming from? Her father’s face was pale white and he was trembling so much that it was hard to see him properly. The two smiths placed him on the couch.

              “We fetched the doctor,” one of them was saying to Valerie. “We were going to bring him over there, but we didn’t think he would make it that far. So we brought him here.”

              Valerie knelt beside her father. “Papa, what happened?” She was trying not to shout, trying not to cry, but she could feel her face growing hot from the effort.

              Mr. Mason raised his right hand.

              Or what was left of it.

              The fingers were completely gone from what Valerie could tell. What remained was wrapped several times with oily cloths, and even with all that, blood was still drooling out of the end.

              “What happened?” Valerie asked. It did not seem to have come out like a question, more like a demand.

              “Accident,” Mr. Mason said, looking as though he was struggling to stay awake. “Kno-knocked my candle over. In the powder.”

              Valerie felt useless and afraid, and there was so much blood; she began to feel sick. All she could do was watch her father bleed and bleed and bleed.

              “V-Valerie, listen to me,” Mr. Mason said, forcing her to look at him. “I need you to take my belt and, and tie it around the – the –” With his good hand, he pointed to his injury. “It will stop the bleeding. Until the doctor comes.”

              Valerie nodded and did as she was told.

“Make sure you tie it t-tight.” She nodded again and did the best she could.

              “You’re doing very well,” her father said in a hoarse whisper. “Now, I n-need you to get a bottle of gin. To clean this.” He glanced at his stump.

              Valerie shook her head. She could not move. She could not leave him.

              “It’s all right, honey. You can do it.”

              Valerie gathered what little strength was left in her and got unsteadily to her feet. Quickly, she went to her father’s office and walked around the desk. She opened the drawer where he usually kept his drinks and pulled out the gin. When she returned to the sitting room, the three smiths surrounded her father, asking him what they could do.

              “Keep me awake,” her father said.

              Valerie knelt back beside him and uncorked the bottle. She was about to pour it over her father’s wound when he stopped her.

              “You have to – to unwrap it, first.”

              She hesitated. It was her turn to start trembling as though a frigid wind was blowing into the room. I don’t want to see, she thought. I don’t want to see. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

              “We can do that –” one of the smiths said.

              Her father waved him off. “She can. Go ahead. It’s all right.”

              She carefully placed the bottle on the floor. With clumsy fingers, she slowly unraveled the cleaning cloths from around her father’s wound, taking deep breaths through her nose the entire time. She wished the doctor was here already.

              When it was completely exposed, Valerie nearly vomited. All that remained of her father’s fingers was blackened skin and bits of bone. She grabbed the neck of the bottle so tightly she thought she would break it. And then, so she would neither have to see nor think about it anymore, she doused her father’s wound with gin. Mr. Mason hissed and gritted his teeth and thrashed a bit on the couch. Valerie shut her eyes at the noise he made and wished that it would all just end. Please let it end.

              When it was done, Valerie waited for her father to give more instructions. After a moment of silence she asked, “What now, Papa?” in a weak voice.

              “We wait,” he said.

              Valerie did her best to bite back the tears but a few escaped.

              “You did g-good,” her father said. “I’m proud of you. It’s, it’s going to, to be all right, Valerie. It’s going to be – to be all right.”

              Valerie held on to her father’s good hand as they waited. I won’t lose you, she thought determinedly as she looked into his eyes.

              “I’m sorry,” Mr. Mason said. “I’m sorry.”

*

              Young Aubrey wanted to escape his body. He was sure his eyes were wrong—that he was not actually seeing what he thought he was seeing. But there it was on the ground, all bloody and unbelievable.

              A demon in a black cloak hunched over a dead man. Its jagged teeth were all Young Aubrey could see as they ripped into the neck and pulled out the muscles and arteries. Blood splashed down the demon’s chin and painted its lips like that of a whore. It let out an ugly growl that made the hairs on the back of Young Aubrey’s neck stand on end.

              He opened his mouth to scream but all that came out was a faint choking sound. The gun was in his hands, but he had completely forgotten how to use it. He thought for a second that he could quietly turn around and run back to Captain Yendel and his father.

              Then the monster looked up.

              Young Aubrey had enough time to see blood and bits of flesh clinging to its fangs. He could not see the demon’s eyes, but he could feel the chill of its predatory stare. For that one moment, Young Aubrey felt like a small, pitiful animal that existed only as a means of feeding the demon.

              He ran blindly, wildly, away. He took one large gulp of air and screamed, “Help!” Some part of him knew it was useless. Some part of him knew that Captain Yendel and his father would not reach him in time. He clung to the rifle in his hands as though it would spring to life and save him. “Please, please!” he shouted, though he knew not if he were pleading to the monster or his father. He couldn’t hear anyone calling back for him, and he wondered if he was truly alone.

              Ahead of him, the monster stood, waiting.

              Young Aubrey skidded to a clumsy stop.

              Where could he go?

              What could he do?

              I will not rot in a grave after all, he thought wildly. I will rot in the belly of this beast.

              The demon came toward him quickly—as quick as he could blink. But why did everything feel so sluggish? Even his heart pounded a steady rhythm in his ears. As the monster raised its hand, Young Aubrey raised his rifle.

              He did not have the chance to pull the trigger.

              A sharp, blinding pain cut through the right half of his face. He felt the monster’s claw dig into his skin, slashing the corner of his right eye. He fell to the ground, screaming until the whole world was filled with darkness, blood, and screams. Hot blood covered his fingers, and a he thought, It’s my blood…mine, before he was buried by his pain.

              His vision faded in and out as though he was slowly blinking. He caught a glimpse of the monster standing over him, his black hole of a face nearing his own. Young Aubrey thought he was about to be sucked into it and fear flooded him when his vision darkened again. In the darkness all he could hear was his heartbeat. Am I dead? If he was, he wondered why the pain was still so prevalent. He wondered why he could still feel the blood staining his face and stinging his eyes.

              If I am not dead, then, why is taking the monster so long?

              There were shouts, but they were so far away that he could barely make out the words. He thought he heard his name. When his vision returned, there were two faces hovering over him. On his right was his father whose face was all but blotched out by the blood. On his left was Captain Yendel and his face was as clear as day. They were speaking to him, but their voices came out in echoes and tripped over one another. He looked past them toward the canopy. The leaves blocked his view to the sky.

              He lost consciousness.

*

              The doctor arrived fifteen minutes later carrying a large black case of tools. The doctor was a short, balding man with a few white wisps of hair on his temples. His eyes were magnified to an almost comical degree by the large spectacles he wore. When he inspected her father’s injury, he muttered to himself and touted as though her father was a misbehaving child.

              “I cannot put the fingers back,” he began, digging into his black case for some supplies.

              “I know,” Mr. Mason said, staring up at the ceiling. His jaw was clenched and his face was boiling red from the pain.

              “I’m going to give you something for the pain. As for this,” the doctor gestured to Mr. Mason’s wound, “I’ll have to cut the rest of it off.”

              Valerie clapped a hand to her mouth. After taking a moment to collect herself, she said, “I cleaned it.” She spoke as though this would change things.

              “This is the surest way to prevent infection, miss,” the doctor said.

              Valerie’s heart felt as though it was being twisted by a foreign hand. Her father wept silently, still staring at the ceiling. Valerie felt like she was going to cry, too, but she couldn’t allow herself to do so in front of her father and the doctor. Her bottom lip trembled violently as she watched the doctor inject a needle into her father’s arm.

              “You don’t have to be here for this, miss,” the doctor said as he worked. “It will be most gruesome.”

              “I want to stay,” Valerie said quickly before she even had the chance to think on it.

              “Valerie,” her father said softly.

              “I want to stay,” she repeated. “I won’t leave you alone, Papa. Not like this.”

              When her father drifted off, the doctor had removed his tools and began cutting the little bones on her father’s hand and the dead skin. Sweat dotted the top of his head which he wiped off when he allowed himself a moment to exhale. The wet snapping sounds sent jolts through Valerie’s body, and she wondered how she was still standing in place. Her fingers were in her mouth, biting the knuckles, trying to contain the scream that was threatening to erupt from within her.

              Two of the smiths busied themselves by pacing; the other looked a little green in complexion and left the room entirely. She only wished that she could afford such luxury. The sounds were making her stomach churn.

After an hour of the surgery, three guardsmen arrived at the door demanding to see the doctor. They exclaimed that something terrible had happened and that he was needed at the Aubrey manor immediately. The doctor finished bandaging her father’s wound and cleaned his tools. With her eyes, Valerie pleaded for the doctor to stay, to not leave her alone with this, but he was already packing up his things. Any words she could have spoken then were jumbled, broken, and nonsensical.

              “I’ve done all I can for him,” the doctor said. He passed two bottles of tonic to Valerie. He held them up one at a time as he rapidly explained. “This is for the pain. This is for sleep. A spoonful of each should do. Let me know if he develops an infection. I shall deliver your bill in the morning. If you’ll excuse me…”

              With that, the doctor, the smiths, and the guardsmen departed, leaving Valerie with her sleeping father—who now had only a bloody, bandaged wrist.

              What are we going to do now? she wondered.

Chapter 6

Young Aubrey was drowning in pain. The right side of his face felt as though it was on fire. He could feel the needle and thread going through the shredded parts of his skin as the doctor tried to stitch his face back together. He heard the doctor comment on seeing Young Aubrey’s muscles pulsing like an exposed heart, and he thought he also spoke of seeing a piece of his cheekbone. He could see nothing with his right eye besides a filmy, milky white veil. In the sparse bits of conversation he could make out between the doctor and his father, it seemed likely that he would never see properly out of that eye again.

              “It appears that an animal did this,” the doctor said as he cleaned Young Aubrey’s wound.

              Young Aubrey tried to open his mouth to tell him otherwise, to tell him that a demon had mauled him, but all that came out was a pained cry. Tears rolled down the good side of his face, and he could make out his father’s face through them. The doctor pricked him with medicine and he fell again into the dark.

Not even sleep could grant him reprieve. In his dreams, he saw the demon. Its gaping maw came ever closer to him, swallowing him into an endless nothing where the name Aubrey had no meaning.

              He didn’t know how many days passed him in the darkness. Sometimes he saw the sunlight streaming through his room, and there were often people surrounding his bed, speaking to him, though he knew not what they said. Sometimes he awoke alone in pitch black. He feared waking at night the most. A sick, chilling sensation overcame him. He could almost feel the demon pressing against him, as though it was lying beside him, breathing loudly, the scent of death on its breath. Young Aubrey wanted to cry out, but all that emerged were feeble moans. He wept. Don’t leave me alone, he thought. Don’t leave me alone with the demon!

              One morning, he woke to only small pinches of pain on the right side of his face. His body was sore from being confined to his bed. Outside his window, he could hear birds chirping. His room was empty. He couldn’t say why, but he found the chirping to be a very sweet, almost comforting sound. He lay back and listened for a time.

              A sudden, sickening feeling crept from his heart down into his belly. My face, he thought as he absentmindedly reached up to touch it. He felt the soft cloth of the bandage against his fingertips, and he could just make out the grooves of his stitches. What do I look like? he wondered as he traced a line down his cheek.

              The door opened gently, and Lord Aubrey entered the room. His golden hair hung around his head like frayed rope. His eyes were encompassed by dark circles, and the skin around his cheekbones sagging slightly. For the first time in Young Aubrey’s life, his father looked old. It was so shocking that he didn’t know what to say.

Lord Aubrey stood for a few moments at the doorway, staring right at him. Warm relief filled his features, and he looked as though at any moment he would burst into tears. His father cleared his throat and regained his composure. “You’re awake,” he said at last. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” Young Aubrey said hoarsely. “But better.”

Lord Aubrey’s lower lip trembled. Again, he cleared his throat. “You were so…distant from me,” he said. “For the longest time I thought…”

All at once, he strode across the room to Young Aubrey’s bed. Before Young Aubrey could utter a word, his father’s arms were around him, clapping his back three times.

“I’m so glad you’re all right,” his father said in his ear. He pulled away, keeping his hands on Young Aubrey’s shoulders. Lord Aubrey’s eyes traced over his bandage like his own fingers had moments before, and Young Aubrey felt a shiver crawl down his spine. “What happened?” Lord Aubrey asked. “Who did this to you?”

Young Aubrey had been dying to tell this story for a long time. Now that it was upon him, however, he hesitated. He knew what his father would say at the mere mention of a creature. Yet, Young Aubrey could not think of a better word; he did not know of any human who consumed human flesh.

“A demon did this, Father. It wore a black cloak and he had fangs and – and he was…he was eating a man. It was tearing into his neck…” He started to shake uncontrollably. His father did his best to hold him steady.                 

“We found the man,” Lord Aubrey said. “It looked as though a wolf had torn into him.”

“It wasn’t an animal, Father. It was a demon.”

              Lord Aubrey stared uncertainly into Young Aubrey’s good eye. Half of his father’s face was cloudy, so Young Aubrey couldn’t be certain of his expression.

              “Father, you believe me, don’t you?” Young Aubrey said after a moment of silence. “I know it sounds like I’m mad, but I’m not. I know what I saw, and it was a demon.”

              Lord Aubrey kept his silence for a few moments more, and the entire time, Young Aubrey felt a sinking in his chest. His father gave a great sigh and said, “It sounds…I….” He ran his fingers through his greasy hair. “I believe you, son.”

              Young Aubrey felt the warm rush of relief. He nearly cried then, but like his father, he kept his Aubrey composure. When his father looked at him again, a question tightened in his throat. He wondered if he should dare ask it. Everything in his father’s eyes told him not to. Yet he felt if he didn’t he would be driven mad. “How do I look?”

              For a split second, Lord Aubrey looked stricken. He lowered his gaze to Young Aubrey’s hands as though he meant to hold them in reassurance. “You will have scars,” he said at last.

              Young Aubrey swallowed hard. A part of him knew this, yet he did not know what to do with this information. “Can I see it?”

              “No,” Lord Aubrey said quickly. “You’re not completely healed yet.”

              “Would it make any difference if I saw it then, Father?” Young Aubrey asked quietly.

              Lord Aubrey closed his eyes as if he did not wish to be here. “You are alive. What difference would it make how you look?” He chuckled, but Young Aubrey detected his father’s voice cracking at the end of his words. Lord Aubrey’s expression hardened. He went back to staring at his son’s hands as though they were going to offer him something—a cure, a reprieve, perhaps.

              “I want to know what it did to me,” Young Aubrey said through gritted teeth.

              “You will see in due time, when you are healed. Now, we must focus on capturing that…thing. This could be the very same…demon that murdered the last poor soul we found. If so, I have made a grave error. One I wish to correct immediately.”

              Young Aubrey did not know why, but he didn’t like the way his father was speaking. He wondered where that demon was now—if it was hiding within the trees, quietly watching and waiting. It doesn’t matter, Young Aubrey thought. That monster will rue the day he let me live.

*

“So, you’ve returned,” Mrs. Lind said as she narrowed her eyes at Valerie. “And don’t you dare think about saying ‘Yes, ma’am,’ to me, or I will throw you out.”

Valerie nodded. She was too weary to argue or return a clever remark.

“Well, come in, come in. Don’t just stand there. You need to catch up on the work you missed.” Mrs. Lind strode back over to the counter while Valerie moved sluggishly toward the shelves.

“I heard about your father,” Mrs. Lind said. Her gaze darted up to Valerie and then back to her ledgers. “I’m sorry it happened.” Her tone was clipped, yet sincere.

Valerie’s father was bedridden for several days, and during that time, Valerie barely got any sleep herself. She would often wake at her father’s muffled cries of pain. Sometimes he lay still with tears streaming down his face, holding up his stump. He often looked at it as though he was desperately wishing for the fingers to grow back. Valerie tried to speak to him during these moments. She knew he wasn’t listening, but she kept trying. She read Saxon Matthews to him, hoping he would laugh at something. He barely cracked a smile.

              Her father would not take any visitors. A few of his drinking acquaintances and fellow smiths dropped by to check on him, but her father refused to see anyone. When he was well enough, he was determined to return to work as though nothing had ever happened. He worked at his station for an hour before the owner sent him home for good. Mr. Mason spent a quarter of an hour shouting and swearing at the front of the shop, drawing the ire of the guardsmen. Valerie had to retrieve and escort him home. The entire time, her father spat contempt at the shop, recounting all the years he had worked there and how they needed him. He repeated that statement several times on the way home: “They need me. They need me.” Valerie said nothing. She knew there were no words that could lessen his rage.

              At home, Mr. Mason locked himself in his office, toiling away on a pistol. When Valerie brought him lunch, she saw him fumbling with the metal pieces. He swore loudly when one of his tools slipped out of his left hand. He banged his stump against the desk, and then swore again in pain. Valerie placed his food on his desk and began picking up the pieces from the floor. The entire time, the Beast was watching from the corner of her father’s desk, looking as worn as she felt.

              “I can do this,” Mr. Mason insisted, using his arms to encompass the broken pistol before him. “I can do it. I just have to show them.”

              Valerie did not have it in her to discourage him.

              That morning, when Valerie announced she was returning to work, her father waved her away. Bless him, he was still working, though he had not gotten any farther than the day before, nor the day before that. “It’s all right,” he said. “You can leave me.”

              “I can’t increase your pay,” Mrs. Lind said, snapping Valerie back to the present. Mrs. Lind’s gaze darted toward Valerie again. “And I can’t pay you for the days you’ve missed. You’ll have to make them up.”

              “I understand,” Valerie said.

              Mrs. Lind slapped her hand on the desk. “Is that all, then? Am I to be your only solution?”

              Valerie understood well what she was saying, but it hardly changed things. Valerie could not afford to pin her hopes on marriage; they would never be able to afford it. And now, she could barely afford food. The coin she obtained from the stranger in the forest did not last long; it went toward her father’s surgery. She’d have to return to the forest again for food, murderer or not. Valerie could not see a way out or forward. She could only see her feet planted on the wooden panels of the bookshop.

              “Yes, ma’am,” Valerie said and began her work.

*

              Dante poured himself and Damien a healthy cupful of brandy. Before drinking, he lifted his cup and said, “Cheers.” It was the first word he said since he entered the house.

              Damien nodded, lifting the cup to his lips. He wasn’t going to try and fool himself into believing this was a friendly visit with friendly drinks. Surely Dante had heard by now, and it was surely the reason why he was here now. The brandy tasted warm and sweet, but it hit his stomach in a bitter chill.

Damien nervously tapped his finger against the tabletop.

              “Why are you tapping?” Dante asked.

              Damien stopped suddenly. “I just…I don’t know. I suppose I wasn’t thinking about it.”

              Dante finished his cup of brandy and leaned back. “Now that,” he said, “is a very accurate statement.” He poured himself another glass and drank the cup in one gulp. With the tips of his fingers, he slowly turned the cup like a doorknob. “You’re not drinking your brandy.”

              Damien tilted the cup to stare at the half-drunken contents. He gave a sour expression. “It tastes like nothing,” he said.

              “Drink the brandy. I want to share this with you, but I can’t do that if you don’t drink.”

              Damien sighed and knocked back a gulp. “No matter how much I drink, it still tastes the same.” He wiped his mouth with his hand. After he finished his cup, he said, “Do you feel better now?”

              Dante’s jaw moved back and forth like a pendulum. “What the hell’s wrong with you? I mean…What happened?”

              He did not answer Dante; he started tapping again.

              “You can’t keep doing this,” Dante said. “You can’t just eliminate everyone who gets in your way. It leads to dangerous problems for the both of us—problems that I have to solve.”

              Damien ceased his tapping once more. “I take it from the way you’re speaking that you’ve already solved this particular problem.”

              “Why, yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I have.”              

Chapter 7

“We caught him, Master Aubrey.” This was the news that coaxed Young Aubrey out of his room. Captain Yendel escorted him to his father’s office. On the way, several of the servants met Young Aubrey’s good eye, then quickly turned away. Even Captain Yendel encountered him in this manner. Once, Young Aubrey caught the captain’s eyes tracing over the bandage, perhaps envisioning what must have caused such damage. Young Aubrey did his best to ignore it, yet he could not escape the feeling of being cut open again. He had still not seen his face; no mirror was given to him.

Captain Yendel knocked on Lord Aubrey’s office door. Lord Aubrey was sitting at his desk as usual. In front of him was a man in manacles, flanked by two guardsmen. The man had a grey, crinkly beard that fell to his chest. His cheeks were tomato red and tear-stained, his crooked teeth jutting out of his mouth as he sobbed. The clothes he wore had ragged patches exposing dirty bits of his flesh. He wore no shoes, so Young Aubrey could see his dirt clogged toenails. He stood crooked, broken, and shivering as tears and phlegm dripped onto his beard.

              Young Aubrey stood staring for a few moments at the scene before him. He didn’t understand; he thought they had caught the demon. Who on earth is this poor soul?

              Lord Aubrey smiled when he saw Young Aubrey at the threshold. “Ah, here he is,” he said and motioned for him to enter. Young Aubrey tentatively obeyed. When he caught the eye of the guards, he saw them quickly look away.

              “Captain Yendel’s men found this lowlife in the forest beside a dead man,” Lord Aubrey continued. “I want you to take a good look at him and tell me –”

              “I didn’t do it!” the man cried.

              “Be silent,” Captain Yendel commanded.

              Lord Aubrey continued as though no one had interrupted. “I want you to tell me if this was the man who hurt you.” His eyes roamed over Young Aubrey’s bandage.

              Young Aubrey stared right back into his father’s eyes.

              “I swear,” the man cried out again, “I swear I didn’t hurt your boy! I didn’t kill that man! I just – I woke up and there he was –”

              “I said be silent!” Captain Yendel shouted, raising his hand threateningly.

              “He didn’t do it,” Young Aubrey said quietly.

              Everyone stopped. The man spoke up after a moment. “Th-thank you, boy. Thank you. I told you, I told you I didn’t. I harmed no one, sirs, no one.”

              Lord Aubrey’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You haven’t even looked at him properly,” he said.

              “I don’t need to. I know it wasn’t him.” Young Aubrey balled his hands into fists. His father suddenly looked frightened of him. “I told you it was a demon.”

              He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He was sure Captain Yendel and his guards were slightly stunned. It did not matter; his focus was entirely on his father who seemed to be trying to come up with the right words to say.

              “When you said it was a demon,” Lord Aubrey said, “I took it that you were referring to a savage.”

              “You said you believed me.”

              “I did. I do. But the evidence is all here, son. He was wearing a black cloak, as you described –”

              “I said it was a demon,” Young Aubrey said. He did his best to keep his voice even. “You said you believed me.”

              Lord Aubrey turned his attention to Captain Yendel who looked too stunned to do anything. He was no longer scolding the prisoner, who was still protesting his innocence. Lord Aubrey opened his mouth, closed it, and then covered it with his hand. Finally, he said, “You’re all dismissed.”

              “And the prisoner, sir?” Captain Yendel inquired.

              “Whether he hurt my son or not, he’s still a murderer. Take him to the dungeons. Hang him in the morning.”

              “No, no, no!” The man screamed. As the guards grabbed hold of him, he resisted. “Tell them I didn’t do it!” he cried. “Tell them I didn’t –”

              Captain Yendel punched him in the gut. The man let out an “oomph” and doubled over. The guards dragged him out of the room.

              When they were gone, Young Aubrey moved to one of the windows and stared outside toward the forest. “If you didn’t believe me, you should have said so,” he said.

              “I do believe you, son,” Lord Aubrey said.

              “You said you did believe me. You did.”

              The trees looked so still in the distance, so peaceful. You would have never thought they were hiding anything menacing.

              “What do you want me to say, son? I believed he was the one who did it.”

              Young Aubrey turned to face him. “You think a human did this to me?” he asked.

              “Because of the evidence,” Lord Aubrey said firmly, “I was certain that – What are you doing?”

              Young Aubrey raised his hand up to his face and started to pull the bandage off. His father begged him to stop, but he would not obey. It was horribly painful; it felt as though his skin was on fire the moment it was exposed to the air. He curled his hand around his wound for a few moments and sucked in air through his teeth, trying to push beyond the pain. When it had subsided some, he pointed to his wound.

              “Look,” he said in a voice that did not seem like his own. “Look at me and tell me you still believe a man is capable of doing this.”

              Lord Aubrey went pale as his eyes traced over the scars. A penetrating cold filled the room like water, and Young Aubrey swore he could see his father’s breath clouding in front of him.

              When Lord Aubrey failed to speak, Young Aubrey said, “If you will not hunt the demon, Father, then when I am Lord, I will.”

              Without another word, Young Aubrey left his father’s office. His father did not even call him back. I frightened him, he thought as he hurriedly walked down the corridor to his room. One of the servants jumped when she saw him; the bundle of blankets she was carrying nearly fell out of her hands.

              “Forgive me, Master Aubrey,” the woman piped up, “I almost didn’t recognize – I mean, I nearly –”

              “It’s fine,” Young Aubrey snapped. “I want a mirror brought to my room. Immediately.”

              “Y-yes, Master Aubrey.” She gave a quick bow and scurried in the opposite direction.

              Young Aubrey absentmindedly reached up to touch the right side of his face. His touch burned; the uneven ridges of his stitches made a chill crawl up his spine. I have to see it, he thought as he marched to his room. I have to see what that thing did to me. And I have to know that I have not gone mad, that I am telling the truth. I know what I saw.

              Several minutes later, he met the servant at his door. She stuttered when she asked him if there was anything else he needed. Young Aubrey snatched the mirror from her and closed the door in her face. He grabbed a chair from the corner of his room and leaned it against the doorknob. He did not want to be disturbed by anyone.

              Young Aubrey sat on the bed for a long time, the mirror face-down on his lap. His throat went dry, and he wondered when it had become so unbearably hot in his room. I have to. I want to. But he was utterly afraid of what he would see. He was afraid of the image that had frightened his father. What did that thing do to me?

              After a few deep breaths, he turned the mirror over and held it up to his face.

              It felt as though his heart shriveled up smaller and smaller the longer he looked.

Angry red marks trailed across the right half of his face. They cut into the corner of his lips, the bridge of his nose, and at the corner of his eye.

              He stared at himself a long time. His lungs felt as though ropes coiled tighter and tighter around them. It was still so unbearably hot. Everything about this was unbearable. He no longer looked like an Aubrey.

              He no longer looked like any human being he knew.

              How am I to face my people? he thought. How am I to claim my seat looking like this? When they wrote about him in that history book, they would call him the first Lord Aubrey to ever be horrifically disfigured. Everyone would remember this face and recoil from it.

              Young Aubrey threw the mirror across the room in anger. It gave a satisfying crash as it broke into pieces. Someone knocked on the door and asked if he was all right.

              “Leave me alone,” he said.

              Alone.

              My father doesn’t believe me. He can barely stand the sight of me. I can’t stand it myself. I have to kill the demon. That will be the only way to make this right.

              A ball of energy was growing in his belly. He could no longer stand to be alone, so he decided to leave his room and go to the cellar.

              At least she will have the decency not to look me in the eye, he thought as he ignored the questions from the passing servants.

              The door at the bottom of the stairs was already partially opened. As he drew closer, however, he could hear something, like a strange clapping. He had an image of someone hitting his mother. He was about to burst through the door when he heard a soft moan. A man grunted not long after.

              Young Aubrey felt embarrassed and ashamed. Was that his father in there? Then he remembered that his father was probably still in his office.

              Who was in there touching her?

              He stood there long enough for them to finish. Eventually the moans and grunts stopped and all that was left was the sound of heavy breathing.

              And then the man spoke, “We shouldn’t do this again. You remember what happened last time. We – we can’t.”

              I know that voice, Young Aubrey thought. Though he knew who the man was, he knew not how to feel.

              Captain Yendel bid Young Aubrey’s mother goodbye.

Chapter 8

Valerie got dressed and equipped herself for the forest as usual, but when she went into her father’s office, she found that he was already awake. She couldn’t tell for how long, but she suspected he hadn’t slept at all the previous night.

              “You’re going back there again,” he said.

              Valerie timidly walked up to his desk. The Beast was in her father’s good hand, and he kept turning it around and around as though he was looking for a flaw in the design. Her father’s stump was hidden under the desk. It seemed as though he could not bear to have it exposed in the light.

              “I don’t want you to go,” her father said.

              “I know,” Valerie replied.

              “I want you to have a good life.”

              Valerie did not know what constituted a good life. She had a life, and that was enough for now. “I’m all right, Papa.”

              He started to cry. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

              Valerie went around the desk and embraced him around his shoulders as he cried against the Beast. “I know,” she said again. Then she added, “When I get home, I’ll help you fix the pistol. OK, Papa?”

              He didn’t appear to have heard her. She let him go and was about to say something else when he nodded and said with a tight voice, “OK.”

              Valerie kissed the top of his head. “I’ll see you soon, Papa.”

*

The smell of burnt wood rose in the air as Young Aubrey reloaded his rifle with trembling hands. He could not escape the image of Captain Yendel’s hands crawling over his mother. He couldn’t decide whether it filled him more with revulsion or agony. All he knew was that he wanted it gone. So many wooden dummies laid defeated on the floor, yet he could still hear the moaning as though his ear was pressed to the cellar door. Behind him, he felt the cold hands of the demon.

              Young Aubrey didn’t bother to replace the broken dummy. He raised the rifle and took the shot. There was a blast of splinters and a puff of smoke. The dummy swung wildly in a circle. Most of its face was full of holes. Young Aubrey was sweating, and yet he felt so cold. When he made to reload the gun again, the bullet slipped through his fingers.

              What is wrong with me? he wondered. Everywhere I turn, I feel like I’m not real. Like I am not a part of anything. He bent down to pick up the bullet. As it lay in his palm, he could not understand how such a tiny thing could be packed with so much power.

              “I am glad to see you out of the house, Master Aubrey.”

              Young Aubrey whipped around. Captain Yendel was the last person he wanted to see at this moment. He took his guardsman’s stance and smiled at him. How dare he smile at me! How dare he stand there and act as though he were still so honorable? Young Aubrey contemplated raising the rifle and blowing a hole through Captain Yendel’s smile. Frightened, he dropped it.

He did not know how he could have thought such a terrible and ugly thing.

              “Is everything all right, Master Aubrey?” Captain Yendel asked. “You look unwell.”

              Young Aubrey turned his back on him. “I want you to leave me. I don’t want to see you.”

              “I – I beg your pardon, Master Aubrey?”

              “I said I don’t want to see you. Now leave.”

              He heard Captain Yendel take a step towards him. “Are you ashamed of your injury?”

              Young Aubrey winced as though he had been stung.

              “I want you to know,” Captain Yendel continued, “that I still see you as Master Aubrey, regardless of what happened and that my men and I are doing everything they can to bring that monster to justice.”

              Young Aubrey closed his eyes. He almost wanted to believe the good captain’s words. He was sure he would have before he made his discovery. He would have given everything, even the Aubrey seat, for things to be how they were before. Knowing that tore into him deeper than any demon ever could. He turned to face Captain Yendel, his hands balled into fists. “Don’t stand there and act like you’re still good and honorable. The honorable Captain Yendel; what a joke.”

              “What are you talking about, Master Aubrey?”

              “Don’t act as though you’re thick in the head. I heard you. With her.”

              Captain Yendel turned stark white. “I – I – M-Master Aubrey –”

              “I don’t want to hear your reasons. None of them would be good enough.”

              Captain Yendel lowered his gaze. They all do in the end, Young Aubrey thought. No matter how much they profess that I am the same Aubrey, they can never look me directly in the eye.

              “I…am ashamed,” Captain Yendel began.

              “Only because I caught you, no doubt.”

              “I never meant for this to happen.”

              “Of course. No one ever means for it to happen. I assume you just tripped and landed in her bed.”

              “Master Aubrey, you do not understand –”

              “No, and I don’t think I ever will. Nor do I desire to.”

              Captain Yendel was a fiery red. “Have you spoken with your father?”

              “You would know if I had.”

              They fell silent. Captain Yendel’s head hung low. It was such a pitiful sight. Young Aubrey hated him more for that.

              “What would you have me say, Master Aubrey?” Captain Yendel asked the ground. “You will neither accept my apologies nor my explanations. I want to make this right to you.”

              “Why?”

              “Because I love you as though you were my own. Because I hate that I’ve disappointed you.”

              Young Aubrey laughed and shook his head. “You love me, yet you can’t look me in the eye. All you have are your pretty words and now that they’re meaningless, you have nothing.” He turned his attention to the dummy that swung idly on its post. “I know you really want to inquire if I’m going to tell my father, so go on and ask me.”

              Young Aubrey looked down at the rifle. It lay gleaming in the sunlight, deadly and beautiful.

              “Are you going to tell your father, Master Aubrey?” Captain Yendel asked.

              Young Aubrey’s hands shook. He could feel the demon breathing down his neck, its teeth near his throat. He picked up the rifle from the floor. He aimed at the dummy and tried to imagine the face of the demon, but all he saw was Captain Yendel’s face and then his mother’s. He trembled with fear.

              “Aubrey.”

              Young Aubrey whipped around once more to see his father striding across the grounds. There was a smile on his face and his arms were spread out for an embrace, but he lowered them as he approached. “I’m glad to see you out here, son,” he said gently as though Young Aubrey was delicate. Unlike Captain Yendel, Lord Aubrey looked at his son’s face, but only the good half.

              Young Aubrey and Captain Yendel exchanged a look. Lord Aubrey’s smile faltered.

              “Is something the matter?”

              “Yes, Father,” Young Aubrey said. He glanced at Captain Yendel one last time. He paused for the full effect, enjoying the sight of the captain’s face growing pale. “I wish to have someone else attend to my combat lessons.”

              Lord Aubrey raised his eyebrow. “Why is that, son?”

              “The good captain has other pressing matters to attend to, like finding the demon that did this to me.” Young Aubrey raised the rifle once more and held it steady.

              “That is not necessary, Master Aubrey,” Captain Yendel said. “I am happy to continue your lessons in addition to my duties.”

              “No, Captain,” Young Aubrey said before he took the shot. “Justice must always come first. Evil must be punished.”

              He fired.

              And missed.

*

              On her way back from the bookshop, she saw clusters of people huddled together, whispering. Valerie vaguely wondered if another body had been found. She was walking through the marketplace, and a frumpy old woman named Mrs. Colt stopped her.

              “You poor dear,” she said.

              Valerie stared warily at her. “I’m – sorry?”

              “Your father was a good man,” Mrs. Colt said, patting Valerie’s hand. “Troubled, but good all the same.”

              Valerie lost all feeling in her legs. “What are you talking about?”

              “You don’t know, dear? Have you not been by your house, yet?”

              Without hesitating, Valerie charged past Mrs. Colt. She could hear the old woman shouting behind her, “You might not want to go over there, dear!” She said other things, but the quickened pulse in Valerie’s ears drowned out her words.

              The old woman is stupid, Valerie thought as she ran down the lane, ignoring the stares from the townspeople. Mrs. Colt didn’t know what she was talking about. Her father was fine. She had just spoken to him this morning. He had probably gotten drunk again and passed out. He was probably doing a million other things, but he was not dead.

              Down her street, she could see a group of her neighbors gathered around the front of her house. Most of them were craning their necks to see whatever was going on. Guardsmen blew their whistles and called for them to get back or get away. With her lungs on fire, Valerie ran closer to the scene. She pushed past the crowd, not caring whether or not she was being rude. She had to get to her father. This was all just a stupid misunderstanding.

              Her father was fine.

              He was fine.

              “Miss, you need to stand back,” said a guardsman as he grabbed hold of her elbow.

              “I need to get in there,” Valerie said frantically. “I need to see my Papa.” Why weren’t they letting her go through? Why was everyone acting as though something terrible had happened? He had only gotten drunk, that’s all. He did it all the time. “I live here. I need to see my Papa.”

              “Your father’s gone, girl.”

              Even after he had said it, Valerie still refused to believe it. She tried to fight past the guard, scratching at his armor with her nails until one of them broke painfully. She screamed hysterically for them to let her see him. She needed to see him. She needed him to be all right.

              “Someone take her!”

              Valerie started calling for him. “Papa! Papa! I’m here!”

              Two guards grabbed hold of her and pulled her away from the house. Tears stung her eyes and she screamed for him.

              “Please, please,” she begged and sobbed. There was a strange crackling in her head. The crowd slowly shifted and blocked her view of the front door. “Papa, I’m here!”

              He didn’t answer her calls.

Chapter 9

The summer season would come to an end, and with it, Lord Aubrey’s reign. If Young Aubrey had been paying attention to the slow changes outside, perhaps he would have remembered, but it wasn’t until his father strolled into his room carrying a polished wooden box that the thought even occurred to him.

              “It’s for your party,” his father said, placing the box delicately on the bed. Young Aubrey stared at it, his stomach in knots. How long had he been waiting for this day? And now it was arriving sooner than expected. Young Aubrey ran his finger down the edge of the box. He wondered if it were a pistol of some sort; it looked big enough to hold one. He could kill the demon with it.

              He lifted the lid slowly.

              The box held half of a golden mask. The mouth of the mask was curved into a smile. Young Aubrey stared at it for a long time.

              Lord Aubrey was smiling, too, though it did a poor job of hiding his fear at how Young Aubrey would react. “Try it on,” he insisted.

              The mask was cold in Young Aubrey’s hands. He tied the leather strap tightly around the back of his head, and then he looked at his father. Lord Aubrey stared sadly back at him. For once, he did not look away.

              “Do you like it?” Lord Aubrey asked.

              “It matches the Aubrey colors,” Young Aubrey replied.

              “I thought you would like it.”

              I never said I did, Young Aubrey thought.

              “I…It’s nice to see a smile on your face, son. That’s what I miss the most about you.”

              Young Aubrey did not bother to try and smile now; the mask did all the work for him. “Thank you, Father. This will go well with my attire.”

              While preparations were being made for the party, Young Aubrey found himself at the foot of the cellar stairs. Behind him, he could hear the servants rushing about. Several of them congratulated him. He gave no response. The door to the cellar was closed, and he feared what lay behind it. Was Captain Yendel down there again? Did he have that much nerve to return? Perhaps he and the captain were alike in that regard, always returning to the woman who barely showed any affection. He didn’t know why that was. All he knew was that he was going to be lord and he was going to have to face the demon again. Fear rippled through him at the thought. But did he fear seeing his mother, or did he fear encountering the demon?

              Shaking, he went down the stairs. His heart was beating furiously. He thought he heard a groan but it was only the stair beneath his foot. The door opened when he turned the knob.

              She was there, in her usual place in the room, as if the thing with Captain Yendel had not happened.

              “Mother,” he said.

              She did not look up from her knitting. She was using red yarn.              

He wanted to collapse and sob into her lap like a child. He wanted her to stroke his head and tell him that she loved him, that she knew he would do everything he said he would do, and that he was her boy and no one else mattered.

              His legs felt like pillars of water as he stepped into the room. He closed the door behind him. Then he stood in front of her.

              “I’m sorry I took so long to come see you,” he said. Her needles click-clicked in response. “I couldn’t face you after what I discovered. And every time I thought about coming here, all I could see was Captain Yendel on you…and I couldn’t.” He swallowed the cold lump in his throat. “But that doesn’t matter. You are my mother, and I cannot think less of you.” Her needles were clicking in his head again. “After tomorrow evening, I’m going to be Lord Aubrey. And I don’t know how I’m to do that with my face,” he pointed angrily to the golden mask, “looking as it does. Everyone fears me as though I’ve become a monster. I see it in their faces, their whole, unscarred faces.” Young Aubrey shook his head vehemently. “The thing that did this to me…it was a demon. Nobody believes me.” He reached up to the back of his head and undid the leather strap. “But you will. I know you will once you see.”

              He removed the mask and turned his head so that his scars could be seen in the sparse lamplight.

              His mother did not look up. She acted as though he said not a word. Before, it would not have mattered. Now, however, it was different. He was going to reach the most important moment in his life, and all she cared about was her damned knitting.

              “Look at me,” he said. “We are practically the same.”

              She didn’t change her gaze. The clicking continued, louder and louder, until it filled the room like a noxious gas.

              He reached for her.

              She pulled away.

              Roughly, he grabbed her chin. “Look at me.”

              She squirmed and started to feebly hit his arms. With his other hand, Young Aubrey grabbed her wrists and held them at bay. His mother shut her eyes tight.

              “You won’t let your boy touch you, but you’ll let the good captain fuck you, is that right? Look at me! I’m your son! I’m your boy! Look at me! Look at me!”

              His mother struggled against him, doing her best to yank her wrists free, but he only tightened his grip on them. Young Aubrey screamed at her to look at him over and over. He yelled so loud that he did not hear a man call his name. A pair of metal arms enfolded around him and pulled him away from his mother.

              “Master Aubrey, stop! Stop!” Captain Yendel called out.

              Young Aubrey broke free of the captain’s grip. He turned around and punched him square in the jaw. Captain Yendel staggered to the left. Young Aubrey punched him again and again. He heard the sound of the captain’s nose breaking. He felt hot blood cover his fist. One of them was roaring or screaming – he couldn’t tell which. He raised his fist one more time.

              He froze.

              Captain Yendel’s face was stained with blood; it dribbled out of his mouth and nose. He was staring up wide-eyed at him. Young Aubrey could see himself reflected in the captain’s eyes with his fist raised.

              Captain Yendel slowly held up his hand. “It’s all right, Master Aubrey,” he said softly. “It’s all right.” He gently grabbed Young Aubrey’s fist and brought it back down to his side. He got back on his feet. “I’ll fetch something to clean you up. There’s no harm done.”

              Young Aubrey stared at the blood he had drawn. He felt dirty and savage-like.

              He felt powerful.

*

              The wooden casket did not seem like it was large enough to store a man, yet Valerie knew her father was lying in there. Some of the nails stuck out crookedly at the edges, and there were several nicks and scratches in the wood. The grave keep placed it beside the gaping hole. Her father would rest in a grave beside her mother’s. All these details Valerie committed to memory because this was the last time she would ever get to see her father. This would be the last time she would get to say goodbye.

              Did it matter if she said anything? It wasn’t as though he would be able to hear her. Why was it that everyone was so determined that she speak at all? For now, she was staying with Mrs. Lind. Her house was fine enough, but it felt strange for Valerie to be there. Mrs. Lind asked her if she wanted to talk about it. “Not that I have anything to say,” she added in her famous clipped manner. “But perhaps you just want someone to listen.” What could Valerie say? My father is dead. There was nothing else for it. Perhaps Mrs. Lind simply wanted to know why he did it, but Valerie did not have an answer; her father hadn’t bothered to leave one. All Valerie wanted was to be left alone. Every now and then, she thought that she was going to be late for something if she did not move. When it grew dark outside, she told herself she had to go home, and then she remembered that she had no home to return to. They were going to auction it off to pay her father’s debt. Even if that wasn’t the case, nobody would be there waiting for her.

              She wondered if anyone cleaned the blood off the walls.

              Her body grew so cold that it turned numb. She heard the murmurs and whispers of the people that had gathered in the cemetery. I can only imagine the things they are saying, she thought. They are saying more than I could manage right now. If only I could rob them of their words. A woman began to sing about death and souls. 

              Valerie wished she could look past the casket to see her father’s body. It was strange; it seemed as though she could not remember what her father looked like. In her mind, she saw a face, somber and reddened from too many drinks, but it did not look like her father. It was a face that could have belonged to anyone. If she was strong enough, she would have begged someone to open it so she could see him one more time. Then she remembered there was a bullet in his brain.

              She flexed her fingers a few times to get the feeling back in them. She didn’t know how she was still standing straight and acting as though she needed to. There was no one here that relied on her strength. Only me, she thought.

              Only me.

              The grave keep lifted her father once more, and Valerie knew this was it, they were going to lower him into that hole and she was never going to see him again. She took a few steps forward. A wild thought came to her: she could throw herself into the hole and her father could stay here. She would have done that for him. She would have done anything for him.

              How did he not know that?

              Slowly the casket disappeared into the ground. Wait, she wanted to say, not yet. I’m not ready. She heard a muffled thunk. The grave keeps grabbed their shovels and started tossing dirt into the hole.

              It was over quickly.

              There was only one thing she wanted from her old house. When Mrs. Lind was asleep, Valerie snuck out. It was scary returning to her house in the dark. But what she wanted wasn’t worth any coin, and she couldn’t bear the thought of them throwing it away.

              Her house remained just as she left it. Everything looked as though it was merely waiting for Valerie and her father to return. She crossed the hall to her father’s office and peered inside before opening the door.

              Her father either had not done it in here or someone had already cleaned up the blood. Either way, Valerie did not want to stay here much longer. A lingering scent of spirits haunted the place. It was as though her father was standing right behind her. She checked, just in case. She would give anything to see him one more time, just once more. But, of course, there was no one there. Only shadows. Valerie walked up to her father’s desk – was it really just yesterday that he was sitting behind it? – and grabbed the Beast.

              You will be my burden now, she thought.

              She could have gone back to Mrs. Lind’s house. She could have stayed there and played surrogate daughter or whatever role Mrs. Lind wanted her to play. What would happen to her if she did? What if, after a while, Mrs. Lind did not want her anymore?

              What will happen to me? The question made her feel so small. She held on to the Beast until the pointy ends of the figure hurt her fingers. 

She turned around and ran into the forest.

Chapter 10

The ballroom was swarming with all sorts of people. Some were dancing, some were chatting; all wore masks. They varied in sizes and shapes. One woman had the mask of a dainty little mouse with a bow on its ear. A man wore the mask of his conception of death. It was rather unnerving for Young Aubrey as he walked down the stairs to false faces staring back at him. There were so many smiles that he couldn’t count them all. They were all smiling at and applauding him. The clapping buzzed around in his head like a swarm of bees. He gave a nervous bow and leaned in close to his father’s side.

              “Why are they all wearing masks?” he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

              “I didn’t want you to feel embarrassed,” Lord Aubrey replied with a tight smile.

              Upon that knowledge, Young Aubrey could feel a flush creeping up his neck. He could feel the heat of his father’s words staining his cheek. Lord Aubrey guided him down the remaining steps to join the guests.

              The ballroom was bathed in golden orbs of light. Red cloth covered the long tables that were stacked with endless platters of food. Young Aubrey could smell hints of roast duck, pheasant, and the sweet deer meat. On one table, there was a sweaty brown pig with an apple shoved into its mouth. He saw a few of the guests wander over to it and rip the meat from its side with their forks. Young Aubrey stood and made small talk with the guests. He sweated under their unspoken questions concerning his face.

              This had never happened to him before. Suddenly, he was standing there amongst a group of people that he would soon be reigning over, and he was at a loss for words. What will be your first law? How are you going to deal with the bandit problem? How are you going to do this? Do you think you can do that?

              Do you think you are fooling anyone?

              You are no Lord, said a voice in the back of his head. How can you be when you know that a demon is out there? They should not ask you what you will do about the bandit problem. They should ask what you will do about the demon.

              He wondered what would happen if he suddenly said that aloud, if he suddenly told these people that a demon had done this to his face and that when he was Lord, he was going to find it and kill it. He would shatter their pretty preconceptions about the world. They had no idea what dark creatures lurked in the shadows when all the lights were blown out.

              Under his breath, he muttered, “A demon did this to me.”

              “What did you say, Master Aubrey?” a gentleman asked, tilting his head to the side.

              “I said that perhaps you could be Lord, sir.”

              “I could, couldn’t I?” The gentleman laughed and nearly spilled his wine on his wife’s gown.

              A small band of musicians in the corner started to play. The sound of the violins made Young Aubrey’s spine feel rigid. He couldn’t understand. He used to enjoy music and the company of others. More than anything, he had wanted to be Lord. There was a time he had eagerly counted the days to this event.

              So why did it all feel so hollow?

              Why did it all feel so false?

              A few ladies inquired if he would like to dance. He did not remember if he liked dancing, though he had danced a few times. At any rate, he said, “No.” He chose to watch. The guests swayed and spun under the golden light; their lifting motions made them appear as though they were going to a place he could not follow.

              “I’m happy to see that you’re enjoying yourself, son,” Lord Aubrey said from behind him.

              Young Aubrey turned around. “I am, very much, Father,” he replied almost mechanically.

              “I’m about to make the announcement. I hope…Well, I hope you are ready for it.” Lord Aubrey smiled at the golden part of his son’s face.

              Am I? Young Aubrey wondered.

              He didn’t have enough time to contemplate the answer. His father led him to the center of the room. Immediately, the musicians ceased their playing and the dancers parted. Everyone gathered around Young Aubrey and his father. Now that he was level with the guests, their masks were even more unnerving. So many blank eyes were trained on him.

              Is this really what I had always wanted?

              “Lords, ladies, guests,” Lord Aubrey began. “Thank you all for coming. As you know, tonight marks a very special occasion for my boy. He’s had a very trying time and without your support, I don’t know how we ever would have pulled through.” There was a smattering of polite applause. Lord Aubrey nodded and held his hand up for silence once more. “My son is a most brave and admirable boy. You could not ask for a better leader, and I could not ask for a better son.” He took a breath and swallowed. Young Aubrey followed the Adam’s apple of his father’s throat as he waited to hear the words.

              “However, there are more trying times ahead. You’ve made a swift recovery, son, but I’m not sure if you’re fully healed.”

              Young Aubrey stared blankly at his father. The golden lights seemed to dim and the false faces seemed to fade.

              “Which is why I will retain the seat until you are fully prepared to claim it next year.”

The guests clustered around his father like chickens waiting for their feed. Young Aubrey was able to easily slip away from the party. He thought about visiting the cellar, but he wondered if the good captain was already making his visit. The only other place he could think to go was the training grounds.

              The grounds were deserted. All of the guardsmen were at the party protecting Lord Aubrey and the guests. Young Aubrey grabbed a training rifle and set up a station for practice. He took his time loading the gun. He felt strangely calm while he did so. It was surprising that there was no anger in him, no sense of disappointment, at least not with himself. All he felt was a strange blankness, as though some part of him knew this was how it would be.

              He took aim at the wooden dummy across from him. His finger was on the trigger, but he did not take the shot. Somebody was coming up behind him.

              “Did Captain Yendel tell you what happened?” Young Aubrey asked his father.

              Lord Aubrey stopped a few feet behind him. “Tell me what, son?”

              “I suppose he wouldn’t. He probably feared I’d spill his secret in return.” Young Aubrey kept his aim steady but made no move to shoot. “For a moment, I believed he told you what I did. And I thought that was perhaps why you denied me.”

              “What did you do?”

              “It hardly matters.”

              “I noticed he had a broken nose. Did you do that to him?”

              Young Aubrey lowered his rifle. He recalled the image of blood pouring down Captain Yendel’s face, and it felt like the only real thing he had ever done.

              “Did you hurt him?” His father asked.

              He saw no reason to deny it. “Yes.”

              “Why?”

              Young Aubrey turned to face his father. “Because he’s not a good man,” he said casually as though they were discussing the weather.

              Lord Aubrey stared at him in disbelief. “What’s happening to you?” he asked. “Are you angry about something? Is it the…stress of your future responsibility? Tell me how I can make this right with you.”

              There were tears in his eyes. Young Aubrey could not tell if they were genuine. He could never tell how genuine his father was.

              “The only way to make this right,” he said slowly, “is for me to find and kill the demon.”

              “Aubrey, Captain Yendel and his men have searched tirelessly for this…demon. They have found nothing. There is no such thing as demons. There are only evil men.”

              “And evil must be punished,” Young Aubrey said. The rifle in his hands gleamed beautifully in the moonlight. “That’s what you always told me.”

              “Yes,” Lord Aubrey agreed. “Evil men must be punished.”

              “It matters not if you believe me. Either way, I’m to be the one to kill it.”

              “I forbid you from ever stepping foot in the forest again.”

              “You can’t stop me, Father.”

              “I will do everything in my power to do just that.”

              Young Aubrey pitied his father. He pitied everything the Aubrey name stood for. His father was a good man; all the Aubreys were. But there was one problem:

              Lord Aubrey was standing in his way.

              “Do you love me, Father?” Young Aubrey asked softly.

              “You know I do. I want to protect you. I want you to get better. I want my boy back.”

              “I want to hear you say it,” Young Aubrey said.

              “I love you, son,” Lord Aubrey said stepping towards him with open arms. “I love you so much.”

              Young Aubrey smiled, completing the image of his mask. It was the least he could do for his father. “I’m glad I got to hear you say it one last time.”

              He aimed at his father and pulled the trigger. 

Chapter 11

She felt unclean. There was sweat under her arms and on her chest and leaves fell and became tangled into her hair. All of that, however, could be washed away with a decent bath. Someone once told her time would clean the rest. How much time was never determined.

              Valerie walked in a daze as the thorns pricked her skin and the birds cried above her. She did not know where she was going or where she intended to go. She had lived in Leola all her life. The thought of being anywhere else felt…impossible.

              The only living things that surrounded her were birds, squirrels, and flies. The flies buzzed around her head as though they were waiting for her to die. She didn’t have the strength to swat them away; she had to focus all her energy on walking. It was difficult, considering her legs felt like lead. Her whole body ached for a nice bed to rest in. But she could not rest. She doubted she could ever sleep again.

              She eventually had to stop. Her legs just hurt too much, and she had no idea how long she had been walking. She leaned against a nearby tree and took a breath. In her hand, she noticed, she was still holding on to the Beast. When she examined him closely, she saw that he had a splatter of dried blood on the top half of his body. Some of the blood dotted on her fingertips. The sight of it made her sick. She frantically started to rub the stains with her dress. She thought of the hole blown into her father’s head and the sheet they laid over him. It has to burn, that stain will never come out in the wash. It has to burn.

              One of the horns broke off.

              The piece lay in her palm.

              “No,” she whispered as she tried desperately to put it back together. “No, no, no.” Tears flooded her eyes, making it difficult to see what she was doing. “No, no, no, please.”

              The horn slipped from her fingers.

              Valerie got on her knees and desperately searched the ground for the missing piece. She patted the dirt and shifted through the dead leaves. She kept repeating her denial. You can’t even take care of a stupid trinket, can you? She burst into tears and held on to the Beast. It was no use finding the small piece and it was no use staying on her knees as though she was ready to die. That would have been the easy thing, she supposed, and she wondered if it was easy for her father.

              “Bastard,” she nearly shouted. She wasn’t one to swear, but it now felt like an appropriate refrain. “You bastard.” She didn’t know who she was referring to. For all she knew, she could have been referring to the Beast for breaking down when she needed him most. He needed you, too, she thought as she stared in contempt at the Beast. Where were you when Papa decided to point the gun to his head? Where were you when he pulled the trigger?

              Valerie arched her arm to throw the Beast into the forest where he belonged.

              The claws pinched her fingers.

              This is it, she kept telling herself. This is the moment I’m going to let him go and be done with him.

              She was still thinking that five minutes later. Her arm grew tired from holding it up for so long.

              Valerie closed her eyes, sighed, and then brought the Beast back to her side. She kept walking.

              The sparse sunlight was slowly being replaced by darkness. Valerie wished the stupid Beast in her hand would do something to help her—that it would become like the Beast in her father’s stories. You’re a useless thing. I don’t know why I’m hanging on to you. No matter what, though, she didn’t let go. She put him in her pocket to keep him safe.

              Suddenly, the birds had ceased their song. It was so deathly quiet. If I were to scream, who would hear me? The thought was unsettling enough to get her running.

              Soon, she reached what seemed like a wall of greenery. There was no way around it, at least no way she could see. Valerie chanced a glance behind her. All was deceptively still. She didn’t like being out in the open like this. There was nothing left for it: she would have to tear through the wall. When she had made a hole large enough for her to pass through, she beheld a rather peculiar sight.

              There, several feet in front of her, was a house.

              Even from this distance, she could tell how dilapidated it was. Moss grew in thick blankets on the side of the wall. Three out of the four windows had cracks in them. The house itself leaned awkwardly to the side as though it was preparing to keel over any minute. It also gave off a strange, sour smell, as though a decaying corpse was rotting inside.

              Did somebody live in there?

              She didn’t think she had much time to dwell on the matter. She rushed to the front door and, even though she was quite certain nobody had lived here for a long time, she knocked. “Hello?” Her voice was so loud. She could hear the “o” of her greeting echoing up to the roof.

              She turned the knob. The door creaked horribly as she pushed it open. She timidly stepped inside. “Hello?” she called out. “Is anybody here?”

              Silence. The shuffle of her feet. A clock ticked somewhere.

              She was alone. 

              Valerie closed the door behind her. The house was horribly dusty. She sneezed when her feet kicked up a great puff of it. There were cobwebs in the corners vacant of spider occupants. The walls of the entrance hall looked as though they might have been painted a nice green color, but now it was the sickening color of mold. In front of her, the stairs had a few pegs missing from the railing. Curiosity won over her momentary exhaustion, so she decided to explore the rest of the house.

              Valerie first went to the room on her right, which turned out to be a parlor. At the wall were shelves filled with books. They guarded a mantle with an ash-covered hearth. A black poker leaned against it. In the center of the room was a battered, moth-eaten loveseat with feathers sticking out of the cushions. Valerie slid her finger over an arm; it felt crusted and oily. She wiped her finger on her dress.

              The books lining the shelf had visible signs of age on their spines. When she took one off the shelf, she could see that some of the page corners were ripped. Perhaps after a good rest, she might smuggle a few books with her for the journey ahead. Maybe one of them would help her figure out where to go next.

              To the right of the parlor, tucked in a corner, was the washroom. In the center was a rusty metal tub with some sickly brown liquid swirling at the bottom. A chamber pot was placed in the corner, and a basin on top of a night stand.  There was a smell akin to rotten eggs permeating the air, causing Valerie to pinch her nose. Needless to say, she inspected neither the basin nor the chamber pot. She closed the door and hoped the smell wouldn’t get out.

              Across from the parlor was a swinging door that led to the kitchen and dining area. Valerie’s stomach gurgled, a mixture of hunger and nausea. There were bags of grain and fruit lining the walls. A basket of rotting eggs was sitting next to a basin that was full of dirty dishes, which were crusted with month-old meals. In the corner was a cast-iron stove. In the middle of it all was a little circular dining table, much like her table at home. On top of the table was a feast gone cold and stale. The browned meat was still red in some places, and the cut potatoes were leaking oil, but Valerie didn’t care. Perhaps some lost soul had come in here and helped himself to some food.

Valerie sat at the table, her hands tempted to grab at the food and stuff it into her mouth. Timidly she picked at the piece of meat. It was chewy and a little greasy, but it tasted like the best thing in the world at the moment. She helped herself to some more, and more, until she was practically gobbling the whole thing down. Then she worked on the potatoes. Some of them were raw in places, but she ate them all without complaint. Next to the plate was a cup of wine, which she guzzled down to get rid of the salty taste on her tongue. It was sweet and tangy, and it made her muscles warm up as though she was wrapped in a layer of quilts.

              She wiped her dirty hands on her equally dirty dress and smacked her lips. Her belly was now roiling with food, and she was so tired she thought she might fall asleep right there on the table. Maybe there was a decent bed upstairs. She walked out of the kitchen and went up to the second floor. 

              The first bedroom was cluttered with bones of junk: broken toys, dirty clothes, and torn pieces of parchment were scattered about. The little bed reminded Valerie of a boat trapped in still water. At least the room didn’t smell. Valerie, however, was not keen on wading through the mess to get to the bed. She closed the door and moved on.

              The second bedroom had peeling wallpaper. Like everything else, the bed was caked with dust. The bed was pushed all the way to the window. There was a nightstand with a lamp on it, and a wardrobe in the corner. For the most part, the room was perfectly normal. She could rest here once she cleared the dust off the bed.

              However, there was one more bedroom at the end of the hall that she had yet to explore. When she stepped inside, the room seemed to be colder than the rest, and the hairs at the back of Valerie’s neck prickled. In fact, all of her skin seemed to tingle once the sharp smell of pine and wet dog wafted up her nose. Like the other room, the bed was shoved all the way to the window where you could see out to the front of the house. Unlike the other room, the bed was mostly destroyed. The blankets were torn and the pillows looked like something had taken a bite out of them.

              The wall to her left was covered in tortured patterns of scratch marks and what appeared to be blood. Valerie’s stomach tensed with fear. Horrible scenarios flickered through her mind—perhaps this was what happened to travelers who found this place. Maybe this was why a meal was left unfinished downstairs.

              Valerie left the room as fast as she could and slammed the door behind her. Seconds after she had, she heard the front door open and close. She stopped mid-step and listened as the sounds of someone’s footsteps striding through the entrance room. There was a swish of something like a cloak being thrown off or on. Then all was quiet once again.

              Valerie slowly edged her way toward the stairs and peeked out behind the wall. She saw a black cloak hanging on a peg in the wall. It swayed a little in the soft breeze, making it almost look alive. She tried to decide if she should make a run for it now or try to hide. After a moment, she tentatively took the first step, then the second. Maybe she could do this. Maybe she could get out.

              The swinging door began to open.

              Valerie inhaled a cloud of dust in her mouth.

              She swiftly moved off the stairs and flattened her back against the wall. 

              The sound of heavy, clunking footsteps told her that the person was coming up the stairs.

              Valerie quietly made her way to the second bedroom, her heart in her throat. I shouldn’t have come here, she thought, trying not to cry. She softly opened the door and closed it behind her. Her hands were trembling the entire time.

              What now?

              The footsteps were getting louder; the person was in the hall. She had seconds at best. Maybe less. 

              Valerie got on her hands and knees and crawled under the bed. She barely had time to make sure her whole body was hidden when the bedroom door opened and the stranger stepped inside.

              Dust wafted up her nose, threatening to make her sneeze. She pressed her hands against her nose and mouth and held her breath. Please, please, please, go away, she thought. Her whole body shook as she heard the stranger slowly walk around the room. It took several agonizing minutes. Valerie’s lungs felt like they were on fire. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes.

              The bedroom door closed.

              Was the stranger gone? She could no longer hear him, but she wasn’t sure she heard him leave, either. She was too occupied with preventing her sneeze.

              Valerie waited a few more moments before finally letting out a breath.

              Something grabbed at her ankles and yanked her out from under the bed.

              Valerie shrieked and dragged her nails across the floor.

              The stranger turned her on her back and placed his hand on her mouth to silence her. It needn’t have bothered with keeping her quiet; by then, the scream had already died in her throat.

              A pair of large yellow eyes stared down at her.

Part II: Damien& Demon

Chapter 12

She wanted to black out. Her mind could not accept that this thing existed. It was not possible; it was unfathomable. So why did the hand around her neck feel so real? Why could she smell old pine and moss off his fur-covered flesh? She could see herself reflected faintly in his horrid yellow eyes. The pointed, triangular ears on top of his head twitched madly.

              The monster was staring at her, not murderously but with curiosity. His head cocked from side to side in a strange, jerking motion. Valerie was too stunned to move or do anything. Her mouth was still open, but nothing came out. He wasn’t holding on to her hard; it was more like he was holding her in place so he could examine her as if she was some type of toy. He turned her head left and right. Valerie’s limbs were like lead, and no matter how hard she willed them to move, they wouldn’t. Maybe he’s wondering how best to eat me, she thought. She wanted to close her eyes, but she couldn’t stop looking into the yellow of his; it was as though they had entrapped her.

              He slowly removed his hand from her mouth but kept her pinned to the floor. Though she was frightened, she wasn’t about to let herself become a monster’s meal. While keeping his gaze, she balled her hand into a fist and punched his cheek. It wasn’t enough to knock him over, but it was enough to catch him off guard. Valerie used her legs to push him off of her with the remainder of her strength. She only barely managed to knock him to the side.

              She scrambled to her feet and reached for the doorknob. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the monster already getting back up. She did not have to see him properly to know that his curiosity was now quelled. When she threw open the door, she made sure it slammed into him. She heard him growl but did not stop to see if it had knocked him down again. She sprinted down the hallway and raced down the stairs. Behind her, she could hear his lumbering footsteps.

              Valerie threw herself at the front door and wrenched at the doorknob.

              It clicked.

              Valerie’s heart stopped. She tried again and again.

              The door wouldn’t open.

              The monster had locked her in.

              She looked over her shoulder to see the monster coming down the stairs.

              Valerie made a mad dash to the kitchen. She pulled out her knife and whipped around.

              “Stay back!” she shouted and thrust the knife in his direction. 

              The monster ignored her, taking slow, deliberate steps towards her. There was no emotion in his eyes, which was more frightening than if he had looked at her with anger.

              “Stay away from me!” Valerie shouted again, backing up into the wall. She made a wild jab towards the monster’s throat.

              He grabbed the blade from her hand and pulled it away. He casually tossed it behind him, and it landed with a cringe-inducing clatter.

              Valerie curled against the wall. “Please, don’t hurt me. I just – I want to leave, please.” She nearly sobbed, though she knew she wasn’t going to win his sympathies.

              “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

              Valerie’s eyes widened in shock; the monster could speak. His voice sounded gravelly, gritty, and strangely familiar.

              “But I will if you leave,” he continued, ignoring her reaction.

              A cold horror swept over her as she comprehended his words. “Y-you mean, you’re going to kill me?”

              “Only if you choose to leave.”

              “W-why? Because I ate your food? Because I entered your home? I-I didn’t know anyone lived here.”

              “I can’t take the risk.”

              “Risk? I-I’m not going to tell anybody. I—Who would believe me? Y-you could let me go and I swear I won’t speak of this place.”

              “I’m sorry.”

              “You’re sorry? If you were sorry, you’d let me leave in peace!”

              “I can’t.”

              “No, you could but you won’t. Please, I – I just want to go home.” But where was home? Gone, like her father.

              “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

              Valerie turned away from him. What else could she do? She did not want to die, and she knew the monster would keep to his word and kill her if she tried to escape. He had the claws and fangs to prove that much. She wondered how many people had tried to flee and failed.

              “How long will I have to stay?” she asked.

              He didn’t answer; he didn’t have to.

              “How will I know you’ll keep your word?”

              The monster sighed in exasperation. “You don’t have to believe me. If you want to take your chances out there, be my guest.” He jerked his head toward the window, where the outside world was growing darker by the minute.

              Valerie felt her heart sink as she realized there was nothing more she could do. “I suppose I have no choice. I’ll have to – I’ll have to stay.” With you, she thought bitterly.

              “Good.” The monster’s voice was hammered through the room. “You can have one of the rooms,” he added. “And anything else you need. As long as you stay here, you’re safe.”

              Valerie nearly scoffed at him. “It’s hard to feel safe when your life is being threatened.”

              “I won’t hurt you.”

              “So you’ve said.” She wanted to punch him again. Punching him felt surprisingly good at the time. “I want to go to my room, now.”

              “You don’t need to ask permission.”

              Valerie fled from the kitchen without a second thought. She went up the stairs, into the second bedroom, and firmly closed the door. Though the monster said repeatedly that he would not hurt her, Valerie didn’t trust him. She grabbed the chair from the corner and braced it against the door. It wouldn’t completely stop him, but it would buy her time if she needed it.

              She spent the rest of the evening at the edge of the bed, trying to come up with some sort of plan. There were no weapons or anything weapon-like in the room, and when she looked out the window, all she could see was darkness. Judging from the height of the window, if she threw herself out the window, she would probably break her legs. The thought of waiting until morning to come up with a better plan wasn’t exactly to her liking, but there wasn’t much else she could do. The monster had trapped her.

              She had so many questions about the monster, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to even ponder on them. How had he never been found? He probably killed everyone who knew about him. She remembered the bodies that were found in the forest and brought to Leola. Did the monster kill them? Were those the ones who failed to escape? The thought made her sick. His whole appearance made her sick—his eyes especially. She felt the vibrant yellow of them piercing her in the dark.

              Valerie rolled on her side and tried to sleep. She would need all of her energy if she wanted to get away from this place, but every little noise, every little bump or creak, made her jump.

              At one point in the night, she heard the slow, clunking footsteps of the monster. She clutched the blanket and braced herself.

              He stopped at her door.

              Valerie barely breathed. She didn’t know what she was going to do if her door opened. Her mind raced as fast as her heart.

              Then she heard him continue onward to what was perhaps his own room at the end of the hall. She heard a door close and the house returned to silence.

*

              Young Aubrey watched his father die. It was a very slow process, like pouring through the pages of the Aubrey history. What will they write about his father? What more could be said about Aubrey? His blood looked and smelled like any other man, and when he died, he let go of his bowels, so the stench of shit and blood stained the night air. When it was over, when his father was well and truly dead, there was no dignity left in him. All that remained was a body growing colder by the minute.

              Young Aubrey knew he should have started crying or screaming, but nothing came out. He felt as though he were growing cold with his father, that they were dying together. He tossed the smoking rifle away from the both of them, his heart pounding with fresh panic. It would do him no good if they saw no tears, but they would not come—they would not come. My father is dead, he kept telling himself. Young Aubrey’s heart beat and beat against his ribs. I am alive; my father is dead. The recitation numbed him.

              If he remained there any longer, there would be questions. Young Aubrey had no choice but to race back to the manor and tell someone. He would say, “My father is dead.” They would shed the tears that he could not. He would provide the shoulder they needed. Yes, yes, that would do. I could stand resolutely for them, and I can dry their eyes. Young Aubrey shouted for help until he thought his lungs would burst. “Please, help me!” My father is dead. There is nothing you can do for him. My father is dead. I am Lord Aubrey now.

              He burst through the doors of the ballroom. All of the masked faces turned to stare at him. Young Aubrey nearly collapsed to his knees. “Help me, help me!” he implored the audience. “I can’t – I can’t –” The words were trapped in his throat.

              “Master Aubrey, what is it?” The guardsman named Jonasson asked as he approached him.

              “I – I –” I did it, I killed him. No, it was the demon. He made me do it. I would never kill my father. I’m a good man, I would never do such a thing. His good eye stung. “My f-father, he’s –” The room was spinning in a whirl of light and color, and there were black spots crackling in and out of his vision. “He’s gone,” he whispered. “He’s gone.” And I did it. It was me. It was the demon in me.

              Jonasson’s face grew pale. A few of the guests started whispering to each other, some of them asking out loud, “What’s going on?”

              “What do you mean, Master Aubrey?” Jonasson asked.

              All eyes were on him. Everybody is waiting for me to cry, for me to say I’m sorry.

              But I’m not.

              “He’s dead,” Young Aubrey said.

              The audience gasped appropriately. Their chatter grew louder and louder, buzzing in Young Aubrey’s brain, eclipsing the mantra, My father is dead. He smelled of shit and blood and that’s all I’ll remember of him. Not that he loved me, never that he loved me. All I’ll have is that smell.

              “Show me,” Jonasson demanded. He ordered the other guardsmen to keep the people inside.

              Young Aubrey led him to the training grounds and pointed across to the remaining distance where his father lay. Even from where they stood, he could still smell the faint trace of death.  Jonasson rushed over to him. He called for Lord Aubrey to wake up. I am Lord Aubrey, now, Young Aubrey thought.

              Jonasson gave a strangled cry when Lord Aubrey did not wake up as prompted. The sound sent a chill through Young Aubrey’s spine. He held on to that feeling for as long as it lasted, which wasn’t long enough. Jonasson slowly got to his feet and returned to Young Aubrey. His metal hands were covered in blood.

              “Master Aubrey,” he said in a choked voice; it was clear he was holding back the tears. “What happened? Who did this?”

              Young Aubrey looked him in the eye. He wanted to laugh and sob. He wanted that so much that it was frightening. The words, “I did this,” were on the tip of his tongue. They were so close to the edge that they nearly tumbled out. He saw himself pulling the trigger again and again. I would never do that, it wasn’t me, I’m a good man. I would never do that. It was me, but it wasn’t me. I didn’t do it. Please, believe me.

              “He killed him,” Young Aubrey said.

              “Who?”

              “Captain Yendel. He killed my father.”

              Jonasson took a step back as though Young Aubrey had hit him. “I think you’re mistaken, Master Aubrey. Captain Yendel couldn’t have done this.”

              Neither could I. “I saw him do it. It was too late to stop him.” His voice grew in pitch and he was becoming hysterical. “He came up to my father and he shot him like an animal! He’s a traitor, a traitor!” He started to sob dryly. “He did it, and I couldn’t stop him!”

              Young Aubrey felt as though he was going to fall. Jonasson held him steady.

              “I know where you’ll find him,” Young Aubrey said once he regained his composure. “I know where you’ll find that traitor.” He pointed angrily back at the manor. “He’s in the cellar with my mother. He’s not a good man. I tried to tell my father. I tried to tell him.” But he didn’t believe me, and now he’s dead.

              Jonasson returned to the manor and saw to it that the guests were returned to their carriages. Meanwhile, he sent three of his men to the basement, and that was indeed where they found the good captain. He did not even get a chance to demand the reason for the intrusion. The guards beat him to the ground until his face was swollen. They dragged him, stark naked, to the dungeons.

              Young Aubrey’s mother screamed. It was the first time he ever heard her make a sound.

Chapter 13

There were no rats to scurry under her bed, and there were no birds to perch and sing by her window. The only sounds that disturbed Valerie over the course of the afternoon were the clunking footsteps of the monster as he passed her door. Every time she heard him, she tensed under her blankets and prayed that the chair would be strong enough to keep him out. Sometimes he passed by before she could finish her plea. Sometimes he stopped by her door, and she waited with bated breath for him to barge in and kill her. Only when he continued his trek down the hall did she find herself breathing easily again.

              Valerie knew that she needed to come up with a plan, but fear of the monster kept her in bed for the rest of the day. She thought about going downstairs to get something to eat, but she heard his footsteps again. For now, she was safe in her room.

              For the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening, Valerie did her best to catch up on sleep. She had nightmares of finding her father slumped over in her old bedroom. She’d scream and scream for him to wake up because he was going to be late for work. No matter how hard she shook him, he refused to get up. Valerie examined his face and saw the gaping hole in his head. She could see the blood and the bone and she thought, that’s not right, I shouldn’t be seeing that. Her pleas died in her throat as she gaped at the wound in horror; it seemed as though the large hole was staring right back at her, bleeding and bleeding and coating her hands and her skirt and crusting in her hair. Valerie jerked awake from these nightmares with the pillow under her cheek damp from her tears. Like a child, she cried for her father and for the familiarity she could not return to. She cried for a long time with her body buried under the blankets.

              I can’t go back, she thought once her tears had dried. I can only move forward. It was a daunting prospect; her heart felt too heavy for her body to carry, yet she knew if she remained here when winter arrived, it would be nearly impossible to leave, and she dreaded the thought of being here until spring. When a sparse dawn light broke into her room, Valerie forced herself out of bed, moved the chair from the door, and quietly crept down the hallway. Before going down the stairs, she peeked around the corner.

              Below, the monster was pacing in the entrance room. Every now and then he looked towards the windows, as though he was expecting someone else to show up. Valerie stared for a long time, crouching by the wall, watching to see what he would do. A part of her deemed this unwise, but that part wasn’t strong enough to send her back to her room. She was curious about this creature, and she figured by studying him, she might find a way to best him.

              From this viewpoint, she could take in almost every detail of his horridness. The way he walked was awkward, as though he had just learned how. His ears often twitched, and sometimes he would pause as though he heard someone calling for him. He wore clothes that were clearly too big for him. Around his pants was a knotted rope, and his sleeves covered most of his hands, though not his claws, Valerie could see those clearly. She could also see how his skin sagged a little, almost as though it was clinging to stay on him. How old was this monster? She briefly wondered if he was immortal. It didn’t seem likely. Then again, who was she to question what was and was not possible?

              Suddenly, the monster’s gaze found her, and he stopped his pacing to stare. There was no emotion in his eyes, just an unsettling blankness. Valerie gasped and hopped back a step. “I – I’m sorry,” she blurted out before fleeing back to her room. She slammed the door shut and noisily replaced the chair before falling back to her bed. Why did she apologize? She sat trembling on her bed as she waited for the monster to come to her room. He never appeared. He didn’t bother her for the rest of the day, though she heard him moving about.

              By nightfall, Valerie was too hungry and restless to sleep. She was already so tired of being confined to this room. Am I confined, though? Or am I confining myself? Valerie didn’t like thinking about it like that.

              Once more, she dared to venture out of her room. It was pitch black in the hallway. Valerie could find no lamps or candles, so she had to feel her way down the end of the hall towards the stairs. She peeked around again before descending. The monster was not pacing in the entrance room. Valerie waited a while to see if he would make an appearance, but he didn’t. Even so, Valerie did not exactly feel confident as she slowly walked down the stairs. She tightly gripped the railing and jumped at small noises. Even when she reached the bottom with no fuss, she was on her guard.

              The first thing she did (after several more moments of waiting) was try the front door. No matter how hard she twisted the knob, all she received were disheartening clicks. Valerie inspected the keyhole and wondered if she could fashion anything into a decent lock pick. It was something Saxon Matthews would do. She wished she knew what method he used.

              Valerie sighed and went to the kitchen to see if she could find something to eat.  After she deemed it safe enough to enter, she came across a rather strange sight. The small circular table was set for two people. One of the plates was barren of food, while the other was piled with meat and turnips. There were two cups, but only one was filled with a dark, sweet smelling wine.

              Valerie curiously hovered over the plate of food. Was this meant for me? The thought was unnerving. Did the monster mean to fatten her up before she was considered a meal? She certainly hoped that was animal meat that she smelled. Some parts of it were raw and bloody in the bits of moonlight streaming through the window. The turnips lay in a lumpy mess beside the meat. Valerie supposed it was edible, but she did not want to eat it. She didn’t know the monster’s motives for making this meal for her, if it was indeed for her, and she didn’t want the fact that she had eaten it to be a sign that she was becoming complacent. She turned her nose in the air and settled on the three least rotten apples in one of the sacks. While she munched on her pitiful supper, she stared suspiciously at the plate of food, as though at any moment it would attack her.

              Valerie did not feel tired enough to go to bed. She decided to make her way to the parlor, figuring that maybe one of the books would give her some idea of how to escape and where she would go once she was free. Besides, the thought of returning to her room with the emptiness and the quiet was enough to drive her mad.

              It was so dark in the parlor that she could barely make out the titles. After a time, she picked a random one from the second shelf, and only when she had it in her hand that she realized she did not have a lamp in her room to read by. She couldn’t see if there were any matches to light the hearth, but she wasn’t bold enough to do such a thing anyway. Resignedly, she decided to return to her room with the book in hand.

              Movement by the window caught her eye. Valerie froze when she saw who it was.

              The man in the black cloak.

              What is he doing here?

Valerie heard the front door being unlocked. For a moment, she froze in horror.

              No, it can’t be him!

              Valerie hid behind the loveseat and prayed the monster hadn’t seen her from the window. She heard him rustling about in the entrance hall. At one point, it sounded as though he was coming towards the parlor, but then his footsteps faded until she could hear them no more.

              She was left feeling strange and confused. It couldn’t have been him, she thought vehemently.

              Another more pressing question suddenly bubbled to the surface.

              Where on earth had he gone?

*

              When considering all of the bad decisions he had made, Damien felt that this was by far the worst. He was sure Dante would agree with him if he was here, but he was not here and had not been here for a while. How long for certain, Damien could not say, but it was long enough to mostly be forgotten, only to come to mind in moments like this, when he was about to do something stupid.

              He was standing at the girl’s door with his hand raised to knock. In his mind, sentences broke into words, words tumbled and drowned, and letters disintegrated before he could think to rearrange it all again. Being trapped in his head was comparable to being stranded in the storm that nearly claimed his life. Dante had saved him then; he was not here to save him now.

He knocked because this was probably the only chance he would ever get, and because he was tired of being alone. Being hated in the same vicinity would be far better than being hated from afar.

              The girl didn’t answer. He waited a moment before knocking again. The girl didn’t make a sound. Damien pressed his ear to the door and heard nothing. Maybe he should leave her be and should abandon this endeavor altogether.

              He knocked one more time.

              “What do you want?” the girl shouted.

              Damien was startled, not by her tone, but by the fact she said anything at all. “I…cooked,” he said.

              There was a long pause. He supposed he should have said more, but his words were tangled in his throat. He almost hoped they succeeded in choking him.

              “I’m not hungry,” the girl replied.

              Damien figured she would say something like this, and he did not have a plan for when she did. Now what? “You – you should eat something.”

              “I said I’m not hungry.” Her tone was cold. He could feel its chill traveling under the door.

              “Listen, I –”

              “Please, leave me alone.”

              She didn’t need to tell him twice. You’re a fool, he thought. “All right,” he said before finally tearing himself away from the door. He descended down the stairs and returned to the kitchen. After washing his hands for the third time that day, he sat at the table and watched the food he made grow cold.

              As he sat there, the words returned to him. He could have started out with a good morning. He could have asked what she wanted for breakfast or if there was something she wanted to do. He could have told her his name and maybe asked for hers in return because he couldn’t remember it, though he remembered hearing it. He could have, he could have, he could have. And now he was doing nothing.

              Damien leaned back against the chair and closed his eyes. He imagined being in the storm, being tossed by the waves, not knowing which way was up or down. Salt water filled his ears and his mouth and his eyes. It felt like he was going to be lost forever down there, until a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him up and up until he broke the surface and took a deep, relishing breath. Dante kept him afloat—even when the storm had died down, even when they were far away from the sea.

              He opened his eyes. No matter what I do, I can’t forget, he thought as he began to dig into his meal. Every so often, his eyes would rest on the empty seat across from him, and he’d feel a twinge of resentment.

              Damien froze when he heard footsteps. When the swinging door opened, he could scarcely believe it, but there was the girl clutching a book to her chest, looking frightened of him.

              He chewed the rest of his food, swallowed, and said, “Hello.”

              Her eyes darted all around the room and he could tell that she was debating whether or not she should flee.  After a while, she took a few brisk steps toward the table, and quickly sat down. Her gaze was focused entirely on the food, which she inspected with a queer expression. Grease was congealing at the bottom of the plate. Damien supposed he could have done a better job with his presentation.

              The girl opened her book and placed it flat on the table before she started her meal proper. Her attention was divided between reading and pretending to eat. She mostly pushed her food around on her plate, taking a few bites when necessary, grimacing when she swallowed. It was as though Damien did not exist at all. He didn’t care; he was used to such behavior. His mind was too preoccupied with what he was going to say. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Why did words always fail him?

              He stared down at the book she was reading and tried to make out the upside down words. When he couldn’t decipher it, he asked, “What are you reading?”

              The girl stiffened. For a moment, it looked as though she was going to ignore him. Then she raised the book to show the title, blocking her face entirely. Damien recognized the title. It was one of those silly romance books that he could only stomach a few pages of. He found it a rather surprising choice on her part. “What made you choose that one?” he asked before he could stop himself.

              She raised her eyes briefly before looking away. “I wanted to read it,” she said, moving the book closer to her.

              “Do you like it?”

              “When I can read it, yes, I do.”

              “Why?”

              The girl sighed with impatience. “Why do you want to know?”

              Damien paused. “I’m curious to know why someone would want to subject themselves to…” he pointed at the book, “that.”

              She could have frozen him to death with that stare. “Why do you have it, then?”

              “It was here before me.”

              From the look she was giving him, he could tell what she was thinking. Damien rushed to fix it. “I-I didn’t know the people who kept it.”

              This was making things worse. He could feel her disgust and hatred. “There was no one here when I entered,” he said.

              Damien drank more wine, trying to rinse any other words from his mouth that would dig him further in this hole. She doesn’t believe me, he thought. She thinks I’m a monster and a liar and, yes, I am both of those things, but I am not lying now.

              “Where were you before?” the girl asked, her expression a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

              “Spirea,” he said automatically.

              The girl blinked with mild surprise. “Across the sea?”

              I don’t know. “Yes.”

              “Is that where you’re from?”

              “No.”

              “Where are you from, then?”

              Damien kept looking at his cup as though he expected it to refill itself. Then he looked past the girl to the window. Everything outside was still, and his cup remained empty. “I don’t know,” he said. It was the only answer he could come up with.

              The girl looked skeptical. “How come?”

              “I don’t know,” he repeated.  Then he asked, “What is your name?”

              For a moment, she was taken aback by the abrupt change in the conversation. “I don’t want to tell you.”

              “Why not?”

              “Because I don’t want you to think that we’re…friends, or that I’ve forgotten that you threatened me, or that you’re keeping me here.”

              Damien’s eyes darted from the cup to the window again. What did she want him to say?

              The girl closed her book and stood. “Thank you for the meal. Know, however, that this changes nothing.” She left quickly, the door swinging back and forth, giving him small glimpses of her before she vanished up the stairs.

              Damien felt that she needn’t have bothered saying something he already knew. You really are a fool. The voice sounded like Dante, and suddenly, it seemed as though he were standing over him again, his fists balled tight and stained with blood. Did you really think you could make it up to me? Did you really expect me to believe that you could change everything with just one act? It matters not what you do or what you say. You can apologize a thousand times, until you’re dead. It matters not one bit.

              It is already too late for you.

Chapter 14

Lord Aubrey was buried on a foggy fall morning in the same spot where his father had been buried, and his father before him. There were no bones littering the bottom of the Aubrey grave, only dirt and worms eagerly awaiting their fresh feast. Not even the glass coffin would offer Lord Aubrey protection. He would need none where he was going.

              Young Aubrey stared at his father’s still body as two guardsmen carried the coffin to the final resting place. It looked as though his father was sleeping, and at any moment, he would wake up and point accusingly at him. You tried to kill me, he would say. You can’t kill Aubrey. Aubrey lives forever. But none of that would happen because a man was attached to the Aubrey name, and a man could always be killed.

              All around him, he could hear weeping. Even a few of the guardsmen kept their visors low, shielding the redness of their eyes. Young Aubrey looked around at the lowered faces of his father’s friends and allies, and it was then he realized how much love there was for his father. I loved him too, he thought as his father’s body was lowered into the ground. I loved him terribly, more so than any of these people here. Even though he had not believed him, in the end his father was a good man. Naïve and foolish, yes, but good. That was what mattered. 

              A voice clawed its way from the back of his mind. I did this, it said—it screamed. His ears were full of the sound of it. I did this. I killed him. He pressed his lips together, his heart pounding madly. He was sure that if anyone was to look up at him, they would think he was smirking. I killed my father. Young Aubrey swallowed a few times to clear the confession that stained his throat. Tell them you did it. Tell them you killed him and you loved him and that the demon made you do it. They will understand. They will forgive you.

              He made sure his father’s body was completely covered with dirt. He even thought about standing over the mound to crush the body beneath. It’s over, he thought, trying to calm himself.

              The visitors, however, would not let it be over. He found himself surrounded by bodies and faces and hands. They reached for him, and it felt as though they were all trying to drag him down, trying to bury him with his father. They apologized for his loss as though they were responsible for it. He said nothing to them. He let them embrace him and shake his hand because he was Lord and that was the proper thing to do. A woman sobbed on his shoulder and called him a poor boy. He fought the urge to violently shove her away.

              Eventually, the crowd thinned out until Young Aubrey was left with his guardsmen. Jonasson – now Captain Jonasson – walked up to him with a tear-stained face. When he spoke, his voice was unsteady as though he was drunk. “How are you feeling, Master Aubrey?”

              “Lord Aubrey,” he corrected.

              “Oh – yes. Forgive me, sir, I –”

              “It is all right, Captain. It was a small mistake.”

              “One that will not be repeated, my Lord.”

              Young Aubrey nearly smiled before he remembered he was not supposed to. His mask smiled for him. “I feel like I want to see the prisoner.”

              “Ma – My Lord, are you sure?”

              “Yes, Captain. I can think of no better time.”

              Captain Jonasson reluctantly conceded. “Then I will arrange transportation for you.”

              “Thank you.”

              Young Aubrey, Captain Jonasson, and two other guardsmen rode on horseback into town. Several of the townspeople were dressed in mourning attire, waving miniature Aubrey flags. When they spotted Young Aubrey, they waved to him and called out words of sorrow. Young Aubrey did not hear them; he did not wish to. He was tired of the world being sorry.

              He was tired of being sorry, too.

              On their way toward the justice building, his eyes were drawn to the forest entrance. The trees were slowly shedding their leaves like a woman cutting her hair. Thick clumps of red and orange leaves spun around in the autumn breeze, scattering along the path as though it was leading him toward the forest. His heart tightened. Young Aubrey knew he was to return there soon, and he was not sure if he was ready. This was no time to dwell on it, however. There was other business to finish.

              The Aubrey banner was flapping wildly in the front of the building. The golden letter “A” shown bright against the gloom. Out front were two frail men in stockades. They cried out for mercy, but Young Aubrey had none to give.

              It was considerably colder inside, or perhaps that was Young Aubrey’s imagination. His spine tingled as he took in the chilly iron color of the walls. Down below, he could already hear the cries and shouts of the prisoners in the dungeon. He stopped by the stairway and saw nothing but darkness beneath. Captain Jonasson lit a lamp and held it up, illuminating a few of the stairs.

              “Are you ready, my Lord?” he asked.

              No, he thought. He did not want to go down there. He could smell the faint scent of shit and blood again. “Yes,” he whispered, and they descended.

              The sound of Captain Jonasson’s iron boots could not drown out the anguished cries of the prisoners. The smell was so strong that it caused Young Aubrey to gag behind his hand. The prisoners reached desperately for him, trying to grab at his cape or his hand, begging him to set them free. The lit torches on the walls illuminated the dark circles under their eyes and the maggots that crawled in their greasy heads. Rotten food and piss stained the floor. They called for mercy. They were animals; they deserved none.

              They walked down the endless hallway of men in cells. Near the end of the hall were two cells that only had single prisoners in them. One of them was his mother. She was huddled in the corner, wearing only a potato sack, her long hair shielding her face as though it could protect her from the things she had done. Young Aubrey did not stop to talk with her; he knew she would have nothing to say to him. Instead, he moved to the adjacent cell, the one that contained the former Captain Yendel.

              Young Aubrey almost did not recognize him. The few days he had been here nearly rotted him completely. He was practically naked except for the dirty sheet that he had tied around his privates. His ribs looked as though they were going to break through his skin. The color of his hair had gone from pretty blonde to an ugly brown. And when he looked up to see Young Aubrey, his blue eyes were crusted with yellow.

              “Ma – Master Aubrey,” he said in a broken voice.

              “It’s Lord Aubrey,” Young Aubrey said coldly. How many times was he going to have to make that correction?

              Tears formed in Yendel’s eyes. “You have to believe me. I swear on everything that I did not kill your father.” He shook his head vehemently. “I would never hurt him.”

              I know, Young Aubrey thought. He laughed. “You would never hurt him? Not directly, you mean. Did you not think you were hurting him when you decided to lay with my mother?”

              Captain Yendel shook his head again and again. “I did not mean to hurt you, Master Aubrey –”

              “It’s Lord Aubrey. I am Lord Aubrey. Because of you.”

              “I did not kill him.”

              I know, Young Aubrey thought. “You would still dare to say that to me? You would dare look me in the eye and lie to me?”

              “I did not do it!” Captain Yendel shouted. “I did not kill him!” He burst into tears and it was so pathetic to watch that Young Aubrey nearly looked away. “Please,” Captain Yendel said through his sobs, “whatever crimes I may have committed…She does not deserve to hang with me.” He looked to the wall between his cell and Young Aubrey’s mother’s. “Spare her.”

              Young Aubrey hesitated for a moment. I want to, he thought. I do not want to lose her, too.

“No,” he said. “She was the wife of a lord. She is just as much a traitor as you are.”

              “I am not a traitor!”

              “You are.” Young Aubrey crossed his arms, and for a time he listened to the former Captain’s sobbing. He wanted it to end. Just let it end. “I see your time here has made you no better. You insist on insulting me with your lies. I really wanted to hear you admit it before you died. I think that would have been better for both of us.”

              Captain Yendel’s shoulders were trembling. He wiped at his eyes with his filthy hands. And then he looked up at Young Aubrey, not with hate as he expected, but with a strange tenderness.

              “I can help you,” he said softly. “I can help you find whoever did this. W-we can make things right. I can help you make things right.”

              Young Aubrey could feel Captain Jonasson’s eyes on his back. It felt as though the whole world was waiting for him to admit that he had indeed kill his father. Young Aubrey wanted to cry.

But everyone had already wept for him.

              “I have no need of your help,” Young Aubrey said as coldly as he could, “because you did it. You pulled the trigger, and you watched my father die. The only way for you to make this right is to admit what you’ve done and accept your punishment.” He took a moment to steady his breathing. “I will not be sad when you die. You have committed a great evil.” He leaned in close, his golden mask nearly touching the bars. “And evil must be punished.”

              Then he walked away, commanding Captain Jonasson to follow him. Behind them, Captain Yendel begged and begged him for forgiveness. Young Aubrey’s mask smiled and smiled and it felt as though his own lips were forming that cruel and mocking gesture.

              It smiled through the execution, too. It smiled brightly in the autumn morning as it watched Captain Yendel and his mother fall, and the noose snapped their necks in two.

*

              Valerie told herself many times that she wouldn’t do it, that she would not join the monster even if he threatened her. Yet here she was at the start of her second week, sitting across from him for the fifth time to eat a meal that could be best described as unsatisfying. The second time she had allowed herself to give in, she sat quietly, angry at him for inviting her and angry at herself for accepting the invitation. It was only upon the third time that she allowed herself to ask more questions.

              What was it about the creature that caused her to lose her resolve? She worried it was due to loneliness. Surely she wasn’t so desirous of companionship that she was making due with a monster! However, when she was in her room, and the dark thoughts clouded over her like a blanket she could not throw off, she found herself wishing for someone to be there, to ease the ache in her heart and to help her break through the darkness. Sitting with a monster would just have to do for now.

              It also did not help that she had yet to form a proper plan of escape. There were no maps in the parlor and no books on the shelf that gave her some kind of clue to as to where to go or how to survive on her own. The thought of wondering around in the forest alone for a long period of time made her stomach lurch, and the thought of being trapped in the forest during the winter made her feel worse. She was starting to sense the overwhelming feeling that no matter what she did, she would have to remain here, perhaps forever.

              She could feel a bitterness pulsing under her skin. She wished the monster wasn’t so kind to her; he made it hard to hate him even though he had threatened her life. Other than asking for her name the first time she shared a meal with him, he hadn’t asked her any questions. He did not seem to mind when she pried and only kept silent when she went too far. She hated that he was interesting, and she hated the fact that he had done so much with his life, things she could only dream of doing. His adventures rivaled the ones in the books: he had not only traveled by ship, he also had climbed mountains, wandered through open fields, slept under a sky scattered with stars. The monster was a good storyteller for the most part; Valerie could almost completely picture these places, could almost smell the salty ocean, and feel the biting chill of the mountaintops.

              “How many places have you been?” Valerie asked, doing her best to keep jealousy out of her tone.

              “Too many to count,” the monster replied. “What about you?”

              Valerie was reluctant to answer, mostly because she was embarrassed by it. She scraped her fork against her plate and stared at her lap. “I’ve only stayed in Leola,” she said quickly, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t catch it.

              It grew quiet for a long time. Valerie’s stomach twisted. She hated that she was being so stupid about this. Who cared what this monster thought of her? Once she escaped, he would merely be a horrible memory. Even so, she added, “I had to take care of my father.”

              She wished she hadn’t said that. Now he had the opportunity to ask her a whole host of questions, and she certainly did not want to talk about her father with this creature. She nervously stuffed her mouth with a piece of undercooked potato.

              “Where would you want to go?” The monster asked.

              The question caught her off guard. He was good at doing that. “I can hardly go anywhere if I’m stuck here,” she said and glared at him. This was his fault, no matter how well he treated her, no matter how kindly he spoke to her. This was his fault. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

              He was staring at her; his eyes were soft, and she hated when he looked at her like that, like she…mattered to him in some regard.

              “You’re not going to be here forever,” the monster said.

              If he thought his words would inspire hope or make her think fondly of him, he was mistaken. All it did was make her more angry and bitter about what he did in keeping her there. “How long am I to be here, then?” she asked in a sullen tone.

              “I don’t know,” he said. After a moment, he added, “When I am ready to leave this place, you can go.”

              “You’re going to travel again?”

              “No.”

              Valerie furrowed her brow in confusion. “Then what are you going to do?”

              He remained quiet, which meant he didn’t want to answer.

              “When will you be ready?” she asked.

              “I don’t know,” he replied. “It’s not up to me.”

              “Who is it up to, then?”

              Silence again. This would have been very frustrating if she cared.

              She didn’t. Not at all.

              “Where will you go?” the monster asked.

              Valerie wanted to sound confident. She wanted to tell an elaborate story about the rest of her life, but there were so many unknowns that she couldn’t make them up if she tried. She repeated his answer, “I’m not sure.” Her mind raced ahead and she saw herself alone in the forest. She saw herself wandering the streets of some unknown town. Then she saw herself an old woman, miserable and alone, having accomplished nothing and gone nowhere.

              She felt like screaming.

She felt the sting of tears in her eyes and blinked them back immediately. I am not going to cry, not in front of him, she thought. She told herself she would not fear the unknown. These thoughts held very little conviction.

              “It matters not,” she said and speared a piece of bloody meat with her fork. “I’ll just be happy to have my freedom.”

              Valerie awoke the next morning with her fingers wrapped around the Beast under her pillow. What time was it? Usually the monster announced that he had cooked right as the sun was rising. Valerie groggily rubbed at her eyes and got out of bed. She tried to remember if she heard the monster return; she had heard him leave a few hours after supper last night.

              She went to the kitchen and found it empty. The table was not set and the stove was cold. Valerie stood there for a long while, letting it sink in.

              The monster had not returned.

              Maybe he left for good, maybe that was why he was discussing it during supper. It would have been nice if he had told her outright that he was going to leave. Now, she was left standing there like an idiot, unsure of where to go or what to do.

              After a while, Valerie returned to the entrance room and paced.

              She could wait for him. He might come back. 

              She could stay here until she figured it all out. But then, if the monster did indeed return, she would miss the only opportunity she had to escape.

              After gathering a few provisions from the kitchen and tying them in a bundle, Valerie went to the front door and prayed that it wasn’t locked. She didn’t know if there would be enough time to figure out how to pick it.

              Valerie steeled herself, placed her hand on the knob, and turned it.

              It opened.

              She gasped as the door revealed a small crack of the outside world. A chilly breeze swept through, and it was the most inviting and frightening thing she had ever felt. She pushed the door wide open and took a daring step outside.

              In front of her was the monster.

              Valerie froze as she took in his appearance. He was leaning against a tree, soaked to the bone. His fur was a darker brown than usual and water dripped off the ends of his pointed ears. He was drawing in raspy, uneven breaths and gingerly held his side. Valerie’s eyes traveled to the spot.

              “You’re bleeding,” she gasped.

              The monster opened his mouth as though he was going to speak. Before he could utter a word, he collapsed.

Chapter 15

It had to be done. It was an unusually warm autumn morning, and Young Aubrey deemed it the right time to go after the demon. The death bell had ceased to ring and, according to Captain Jonasson, the town appeared to be bustling back to normal again. Young Aubrey was glad that their mourning had ended. Now, it was time to raise their spirits again.

              Every time Young Aubrey peered out his window at the treetops, he could feel a knot in his stomach. He knew the demon was waiting for him, but he could not act while the town mourned for the loss of his father. Even the guardsmen looked dour as they patrolled the length of the manor. Several gifts and letters expressing sorrow arrived at his door nonstop for nearly two weeks after they buried his father. So many people loved him. No one shed a tear for Captain Yendel, though they had once loved him, too.

              What the people needed was a hero. Once he brought back the head of the demon, they would cheer for him and they would love him as much as they loved his father. They would never want him to perish, and they would forgive every sin that tainted his soul.

              “Captain, before you leave, I need you to send four of your men to me,” Young Aubrey said as he stared out of the window of his father’s office. The chair was not entirely comfortable; the imprint of his father’s form still lingered in the leather. “I must speak with them about an urgent matter.”

              “Of course, Ma – my Lord. Forgive me,” the Captain replied. “Do you have any particular men in mind?”

              “No. Any of them will do.”

              Captain Jonasson failed to act quickly. Though he could not see him, Young Aubrey could picture the uncertain look on the captain’s face.

              “Is there something else you need, Captain?”

              “No, sir. If I may, I was wondering what this urgent matter entails.”

              Young Aubrey turned to face him. “If you must know, I am arranging a little hunting party.”

              “Hunting?”

              “Yes. I’m going to kill the demon.”

              Young Aubrey tensed, waiting for the question like a gunshot. It never came.

              “I can accompany you, my Lord.”

              “I would rather you didn’t. I need you to protect the town. And in case something happens to me…” He trailed off, placing his hand flat against the parchment on his desk. His signature was still wet and glistening at the bottom. If he wanted to, he could smear it across the page and stain the pretty white corners.

              “My Lord?”

              Young Aubrey laughed. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Nothing is going to happen to me.” He spoke the words with the utmost confidence. They would be true if he meant them well enough. “When I bring back this…animal…do you think there would be a good place for it on the wall?”

              When night fell, Young Aubrey readied himself for the hunt. He armed himself with a knife and pistol, and checked to make sure his mask was firmly in place. It gleamed in the moonlight, smiling wickedly at the shadows around him. He felt a tightening in his belly as he adjusted the pouch that held his bullets and gunpowder. The image of the demon, bloody and terrible, crossed his mind several times, making him fumble with the buttons on his breeches. I’m not ready, a small voice piped up from the back of his mind.

              It mattered not. No amount of preparation would ready him for his encounter with the demon.

              It was best to end this now.

Once he was fully armed and armored, he made his way to the front gate where four of his guardsmen were waiting for him. A dog circled around their legs, sniffing the ground eagerly. The guardsmen stood at attention as Young Aubrey approached, and the dog sat obediently between them.

“I trust everything is in order,” Young Aubrey said.

“Yes, sir,” the guardsmen replied. The dog barked.

“Remember, you are to shoot to incapacitate, not to kill. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

The dog barked again.

Young Aubrey gestured to the gate. “Shall we?”

They rode on horseback through the town; the clopping of the horses’ hooves broke through the stillness of the night. Streetlamps illuminated the cobblestoned road ahead. The dog ran in excited circles between the horses with its tongue lolling out of its mouth. It meandered off a few times to mark its territory. As they neared the plaza, they could hear the echoes of jubilant shouts coming from the pub. Most of the houses were completely dark, save a few candles flickering on windowsills. Young Aubrey thought he could see shadowed face in a few of the windows. It felt as though fingers were sliding slowly down his spine, causing him to shiver.

It was a cold night, and it became more frigid as they arrived at the forest entrance. The entrance was in the shape of a mouth, a sliver of its pale brown tongue visible in the moonlight. Beyond it was complete, ominous darkness. Young Aubrey felt that once they entered, they would be swallowed completely. He looked reassuringly to his guardsmen. No harm will come to me, he repeated. If anything, they will keep me safe. 

They dismounted and tied their horses to the trees. Young Aubrey took a little longer to tie his horse; his fingers were stiff with the mounting cold. Even his bones felt as though they were freezing in the night. He grabbed his rifle, turned to his men, and led them into the mouth of the forest.

While most of Leola slept, the forest was wide awake. All around them was a cacophony of soft and harsh sounds blending together. Two of his guardsmen held up torches, which surrounded them in a generous orb of light. Even so, Young Aubrey could barely make out what produced the clicking and cawing. Above them, he caught a glimpse of bright owl eyes as they assessed him with disapproval.

The dog sniffed the ground intently, barking at a strange noise every minute or so. Young Aubrey felt his grip tighten on his rifle. He flinched whenever a branch snapped underneath him. He was trying to fight the memory of the demon; flashes of his terrible form came faster than they did when he was safe in his room. Not even the company of his men could put him at ease. He hoped against hope that he would be able to kill the demon. He tried to imagine the reaction of the townspeople, how they would laud him. In his head, their cheers turned into screams.

The image of the company’s shadows thrown against the trees twisted and contorted into a massive, ugly form mounted Young Aubrey’s anxiety. He wondered if the demon would be just as terrible or if he was even larger than he remembered. He remembered the demon’s blood-stained teeth, the human skin stuck between them.

“It’s quiet,” one of the men announced and paused in his stride.  Everyone stopped moving and tensed up. All of the surrounding sounds vanished, and they heard nothing but their own collected breaths.

Suddenly, the dog gave a long, piercing howl that echoed throughout the trees. Young Aubrey’s breathing quickened. The dog howled and howled, and it started to spin in maddening circles.

“What on earth is wrong with you, you stupid mutt?” one of the guardsmen asked. He made to kick the dog, but he never got the chance. It bolted in the other direction, howling as it tore through the shrubbery. The guard swore as he stumbled after it, holding his torch in front of him.

The three remaining guardsmen and Young Aubrey grew tense as they waited for their comrade to return with the dog. They pointed their rifles all around them.

“I’ve never seen that dog scare so easily, sir,” the guard on Young Aubrey’s left muttered. “I don’t know what on earth could have caused that.”

Young Aubrey continued to scan the shadows for any signs of movement.

“We should escort you back, sir –”

“No,” Young Aubrey replied harshly. With his rifle, he gestured to the space in front of them. “Go and scout ahead. Give us the signal if you find anything.”

The guard hesitated.

“That’s an order.”

The guard nodded before marching off into the darkness. He had one hand on the pistol at his side.

Young Aubrey listened to the reassuring crunching sounds of the guardsman’s footsteps. Where are you? he thought as he waited for the signal. I know you’re here.

Behind him, one of his men shouted.

Young Aubrey whipped around to see him trapped under a massive shadow. The torch had fallen to the floor, but Young Aubrey did not need the light to know that, at last, he had encountered the demon. It cut into the guard’s neck with a sharp swipe of its claws. 

The demon moved quickly; before the last guard could even take aim, it got to its feet, tore the rifle away, and planted its teeth into his neck. The guard’s screams turned into a gurgled cry. He fell to his knees, reaching for Young Aubrey, who stood transfixed in horror.

There was a wet, tearing sound as the demon wrenched off a mouthful of skin and meat. The smell of blood permeated the air.

The demon turned its attention to him, growling like an animal.

Young Aubrey fumbled with his rifle as he took a few steps back.

The demon slowly approached him, appearing almost deranged in the sparse light. Blood was spattered all over its front, and its claws were outstretched, ready to strike him again.

Young Aubrey fired.

There was no time to aim properly; he knew it was not a kill shot, but he knew he hit it. The demon staggered and nearly fell to the ground.

Young Aubrey reloaded as quickly as he could. His trembling fingers made him spill a generous amount of gunpowder.

The demon fled.

“Come back and face me, you coward!” Young Aubrey cried as he chased after him.

With no light to guide him, he could barely make out anything in his surroundings. His heart crashed against his chest, rising each time he thought he spotted the demon and falling when it was only shadows playing in his eyes.

Then he spotted it again, limping and hunched over. It wove between the trees, making it hard for Young Aubrey to take a proper shot. As Young Aubrey sprinted to close the distance, he tripped over an exposed root, and he lost his balance and his sight of the demon once again. He swore as he quickly regained his footing. “Come back and accept your punishment!” he shouted as panic rose up his throat. He could not afford to lose the demon, not now, not when he was so close. With his rifle eye-level, he ran as fast as his legs would allow to the last place he saw it.

He found it once more, only a few feet away. He fired but missed; the tree beside the demon exploded into a shower of bark and dust. Young Aubrey swore again and decided not to reload his rifle; it would take too long. He focused all of his energy on catching up with demon, strangling it with his bare hands, and watching the life fade from its eyes in the same way he watched his father die. Nothing on this earth would be sweeter than that.

Young Aubrey charged into the back of the demon, and both of them were knocked off their feet. They tumbled and rolled across the forest floor as though they were swept up in a torrent. The world swirled black and red in front of Young Aubrey’s eyes, and he wondered if he were falling into a void, and if there was ever going to be a way back out of it again. When it all stopped, he got unsteadily to his feet, horrified that the demon had already done the same. He reached for the pistol at his side, but the demon was faster; it punched the masked part of his face, knocking him off his feet again.

He was slow to get back up this time; his head felt like it was quickly filling with too much air. The first few steps he took were unsteady and he had to use a tree for support. The demon was already sprinting away.

              Young Aubrey shook himself and began to run again. The trees began to thin out, and soon the demon would no longer have any place to hide. Victory was at his fingertips and a true smile broke across his face as he ran. He was going to win. He was going to be a hero.

              The demon stopped suddenly, and Young Aubrey did the same.

              The demon took one glance behind him, and Young Aubrey thought he could see a glowing yellow eye.

              He heard the sound of rushing water.

              With his heart in his throat, Young Aubrey burst into a run again. The word “Don’t” was in his mouth, but he voice could not form it properly. His arm was outstretched as though he meant to save the demon.

              The demon jumped into the river and disappeared under the current.

*

              Valerie dragged the monster into the house as fast as she could. As skinny as he was, he was as heavy as a sack of bricks. Sweat beaded on her brow as she pulled with all her strength. She only stopped to take in a few breaths, fearing that the shooter or shooters were still somewhere out there. She didn’t have much of a plan other than to get the monster safely indoors. Her only hope was that the monster had done a good job of evading his attackers. 

              Valerie gritted her teeth as she gave one more heave. Once the monster’s body was completely inside, she hurriedly closed the door. She wished she had the key to lock it; she didn’t feel safe knowing that it was open. Of all the times to leave it unlocked!

              What am I to do with you? she asked herself as she knelt beside the monster. He was still taking breaths, though they were shallow and raspy. Blood poured out of his side and stained the dusty floor. Valerie untied his cloak, tore off a piece of her skirt and pressed it against his wound.

              It wasn’t going to be enough.

              She would have to get the bullet out.

              There was no question of how; her father saw to that bit of education. No, the real question was whether or not she could actually do it. She felt as though it required more courage than she had.

              But she just couldn’t let him die.

              “Hey!” she shouted and tapped his face with her fingers.

              The monster stirred but did not wake.

              “Wake up!” she said, tapping harder this time.

              The monster opened his eyes.

              “Hey,” Valerie said more gently this time. The monster’s eyes found hers. “You’re badly hurt, and I need to move you so I can see properly, all right? You’re going to have to get up.”

              He made no reply, but he seemed to understand her.

              “We’ll take it slow, OK?” Valerie continued and helped him into a sitting position. The monster grunted and winced when he moved, his hand immediately moved to cover his wounded side.

              “Keep that in place,” Valerie said. “Are you ready to move?”

              He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She took that as an agreement.

              “OK, on three. One – two – three.”

              She attempted to pull him up, but he barely budged.

              “Come on, don’t make me do all the work,” she said through her teeth.

              Very slowly, with Valerie’s help, the monster pushed himself back up on his feet. He wavered drunkenly from side to side, and it almost looked as though he would fall again, but Valerie held him upright.

              “You can lean on me if you have to, all right? We’re going to the parlor. I’ll be able to see you once I light the hearth. We’ll take it slow. Nice and easy. You’re – you’re going to be fine.” She felt like she speaking to herself more than to him.

              It took a long time just to reach the parlor door. The monster took small, uneven steps. There were a few times that he threatened to fall and take her down with him. Each time that happened, Valerie braced herself and shouted at him to stay awake. His cold, damp clothes were pressing against her, and she did her best to ignore the smell of moss and wet dog.

“Come on, you can do this,” she said. “We’re almost there.”

When they were finally inside, Valerie helped him lay on the couch with his head propped up on one of the arms. She took a moment to catch her breath, her hands on her knees.

That was the easy part.

Valerie knelt beside the monster. His eyes met hers once again. Was that fear she saw, or was it only her reflection?

“I’m going to get a few things,” she said softly. “I’ll be right back. Hold that in place; it’ll stop the bleeding.” She repeated her assurance that he was going to be all right.

Valerie collected matches, a bowl, and a knife from the kitchen. She supposed there were water barrels outside, but she couldn’t risk going out there now. She settled for a mostly empty bottle of brandy that she found in one of the cabinets. Once she had everything she needed, she returned to the parlor. The monster was trembling, and she hoped it was only because he was cold.

She started the fire and ignored the uneven pacing of the monster’s breathing. He’s going to be fine, she told herself over and over as she watched a healthy flame spread across the logs. She placed the knife near the edge of the hearth and uncorked the bottle of brandy.

Valerie steeled herself before removing the monster’s hand from his side. After taking another deep breath, she carefully pulled the corner of his shirt up to expose the wound. There was a deep hole in his side the diameter of a pebble. It pulsed like a heartbeat and she had to cover her mouth for a moment to stop herself from screaming. She gulped again, and then poured a small amount of brandy onto the wound. The monster groaned and shuddered and his breathing becoming more rapid.

Valerie placed the cloth back over it and forced him to hold it in place before returning to the knife.

“I’m going – I’m going to d—” the monster began.

“Shut up,” Valerie snapped.

“If that happens –”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

The monster fell silent again, or as silent as he could be in his condition.

The knife was glowing an angry red when Valerie removed it from the fire. She turned back to the monster, doing her best to steady her trembling hands. If I appear afraid, he won’t let me try, she thought.

She looked him in the eye when she said, “This is going to hurt.” She tore off more cloth from her skirt and handed it to him. “This is for you to bite on if it becomes too much, all right?” How she was keeping her composure, she didn’t know. It felt as though there was a war going on inside her between her courage and fear.

She could feel the monster’s eyes on her as she hunched over the wound, the edge of the hot knife poised over it. “On three. One –”

She didn’t finish her count.

The act of plunging the knife into the monster’s flesh was shockingly easy. A loud hissing noise erupted when the knife made contact with the wound, and it was akin to cooking meat over an open fire. The smell pressed against Valerie’s throat, causing her to gag. The monster’s shout nearly made her stop, but she kept on, pushing the knife in deeper. The monster’s claws dug into the couch, tearing at the fabric. Her eyes filled with tears when she found the edge of the bullet. She pushed the blade under and extracted it in one swift motion. The bullet was so coated in blood that at first Valerie did not see it, but when she did, she grabbed it with her fingers and placed it in the bowl. Slowly, she pulled the knife out and quickly covered the wound again. The monster took in gulps of air and shook violently.

“Hold this,” Valerie instructed. The monster did as she asked. After tearing a long strip of cloth from her dress, she helped the monster sit up once more and tied it tightly around him. When she was done, she helped him lay back down.

The monster’s eyes were shut tight and his hand gripped his wounded side. He took sharp breaths through his teeth, letting out a groan every now and then. It took a long time for him to settle down. All the while, Valerie’s eyes were on the bloody bullet in the bowl.

The monster’s voice made her snap out of it. “What…What is your name?” he asked hoarsely.

It took her a long time to find her voice again. “Valerie,” she said. And because it somehow felt important, she added, “Valerie Mason.”

“Valerie M-Mason,” the monster repeated. “Thank you.”

Something was threatening to burst violently from Valerie’s chest. She clenched her jaw. “It was nothing.” Her gaze momentarily returned to the bullet. “Do you have a name?”

The monster took a few pained breaths before answering. “Damien.”

She got to her feet. “Well, Damien, I’m going to get some blankets.” Without another word, she left to find them.

When she returned, the monster named Damien was asleep. Valerie cautiously moved his head to slide a pillow underneath it. Then she draped a blanket over his shivering form. She laid out a few blankets for herself on the floor and sat in front of the fire. She felt completely numb.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, but she didn’t know how it was supposed to be, either. She drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them.

“You see, Papa? I could have done it. I could have saved you.”

She burst into tears.

Chapter 16

Valerie wondered what the monster dreamt of. In his sleep, he shivered and clutched the blankets. Sometimes, he’d call out in wordless, helpless sounds. Valerie stayed by his side and placed a cold cloth on his brow. She hoped that he wasn’t dying after all she’d done to save him, but it had been a few days, and all he did was sleep. She gave him water and soup when she could. Most of the time, however, she just let him be and tried to get some sleep on the floor beside him. The floor wasn’t so bad to sleep on after a while.

              Not wanting to stray away from him and not wanting to sit idly by, Valerie grabbed a book from the shelf and sat down to read. A few times, she caught herself talking out loud about the book, though she doubted the monster could hear her. Sometimes, she looked behind her at Damien’s sleeping face, just to reassure herself that he was indeed still breathing. If you die on me now, so help me, she thought.

              One day she brought the Beast down from her room and decided to tell the story to the unconscious Damien. As she did so, she kept running her fingers over the figurine, and it somehow made her feel better. She could almost feel her father sitting beside her, nodding along as she recalled the words perfectly, until it no longer felt like her voice but her father’s ringing throughout the room. When she finished, tears were sliding down her cheeks. She held the Beast to her beating heart. “Did I do the right thing?” she asked herself. She looked over her shoulder again to see the monster still sleeping soundly. Glancing from the Beast in her hand to the monster on the love seat, she then asked, “Is that the type of monster you are?” Of course, she received no answer.

              To ease her weary heart, she perused the library for something more lighthearted to read. The book she ended up with wasn’t very interesting, and nowhere near as exciting as anything Saxon Matthews did. It was about a rich family trying to organize a party for their daughter’s birthday. She was supposedly arranged to marry a lord. Unfortunately for her, the father gambled away all of their money: farewell party and farewell suitor Lord. It then turned into a saga about how the family was going to try to get their money back. What was irritating to Valerie was how the family laughed off what the father did as though he was a bumbling idiot. Nobody seemed even remotely angry with him. Instead, their dialogue was along the lines of, “Oh, no, dear! Now what will we do?” When Valerie read the part about the daughter embracing her father and telling him that she forgave him, she nearly threw the book across the room.

              “Ridiculous.”

              Valerie gasped and whipped around. Damien was awake, staring at her with those strange, luminous eyes.

              “Goodness, you frightened me,” Valerie said once she caught her breath.

              “I’m, uh, sorry. I have a bad habit of doing that.”

              “How long have you been awake?”

              “Long enough to read over your shoulder. You really should pick different books.”

              Valerie ignored the comment. “Do you need anything?”

              “No. I’m all right. I’m just a bit sore.” He winced when he tried to move.

              “What happened?”

              “I ran into some hunters. They thought I was trespassing onto their territory.”

              “So they shot you?” They never did that to her the few times she stole from them. “Are you sure they didn’t…see you?”

              “I don’t know. I wasn’t going to stick around to ask.” He groaned. “Damn, this hurts.”

              “Sorry.”

              “No, don’t be. You saved my life.”

              Valerie shrugged his words off before they could linger.

              “How did you learn to do this?” He gestured carefully to the makeshift bandage around his waist.

              Valerie looked around the room in attempt to find a way to avoid answering. When she couldn’t think of anything else, she said, “My father.”

              “Oh,” he said. Valerie knew what he was thinking before he even asked her. “Is he…waiting for you?”

              “No.” And then, because she didn’t want him to bring it up ever again, she added, “He’s dead.”

              “I…I didn’t mean to –”

              “It’s all right. You didn’t know.” She turned her back to him and moved to place the book back on the shelf. She didn’t want to waste her time on it anymore.

              “Thank you, Valerie.”

              She looked over her shoulder. “You’re welcome,” she said softly and then returned to her task. After she put the book away, another title caught her eye. She inspected it further and gasped upon realizing what it was. “I can’t believe you have this!” she said as she practically tore it from the shelf.

              “What?” Damien asked, craning his neck to attempt to get a better look.

              Valerie showed him. “This!” It was the Saxon Matthews book she read to her father while he was bedridden. “I never got to finish this.”

              “I don’t think I’ve read that one.”

              Valerie suddenly felt self-conscious. “You might not like it.” She sat back down in front of the loveseat and opened the book to the last place she remembered reading. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

              She was quietly enjoying herself when Damien spoke again. “You should start from the beginning.”

              Valerie turned back to stare quizzically at him. “Why?”

              “It’s been a while since you’ve read it. You might not remember everything.”

              “It hasn’t been that long.”

              “I was merely suggesting that you may want to refresh your memory. Just in case you…forget something important.”

              Valerie eyed him warily for a moment. “Do you want me to read it to you?”

              “I didn’t say that.”

              “I know. I was only offering.”

              “You said I might not like it.”

              Valerie sighed and crossed her arms. “Do you want me to or not?”

              “Only if you’re offering.”

              Valerie turned back to the first page and began.

*

              There was no sense of glory in Young Aubrey’s march when he stepped out of the forest. He was greeted by his men, who instantly rushed to his side and asked if he was all right. Young Aubrey gave the obligatory answers. His body felt fine; his soul, on the other hand, was an entirely different matter. The demon had slipped through his fingers and it was his fault. While his men peppered him with questions, Young Aubrey thought only about how to rectify the situation

              The only way he could fix this was to find the demon, dead or alive.

              “My Lord,” Captain Jonasson said in an almost pleading tone, “I would advise against that course of action.”

              “You would rather the demon get away?” Young Aubrey asked and drummed his fingers impatiently on his desk.

              He noted the captain’s eyes gravitating toward the friendly, agreeable smile of the mask. “This demon destroyed my best trained men.”

              Young Aubrey forced the good half of his face to smile. “True, but I injured it. As we speak, it may be lying dead out there.”

              “If that is true, then why return, my Lord?”

              “To recover the body. To make an example.”

              Captain Jonasson’s jaw clenched. His gaze lingered on the mask, as though he could not bear to look at the real face of his lord. “And what of my men?” he asked quietly.

              Young Aubrey folded his hands on his desk. He took a moment to gather his answer before he spoke, and as he did, images of the demon tearing into his guardsman’s throat flashed through his mind. “They died nobly.” The screaming filled his ears. “I could not have asked for a better service.” One of his men reached for him with a pleading look in his eyes before they went blank with death. “They will be…terribly missed.”

              Captain Jonasson’s mouth twitched, and his face took on a hardened expression.

              “Is there something you wish to say, Captain?” Young Aubrey asked.

              Captain Jonasson’s tone was even, yet there was no mistaking the accusation laced in every word. “Is that what I am to tell the families, my Lord?”

              Young Aubrey’s smiled faded, and truth be told, he knew not why he was smiling in the first place. It wasn’t as though anyone was really looking at him anymore. He turned his head away from the captain. “Tell them…” What they want to hear. “Tell them how brave they were, how noble they were, and how their names will be honored.” Tell them how they looked when they died, tell them about the demon and the evil that it spreads, and tell them that I told the truth and I did all I could.

              His men never found the demon. They searched high and low for a week and saw no sign of it. Young Aubrey even accompanied them on the search one day. For hours, he scoured the river, the trees, and the bushes. All he found were animals that scurried away before he could get any closer. He returned home with his weary men at the midnight hour with an awful sense of dread. What will I do now? he asked himself as he climbed the stairs to his room. Instead of going straight to bed, he looked out of his window at the Aubrey grave, and saw shadows painting the stone.

              In the morning, when Captain Jonasson arrived for his orders, Young Aubrey decided to call off the search. “If it’s dead, it’s dead,” he said, unable to look Captain Jonasson in the eye. “That is all that matters.”

              “That is a wise decision, my Lord.”

              Young Aubrey scoffed. “What would have been wiser was following it into the river.”

              “You don’t mean that, my Lord.”

              Young Aubrey shook his head. “I thought it would be different,” he admitted. Funny that he was never able to tell his father such things. “I used to picture it. I would kill the demon, bring back its head. Captain Yendel and his men would lift me on their shoulders. Captain Yendel would say they were going to have a party in the barracks that evening. I’d run down to the cellar and show my mother, and even if she didn’t say anything to me, she would smile and touch my face. I would know she thought of me as her boy. And finally, because I could no longer bear the suspense, I would race upstairs and show my father. And he would smile and tell me, ‘I’m so proud of what you’ve become.’”

Young Aubrey couldn’t believe he said all of that out loud. He cleared his throat and pretended to get to business. “You may go about your duties, Captain.”

“I am proud of you, my Lord,” Captain Jonasson said. “Your father would be, too.”

              “Thank you, Captain. That is kind of you to say.” But your words mean nothing to me. They are as empty as my heart.

*

Damien occasionally interrupted Valerie’s reading with questions about why Saxon Matthews did certain things when he could do something else, or why Caroline was so clingy. Why does Saxon Matthews take her with him if he wants to keep her safe? If he was a rogue that was in constant danger, then wouldn’t it be better if he left her behind? Valerie quipped that he took her along so that Caroline wouldn’t be stolen by another man.

“Why would anyone want to do that?” Damien asked. Valerie didn’t know.

“If you don’t like it, I can stop reading,” she said.

“No, no. You’ve gotten this far.”

“I’m only on chapter four.”

“It’s far enough, I think.”

Valerie couldn’t help herself; she smiled and asked, “Are you enjoying it?”

“I wouldn’t if I was reading it alone.”

Valerie took that as a good enough answer.

“I can read more later if you want.”

“I am getting a little tired. Trying to keep up with that Saxon wore me down.”

“Because it was so exciting?”

Damien shifted slightly and closed his eyes. “Sure.”

While Damien slept, Valerie spent the time cleaning. She scrubbed the floors of the entrance room, cleaned out the washtub in the washroom, threw out the rotten food in the kitchen, and beat the dust out of the blankets on her bed. She cleaned herself, too. She poured herself a bath and scrubbed her skin until it was bright pink and brushed the knots out of her hair. To be idle was to invite regrets, and she did not want to spend any more time with them.

There weren’t any ladies clothes that fit her properly, so she wore breeches and a tunic that was two sizes too big for her. It was surprisingly comfortable. If I was in Leola, or any other town, I’d never be able to wear this, she thought. She imagined what Mrs. Lind would have said if she saw her like that and felt a small twinge of guilt.

Valerie went out to the meat shed to inspect what they had left. There wasn’t much—just a few strips of deer. It wouldn’t be enough to last them the rest of the week. She decided against telling Damien. The only thing she could do was get it herself. She glanced back at the house and hoped that Damien would remain asleep at least until she returned. And she would return. He’d never forgive me if I wasn’t there to finish the book with him, she thought.

Valerie returned three hours later with a small bag of game. It had started to rain, and already her hair and tunic were soaked. She ran back up to the house.

The front door was ajar.

Valerie froze for a moment. She knew she had closed it behind her when she went outside. Cold drops of rain slid down her neck.

Very carefully, she stepped inside and searched around the entrance room.

The parlor door was open.

Without taking a moment to consider her actions, she dropped the bag and burst into the room.

At first, she thought it was Damien who stood beside the couch. Valerie opened her mouth but forgot what she was going to say when she realized it was not Damien.

It was another monster entirely.

Chapter 17

The monster’s green eyes flashed when they locked on her. The hair around his face stood on end, and his pointed ears were upright and alert. For a moment, they stared at each other: Valerie in disbelief, the monster in fury. Valerie did not know whether to run or stand her ground.

              “What have you done to him?” the monster growled as he slowly closed the distance between them.

              “Nothing,” Valerie said automatically and tried to back away out of the door. “I —”

              The monster was upon her at once. He grabbed hold of her chin and slammed her back against the wall. Valerie was too stunned to scream; she thrashed against his grip and locked her hands around his wrist, pushing him away with all her might. He forced her to look at his face, which was very similar to Damien’s except for the color of his eyes and the small, round bald patch on top of his head. Damien, however, never acted on his threats; he never once laid a hand on her. This monster didn’t care that he caused her pain.              

              “I could break your jaw for lying to me,” the monster said coldly. His breath smelled of tobacco and felt hot against her skin.

              “I’m not – lying!” Valerie spat through her teeth. “Let me go!”

              “Valerie?”

              The monster turned his head around to see Damien rousing from the loveseat. “You’re awake,” he said.

              Valerie took this opportunity to punch the monster in the gut. He let out a startled shout and released her momentarily. Before she could get away, the monster grabbed her by her hair and dragged her over to Damien.

              Damien was slowly getting to his feet, cradling his wounded side and grimacing at the pain. When he saw her in the monster’s clutches, his eyes went wild. “What are you doing?”

              “It seems you have a little pest problem,” the monster replied. “You need me to take care of it for you?”

              “Let her go.”

              The monster blanched. “Excuse me? I –”

              “I said let her go.”

              The two creatures stared each other down for a long while. Damien’s furious expression matched his twin’s. Valerie feared that they would fight, and if they did, she knew Damien would lose. She twisted and writhed against the monster’s grip, causing a few of her hairs to uproot from her scalp. The monster roughly pushed her away. Valerie staggered to the side and caught herself on the windowsill.

              Damien took a gentle step toward her. Please don’t touch me, she thought as she righted herself, but he did no such thing.

              “What the hell is going on here?” the monster asked.

              Damien ignored him. “Are you all right?” he asked Valerie.

              For a long time, Valerie did not know how to respond. She was stunned and angry all at once, though she didn’t know how to properly convey these things. She shook her head and settled on a reply: “Yes.”

              “Who the hell is she and what is she doing here?” The monster demanded, pointing roughly in her direction.

              Damien sighed, and even though he had been resting awhile, he still looked so weary. “Valerie, I need to speak to Dante alone.”

              Valerie wasn’t too keen on that idea. “But –”

              Damien held up his hand and said, “Please.”

              Valerie frowned and glanced at the monster named Dante, whose mouth hung open in disbelief. He looked as though he wanted to shout at someone, and he didn’t know who to start with.

              “I’ll be fine,” Damien said and made a small gesture to the door.

              She had no choice but to agree. “OK,” she said and rose to her feet.

              Reluctantly, she closed the parlor door behind her. She lingered there for reasons she could not explain. This Dante had an uncanny resemblance to Damien, but there was something about him she did not like, and it wasn’t just because he had threatened her. Valerie pressed her hand against the door and waited. Just in case.

*

“What the fuck, Damien?” Dante nearly shouted as the parlor door closed.

              “It’s nice to see you, too,” Damien replied as he gingerly sat back down. He knew that Dante was bound to discover his new houseguest. He only wished that he could have prolonged this moment. It wasn’t as though he was in the proper mood or position to explain to Dante or Valerie. But, in the end, he supposed it was best to get it out of the way now. “Though I would appreciate it if you didn’t threaten my guest next time.”

              “Guest?” Dante said as though the word was new to him. He stuttered out a few words, trying to make sense of it all. “I don’t even think I want to know at this point,” he said at last. He sat on the windowsill and crossed his arms. “Why do you seem so determined to make things difficult?”

              Dante didn’t say it, but Damien thought the words “for me” nearly tumbled out of his mouth.

              “I don’t see what the problem is,” Damien said.

              “Do you really need me to spell it out for you? Are you really that far gone that you can’t understand why this is one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had? I –” He closed his eyes for a moment. “No. Let’s start at the beginning. What happened to you?” He pointed at Damien’s injury.

              “I was shot.”

              “By who?”

              “I don’t know who. A group of men. Hunters, more like.”

              “And why did they shoot you?”

              Damien made sure to look Dante in the eye as he answered. “Because I was on their territory. They thought I stole from them.”

              Dante broke into a strange smile. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised.”

              “It’s not what you think.”

              “Don’t bother. I don’t have the energy to care anymore.”

              The words hit their mark, and Damien instinctively gripped his side as though that would be enough to stop the pain. “It really isn’t what you think,” he said.

              “I really want to believe you,” Dante said evenly. “I really, really do. But I can hardly do that when you have this girl living with you.” His gaze went to the blankets littering the floor besides the loveseat. If he made any assumptions, he didn’t say them out loud.

              “She helped me,” Damien said.

              “So you don’t deny that she’s living here, now?”

              “I – yes, she is.”

              “And how long has this been going on?” Dante asked wearily.

              “A while.”

              Dante nodded. “What you’re telling me is that she was here before you were shot. Which means that there isn’t a good reason for her to really be here, is there?”

              “If she hadn’t been here, I might…not have made it.”

              “And if you hadn’t been pissing in someone else’s chamber pot, none of this would have happened.”

              Damien wished he could go back to sleep—that he could return to the moment before Dante arrived and that he could just sit back and listen to the ending of Saxon Matthews rather than try to explain himself. Like Dante, he too did not have the energy to expend.

              “What do you want me to do, Dante?” he asked.

              Dante thought for a moment. “Get rid of her.”

              “No.”

              “You and I both know this will only end badly. If you want to make this right with me, you will do it. You’ll let her go, and you will be doing us both a favor.”

              “What if she tells someone?” Damien asked softly, not looking at Dante.

              “I think we’re all past that point if she’s been living here for ‘a while.’ And honestly, you should have thought about that before deciding to take her in.”

              Damien stared across from him at the Saxon Matthews book placed neatly on the shelf. “I thought it would change your mind,” he blurted out. It felt like one last desperate attempt.

              For a split second, it looked as though Dante was going to ask for clarification. Damien tensed, not sure if he could say it out loud.

“About what?” Dante asked.

              “Everything.”

              Dante stood. Damien thought he was going to move to sit beside him.

              “It’s in the past,” Dante said. “We can’t keep trying to claim that. That’s what leads to things like this.”

              Damien nodded as if he understood.

              “For what it’s worth, it never would have worked.”

              It felt as though a nail had been hammered into Damien’s heart.

              “It looks like you won’t be needing me for a while,” Dante continued. “Because we both know you’re not going to do as I asked, even if it is the right thing. I’ll return when I can, I suppose.”

*

              Valerie quickly moved away from the door when she heard footsteps coming toward it. The door opened and Dante emerged wearing a somber expression. He closed the door behind him and smirked when he caught sight of her. Valerie stared back at him, trying her best to look as though she hadn’t been eavesdropping.

              Dante strode to the front door. Before taking his leave, he turned back toward her, folded his arms, and said, “I am grateful for what you did. But, in a way, I almost wished you hadn’t.”

              Valerie was flabbergasted that anybody was capable of saying such a thing.

              “If I were you, I would leave this place, and I would not look back.”

Dante smirked again, showing a few of his fangs when he did so. He kicked the sack of rabbits towards the swinging door. Then he did what he had just advised her to do: he left without looking back.

              The rain picked up an hour after Dante left, leaving the house awash in a grey gloom. Valerie sat in the kitchen and watched the raindrops pelt the window. She thought about all the things she could say to Damien and how stupid most of them seemed. Maybe there was nothing she could say, but she was having a hard time accepting that. A few times over the course of the hour, she found herself walking up to the parlor door, only to stop before she could even put her hand on the knob. Do I really want to go in there? she asked herself. Would it really matter if I did? Valerie sighed and lightly slapped her hand on the table.

              She was startled by the sound of the kitchen door creaking open. Damien slowly limped into the room with his hand cradling his side.

              “You shouldn’t be up,” Valerie said.

              “I’m fine,” he replied and pulled out a chair for himself. He took his seat and said, “I don’t want to be a burden.”

              Valerie noticed his slight grimace every time he moved. She said nothing, knowing that he wouldn’t listen. “Did you want something to eat?” she asked.

              “No, no,” Damien said, waving two fingers back and forth. “I, er…I was just sick of being in that room.”

              Valerie nodded. She pressed her lips together to avoid asking about the obvious. After her father died, it seemed like the world only knew how to ask: Are you all right? Yes, definitely, I only just lost my father, thank you for asking.

              Damien was staring at the nicks in the table top as though trying to decipher a code. It was difficult for her not to press him with other questions she had, especially when the silence felt so awkward. Valerie found herself fidgeting with the end of her braid more than necessary. She only seemed to do such things when she was sitting with Damien.

              “You’ve been cleaning,” Damien said.

              “Yes,” Valerie said.

              “It…looks nice.”

              “Thank you.”

              Damien paused. His mouth twitched as though he had more to say, but he stopped himself. He did this several times and then he said, “You don’t have to sleep in there anymore.” He pointed behind him, and Valerie took it to mean the parlor. “You can sleep in your own bed. If you want.”

              “OK.”

              Damien let out a long sigh as though he had been holding his breath. He closed his eyes for just a moment; when he opened them, he asked the most unexpected question, “Have I told you about the best days of my life?”

              “No,” Valerie replied softly.

              She didn’t think he was going to tell her; the silence wrapped around them again, binding them. Then Damien raised his eyes to meet hers, and Valerie wondered why she was so calm under his gaze but not his visitor’s.

              “It was after we were shipwrecked.” Valerie didn’t need to ask about the use of “we.” She knew he was referring to him and Dante, even though he never mentioned Dante before. “We were floating for days on the ship’s remains, feeling weighted and weightless at the same time. I thought we were going to die. He…well, he was too stubborn for that. He didn’t want to accept that anything bad would happen to us, you know, after all we’d been through.

              “Anyway, as I said, we were floating along, dying together, and then…It was sunrise – sunset? – I forget which. Suddenly, I saw this glittering jewel in the distance. By this point, I thought I had gone mad, so I laughed and pointed and said, ‘We are the richest bastards in the world and now we can die happy.’” Damien paused to gather the rest of his words or thoughts. “It wasn’t a jewel. It was a city floating on the ocean. It was the strangest and most…hopeful thing I’d ever seen. I knew we were going to live.

              “It was strange to be surrounded by the buzzing of a crowd when for so long we had only heard the lapping of the water. I wondered if it wasn’t better to just keep drifting along. Dante didn’t seem to have any qualms about it; he pulled me out of the water and, after donning disguises, we toured the city. You have your cobble stone streets; this city had narrow stone walkways. One false step could drop you in the ocean, and you can imagine how keen I was not to have that happen again, so I made sure my lips touched no mead or wine. Well, at least for the first day or so. The buildings were as tall as the trees and just as magnificent to look upon. They were large, stone giants floating gracefully on the choppy waters, and the people seemed to pour out of them and run like a river over the walkways. It was hard to wade through them, and harder still to avoid them. The marketplace was especially busy. There were no lines, just clumps, clusters, and mounds of people pushing and shoving and yelling. Sometimes I found myself shrinking away, but Dante always dragged me out, saying that the smell of food was calling to him and he didn’t want to go alone. And I, of course, would never let him go alone. 

“The first thing I ate was fried fish, cooked golden brown with garlic and onions over an open flame. You would think I would detest the smell of it, but…Dante and I didn’t eat fish while we were adrift. Anyway, it was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. I think I ate that every day until I got sick. I retched right as that boat was passing through.” He shook his head and nearly cracked a smile.

              “The best part of being there was when night fell. The boats had these red lanterns that gave off an ethereal glow, almost like miniature dawns reflected in the water. I heard they did that to remember the dead, but I can’t be sure. Everyone would light candles on their balconies, and there would be singing and music. There used to be this line of musicians that would go down the walkways to sing people goodnight. We never joined in these festivities. Instead, we climbed up the tallest building, and from there, it was like you could see the whole world. The people looked almost like small toys from where we were, and in the distance, I could see the fishing boats and the large merchant ships with their billowing white sails drawing in and drifting away. From where we were, it felt like we could do anything and be anyone, even kings if we wanted. We could have grabbed a fistful of stars. We’d drink whatever we could afford and plan out our life up there. We planned on opening a shop at one point. Nothing fancy, just selling some of the trinkets we garnered in our travels. We never got to do it, and I’m not sure we would have succeeded if we had. 

              “I don’t know why but I…I keep going back to that. When I first saw the sun rise, when I first saw the city, when I felt…” He struggled to find the words and failed. “Well, it doesn’t much matter anymore. I am not there and he is not there.” Damien shook his head and rubbed his temples. “I didn’t mean to bore you with all that. I just didn’t want to think about it anymore.”

              Valerie thought it was anything but boring. “Why did you leave?”

              Damien’s jaw moved right and left as though he was chewing on something. He mumbled a word Valerie couldn’t hear.

              “What?”

              “Me,” he said. “We left because of me.”

              “What do you mean?”

              “I mean I…I grew sick of the place. I was tired of eating goddamn fish and I was tired of talking about things we would never do. The truth was we were not kings or rulers. The people below us had power.” He pointed angrily to himself. “We had nothing.”

              “You had each other,” Valerie pointed out.

              “Had. We had. And sometimes I’m not even sure about that.”

              Sure you are, Valerie thought. He nearly went mad when he thought I hurt you. “Are you angry he didn’t stay?”

              “He can do whatever he likes.”

              That didn’t answer the question, but Valerie didn’t need to hear it spoken. She understood his feelings well enough, and she wondered if it should have unnerved her.  After all, Damien was not a man. This line of thought brought her to her next question, one she had been wondering since Dante burst through the door.  “Damien, are there more of you?”

              “More of what?”

              “You know…” She did her best to avoid the word creature or monster. “More like you and Dante.”

              Damien crossed his arms and leaned back against his chair. He closed his eyes and seemed to be in deep thought. Valerie started to imagine all sorts of creatures roaming the earth, undetected by people, or doing their best remain undetected. How many of them end up in places like this? 

How many of them end up alone?

              “There used to be,” Damien said finally. “But I think they’re all dead. I think we are the last.”             

Chapter 18

Damien woke in a cage in a dark room. His head pounded like a panicked heartbeat. He did not know why he was there, how he had gotten there, or who he was. It felt as though he was lying under a pile of stones; just the act of sitting up was painful. The front of his shirt was stained with blood, and his hands were wrapped with dirty bandages that looked days old. Where am I? he wondered as he took a moment to look around. The last thing he remembered was playing by the river as a boy, or maybe that was a dream; he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything about himself. He only knew his name.

              He glanced around and realized that he was not in a room. He was in a tent. There were boxes piled around the cage. He remembered the face of a doctor. Did he put me in here? Is he even real?

              Someone screamed in the distance.

It was a shriek that ripped the air apart, and when it died, it left a silence so filling that Damien thought his ears were clogged with water. There was a sudden explosion, and he nearly pissed himself. Shadows raced past his tent in all sorts of haphazard directions. The acrid smell of smoke wafted into the tent and underneath that was the vague smell of cooked meat. Damien peered between the bars of his cage, but all he could see was the side of the tent he was stored in.

              What’s going on out there? Damien thought as he got to his knees. People were shouting for others to run. He thought he heard the sharp cracks of gunfire. Panic felt like a cold sweat working its way down his body, from his head to his feet. He knelt there, frozen, watching shadows racing by.

              Another shriek rent the air, only this time it was inhuman, and it made his heart hum against his ribs. The ground beneath him shook in slow, steady beats. It was as though a giant was walking around outside. Was it coming towards him? If that was true, Damien didn’t have a way to escape.

              Eventually, the ground ceased shaking. The shrieking persisted, but it was fading now. He was at a safe distance. Damien felt like he could breathe again.

              He gasped when the tent flap opened, and when he saw what had entered, he wished he had not woken up at all.

A group of monsters emerged into the tent, intruding into his space, clicking, growling, and making other disgusting noises with their misshapen mouths. They flanked a creature with pointed ears that twitched uncertainly with his every movement, his dark fur made his green eyes glow dangerously in the lamplight. He immediately commanded one of his comrades to watch the opening while they took a look around.

“Are you sure he’s here?” one of the monsters asked. His left leg was like that of a rabbit, and he had half a rabbit’s ear sprouting from the top of his head. The rest of his face was marred with shiny burns that made it look like his eye was seconds away from drooling off his face.

“I saw them bring him in here,” the leader responded.

“And if he isn’t?”

“We’ll keep looking.”

“Will we have time?”

The question went unanswered. The leader raised his lantern eye-level.

Damien quietly crawled into the corner of his cage and kept low to the ground. He had no doubt as to who they were looking for, but he was not sure why. What did they mean to do with me? He had flitting images of torture and death—of the monsters eating him like in a children’s story someone once told him.

Or worse, maybe they planned on turning him into one of them. Maybe they had put him in this cage.

It did not take long for them to find him; the tent was not very big after all, and there was nowhere else for him to hide. He felt the soft heat of the lamplight as it shone on him. He looked up and met the horrible green eyes of the leader, who was staring down at him incredulously, as if he could not believe Damien was real.

“Get him out of there,” Dante commanded.

One of his comrades stepped forward; an awful beast with a head in the shape of a lopsided stump with a thin line for a mouth, the bulging eyes of a fly, and thin, needle-like fingers that slipped effortlessly into the lock.

“Dante,” shouted the lookout, “we don’t have much time!”

“Hurry up,” Dante growled impatiently.

The fly creature began to move quickly. As he did so, Damien had a million pleas running through his mind. His mouth, however, felt too slow to form the words properly.

When the lock clicked open, Damien’s heart thudded like the steps of the giant. He pressed his back against the bars behind him, wishing he could slip through.

Dante flung the cage door open, stepped inside, grabbed Damien’s arm and pulled. Damien did his best to resist and tried desperately to twist away.

“Get up,” Dante commanded. “You’re coming with us.”

“No!” Damien said, turning his head away.

The lookout shouted for Dante again.

“We need to move,” the rabbit man said. “Just leave him!”

Dante ignored them and gave one last pull, getting Damien on his feet and out of his cage. “Move,” he instructed. Damien could only reluctantly obey.

When they opened the tent flap, Damien could see nothing through the miasma of smoke and flame. There was a great fire roaring and ripping through the open field. It curled into fists in the distance and crushed the dark shapes in its grip. The smell of cooked meat was stronger out here, and it was the most sickening thing. It threw a punch to his gut as soon as it wafted into his nostrils. He nearly doubled over in pain. Terrified shrieks ripped through the air, making his ears ache with the sound. He glanced to his left, and at first he thought he saw a mound of dirt, but when he squinted, he saw that it was a pile of burnt bodies—human legs, arms, and heads that had been clearly ripped apart and were now black and rotten, as if they were old food.

Bile rushed up his throat and he stared at that pile for a long time frozen in fear. That’s what they’re going to do to me, he thought.

Dante shoved him forward roughly, telling him to keep low so he wouldn’t breathe in the smoke. Damien obliged, if only to gain a brief respite from the smell. In front of him a man was racing across the field, trying to escape one of the monsters chasing after him. The monster opened its mouth and its tongue darted out like a frog’s, snatching the man around his waist. He shrieked and Damien heard the sound of nails scraping against a rock face as he was pulled back towards the creature. It took the man’s head in its hands and ripped it from his torso. It stuffed the man’s bleeding head into its gaping maw. 

Some of the humans were fighting back and shooting at the monsters. They managed to kill a few but not enough to gain the upper hand. The monsters dragged the people down into the flames. Their bodies merged together, human and inhuman, and it looked like a macabre coupling as they melted.

Damien knew that the goal of the monsters was not liberation.

It was revenge.

“Stay close to me,” Dante shouted to be heard above the chaotic cacophony, and Damien did not know if he was addressing him or his companions. “We only need to –”

Damien never found out what they only needed to do. There was a crack of gunfire and one of Dante’s companions went down. Blood bloomed from a sizeable hole in its stump-like head, its bulging eyes reflecting the smoke and the stars.

During the sudden moment of panic, Damien broke free from the group and ran.

He could hear Dante and his comrades calling after him. He thought one of them decided to give chase. His lungs seem to cling to his ribs as he sprinted through the thick smoke. Hopefully it was thick enough that he could lose himself in it.

Where he was going, he could not say. He did not even know if there was a place to go or if there was a way to escape this. An angry heat pressed all around him, as though it was slowly enclosing him into another cage. He shielded his eyes from the harsh firelight and from the glowing embers raining down. Ash filled his nose and mouth, and he wondered if he was breathing in human or monster remains. Blurred shadows and shapes appeared and disappeared out of the corners of his eyes. If I cried out for help now, who would answer me? Only the roar of the fire. Only the terrified screams.

A harsh light flashed in his eyes and he nearly lost his balance. Something heavy struck his temple. Damien crashed to the ground, the side of his head throbbing with a sharp pain. When he regained his focus, he saw the blank eyes of a rifle staring down at him.

Damien slowly raised his hands to shield his face. “Please,” he whispered. “I’m not –”

The ground shook violently beneath him. The inhuman shriek returned. Whatever was producing it was coming towards them quickly.

The man holding the rifle looked up and took two frightened steps back.

A large black spike stabbed into the earth a few feet away from Damien. He began to shift his body to the right, but another spike blocked his path.

Something was breathing above him.

The man in front of him shot the thing wildly, but he must have missed. A heartbeat later, a spike speared through the man’s torso, and he was lifted up into the sky.

Damien was rooted to the spot. There was a wet, crunching sound above him. Bones and entrails rained down from above and landed by his feet.

When it is finished, I will be next.

Was it bravery or stupidity that dared him to move? He got on his knees and began to crawl through the mud and gore as silently as he could. All the while, the thing above him was feasting, smacking its lips and sucking on the remains.

A spike landed in front of him and he flattened himself to the ground. The thing dropped the remains of her meal on his back. It was disgustingly warm, almost like he was being draped by a blanket—tucked in for a good sleep. He could almost feel the eyes of the thing above him focusing on him, trying to decide if it had room for another meal. Several times he tried to swallow. All he could taste was ash.

There was a horrible clicking noise above him. Beside him, the earth shifted with the creature’s weight. Was it his imagination, or could he feel the creature’s hot breath against the back of his head? He wanted to shut his eyes, but he was afraid to make even the smallest of movements.

He heard the crackling of the earth as the creature raised its leg into the air. Damien could feel it poised above him, ready to strike, ready to kill. He wrestled with indecision. If he moved now, he did not have a means of escape. If he moved now, he doubted he could escape. The thing was fast and powerful, and he was only…He was only…

Maybe he would never know.

Damien rolled to the side right as the monster speared the spot he vacated. He scrambled to his feet and leapt to the side as another leg attempted to stab him.

Fighting was not an option. If he stopped moving for just an instant, he would be dead. At first he tried to find an escape amongst the circle of legs, but the ground was rumbling so violently beneath him that he was in constant danger of losing his footing. It felt as though he was teetering at the edge of the cliff and he would fall at any moment. Drunkenly, he dodged and wove through the tangle the creature created. He could no longer hear the sound of his heartbeat, nor could he feel his legs even as he forced them to move. Above him, the creature let out a bloodcurdling shriek that nearly knocked him to his knees. It felt as though someone was scraping his eardrums with a needle. Instinctively, he reached up to cover his ears, but this proved to be his downfall. The creature sensed his distraction and pushed him to the ground. He lay in the human remains, a horrible foreshadowing of what was to come.

Before Damien could even attempt to move, the monster pinned him to the ground with its legs like someone pinning down a butterfly on a board. One of the legs tore into his arm, but Damien was too terrified to feel the pain. The creature slowly lowered itself.

At first, he thought he was saw a hanged pregnant woman descending from the smoke. Her stomach was the first thing he could make out, pale and round like the moon. Her bloated frame dangled lifelessly, like a puppet with no master. Her head had fallen to the side, as if her neck had been snapped in half. Yet when he looked into the woman’s eyes, he could see life in them. They darted wildly, and when she met his eyes, her head jerked upright. She scanned him from head to toe, as though trying to decide which part of him to eat first. The massive black legs that had him pinned now were growing out of the woman’s back; he could see her corpse-like flesh straining against their movement. She leaned in close to him, spit dribbling down her chin, slathering her bruised and naked chest. Stupidly, Damien imagined her planting a death kiss on his lips.

She opened her mouth.

Her cheeks split apart like tent flaps, exposing a circle of teeth that spun slowly, hypnotically. Inside her mouth he could see a man’s eye stuck between one of her teeth. It stared at Damien. Two fangs dripped with yellow liquid at the end of each flap. She snapped her mouth open and closed three times, getting closer and closer to him. Damien could smell blood and rotten flesh on her breath.

Out of desperation, Damien wrenched his arms free, tearing some of his skin in the process. He locked one of his hands around her throat; his other grabbed her left flap and the fang pierced into his palm. Damien felt a hot sting of pain that was immediately replaced by a numbing sensation that flowed down into his wrist and worked its way up into his arm. The woman pushed against him, her circle of teeth filling his vision, even as Damien turned his head away. He wasn’t strong enough to choke her. He tried, but he couldn’t.

It was only a matter of time before she completely overpowered him. Damien briefly envisioned his body being sliced apart in her mouth.

In his mind’s eye, he saw the river again, glittering like jewels in the summer sunlight. He saw the blank slate of his face. He felt the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder and heard a voice call his name and beg him to come back.

It did not matter if it wasn’t real.

Damien closed his eyes and waited for the creature to take her first bite.

The sound of a gunshot made him flinch. He felt a warm splash of blood on his face. The woman ceased her clicking and her strain against his grip. Her head fell forward, blood and spit dripping on Damien’s front, her belly pressing against his legs. He let her go, painfully removing his hand from her fang, and he watched as, like a tree, she collapsed to her side.

For a moment, he lay there as though the woman still had him pinned. He took in deep, rasping breaths and clutched his chest with his good hand, feeling his heart beat furiously. His entire left side was numb, and he could not move his arm. But he was still alive.

Sharp, snapping sounds quickly made him sit up. Surely she was not still alive? He stared at the large, grotesque body, at the legs curling around the bloated form. One by one, those massive legs broke from the woman’s back and collapsed on top of her, crushing her, killing her for good. Damien breathed out in relief.

Something smacked the side of his head. He curled up on his side and cradled it with his good hand. It felt as though a million glass shards were stabbing his temple.

A man was standing over him. When he spoke, the voice was frighteningly familiar. It was slightly muffled, as though he were speaking behind his hand. “Look at me,” he commanded in a deceptively soft tone.

“No,” Damien said automatically. He did not want to look. He did not want to see. He just wanted it to be over.

The man reached down and grabbed the side of his head, pressing the glass shards deeper into Damien’s skull. The man forced Damien to look into his merciless black eyes.

It was the doctor.

Damien wanted to crawl away. He remembered the doctor with perfect clarity. He remembered those eyes staring down at him, holding a knife, cutting into Damien’s flesh. That had all been real. Damien could feel it now, the knife digging into his sides and the doctor prying his ribs open. He did not remember why the doctor did those things. “The why is not important,” the doctor had said. “Only the results matter.”

A mask covered the lower half of the doctor’s face, but even so, Damien could tell he was smiling. The doctor pressed the muzzle of his pistol against Damien’s brow.

“I have a terrible secret that I want to confess,” the doctor said. “I love you. How could I not? You were my greatest achievement. Look at what I’ve done for you!” He pointed to the dead woman. “I look at you and it pains me because I will never know the great things you will achieve. I will never know what you would have become. They were going to take you away from me.” He shook his head rapidly. “I would never let them. Because I love you so much.” Were those tears in his eyes? Could Damien hear a hint of real, human regret? “I can’t let you leave. And I can’t let you leave me.”

The doctor shut his eyes, his finger tensing on the trigger. “I’m sorry.”

“Step away from him.”

The doctor whipped his head around. Over the doctor’s shoulder, Damien could see Dante with a rifle pointed at the doctor’s head.

The doctor laughed. “I should have known.”

“Do as I say or I’ll blow your head off.” Dante took a step towards them.

“You’ll be too late, then,” the doctor replied calmly.

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Dante locked eyes with Damien for a moment, panic etched in his monstrous features. Like the doctor, he seemed uncertain as to whether or not to pull the trigger. A fire blazed all around them, but for that one moment, an icy chill swept between them.

“I won’t let you take him,” the doctor said and shook his head once more. He pressed Damien’s head against his chest, still pointing the pistol at his brow.

“It’s over,” Dante said, daring to take another step. “Let him go.”

The doctor began to laugh manically. “No. There is one more secret I’d like to confess.” He pulled down his mask and exposed his rotting lips, centipedes boring into his cheeks. A drop of flesh fell to his front. “You both came at the same time, but in different cages. Then you were in separate tents in the same section. And now you have the same bodies but different personalities.” Tears mingled with the rotted flesh dripping like melted snow to the ground. “And I loved you both for it.”

The doctor removed the gun from Damien’s brow, placed it against his temple, and pulled the trigger. His body fell limp against Damien. The firelight exposed the doctor’s mottled mouth, formed into the shape of a callous smile.

Dante was at Damien’s side at once. “Are you all right?”

Damien stared at the dead man. His whole body trembled. The numbness seemed to have spread throughout his whole body, and he could neither move nor speak.

“Here.” Dante grabbed his good elbow and helped him up. “We need to get out of here.”

They ran as far and as fast as they could, keeping low in the smoke and away from the crowds of dying men and monsters. Damien kept close to Dante, clutching his numb arm, following his lead through the chaos. It felt as though they would reach the edge of the world before they escaped this madness. He did not know how much farther he could run. When he started to lag behind, Dante gripped his numb arm and pulled him along.

Eventually, the smoke miraculously thinned out and they broke through to fresh air. They were soon surrounded by trees which, to Damien, looked like the bars of his cage. When he looked up, he could not see the darkened sky. Only slivers of moonlight spilled from the canopy, lighting the claws of the tree branches.

They ran and ran until Damien’s legs felt like water and his breathing scorched his lungs. They stopped in a clearing by a small lakebed. Dante clutched his knees while Damien collapsed to his, both were caked with dried blood and dirt. The sounds of death were soft in the distance, but the effect was not lessened.

They looked back.

Even with the distance and the darkened trees, they could see hints of what they left behind. It was a reminder that they had not truly escaped.

Damien looked over at Dante, the monster who had unexpectedly saved his life. The look on his face was a mixture of bitterness, anger, and regret. Dante seemed to be staring at something that Damien could not see, and it felt as though he had forgotten Damien’s existence entirely.

Was this the moment when they would part ways? Damien feared it would be. Where will I go? he wondered. He could not recall a family waiting for him. All he could remember was the doctor. Because I love you so much.

“Thank you,” Damien blurted out. “You saved my life.”

Dante looked down at Damien, and the hardened edge of his expression melted away. “You don’t need to thank me. I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.”

“Why?”

Dante let out a slow breath. “Because I think you’re my brother.”

Damien felt pins and needles in his numbed arm. “What?” He cautiously got to his feet, ready to run again if he had to. Will I ever stop running? “Why would you say that?”

“Because we…” Realization dawned on Dante. “Oh. You don’t know?”

“I know you’re mad,” Damien said. “I’m not your brother. I’m nothing like you!” He showed his bandaged hands as if that would be proof enough.

Dante flinched. Damien noticed a small bald spot above his left brow, as though someone had torn out the fur and it had never properly grown back. Did the doctor do that to him?
              What did the doctor do to me?

“Do you want to see?” Dante asked and gestured to the lake.

Damien shook his head and took two steps back. “No, no! I’m not…I’m not…”

The knife cut into his side and his human blood poured out. Replaced with what? Replaced with what? He brought his hands up to his face and felt nothing. No sign of human or monster. A blank canvas.

“I’m sorry,” Dante said.

“Why would you be sorry?” Damien started tearing off his bandages. This would be the only way to know. “I feel sorry for you. I –”

He stared in horror at his hand.

He saw a monstrous hand covered in dark brown fur and claws like needle points with dark, rough, padding underneath. “At least I ha-have five fingers,” he said, laughing nervously. His vision was blurry from the tears pricking his eyes.

Dante stepped closer.

“Don’t!” Damien shouted. “Don’t touch me!” He knelt beside the lake and dared to look at his reflection.

His ears were not right, his mouth was all wrong, and his eyes—his eyes!—the color of pus and so big in his misshapen head. The moon hovered behind his reflection, comparing faces.

The doctor did this.

Because I love you so much.

Damien punched his reflection. Water splashed his monstrous face and soaked the arm of his tunic. His face was distorted in the water and slowly settled back again.

Dante’s reflection joined his and that of the moon.

“We are just alike,” Damien said. “I am just like you.”

“I’m sorry,” Dante said again. “If it helps, I know how you feel.”

Damien shook his head. “Why? Why did he do this?”

“I don’t know.”

Damien turned his head to look at Dante, his near identical-twin. “What are we going to do?”

“Whatever we want,” Dante said. A genuine smile broke across his face. “We can go as far away as possible. If we like, we can go somewhere farther. No one will ever hurt us again. We’re no longer bound to him.”

Damien realized he had planned this for quite some time. Dante made it sound like a life-long dream had come alive before their very eyes. We’re no longer bound to him. Then why did Damien still feel as though he was trapped in a cage? “How?” he asked, hating how doubtful he sounded.

“Well,” Dante began as he knelt beside Damien, “we could start by you telling me your name…if you remember it.”

“Damien.” It was one of the few things he knew for certain that was true. Where it came from was another matter. “I don’t remember anything else. I don’t even know where I come from.” The river, perhaps.

“That’s all right. I don’t remember much, either. None of us do. He took all our memories.” The hairs along the back of Dante’s neck stood at attention for a few long seconds. “But I do know my name is Dante. And I do believe, with everything I have, that you are my brother.” He smiled. “You and I are going to live a good life.”

Damien could not see how. He did not feel any sense of familiarity when he looked at Dante’s face. Maybe the doctor took that away, too.

Because I love you so much.

Chapter 19

Valerie brought Damien some soup and sat at her usual place in front of the fire with the Saxon Matthews book in hand. She idly flipped through the pages and asked, “Now where were we?”

              “I didn’t think we had any rabbit left,” Damien said.

              Valerie stiffened. How does he know? Is he keeping track?

              “Where did you get this?”

              He didn’t sound angry or suspicious. Maybe it would have been easier to lie if he had. “I found them,” she said as casually as she could.

              “Found them where?”

              Valerie fiddled with the end of her tattered skirt. She tried to act as though this happened all the time. “They were simply forgotten…in the traps,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t going to let them just stay there. That would be a waste of food.”

              Damien said nothing. The silence mortified her. Now he thinks I’m a thief, she thought. She didn’t know why that mattered. “I was careful. Nobody was around to see me. I used to do it all the time when…you know, before. And I was rarely ever caught.”

              Damien still said nothing, and she couldn’t make herself look at him to see his reaction. “I wasn’t going to let us starve,” she said. “That would have been stupid.” She kept making twitchy gestures with her hands to pass the uncomfortable time.

Is he angry with me that I left the house? Serves him right for trying to keep me locked up here.

              “OK,” he said finally.

              This time, Valerie did turn around to face him. He lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth.

              “OK?” Valerie asked incredulously.

              “Mmhmm.”

              “What does that mean?”

              It was maddening for Valerie to wait for him to finish chewing before he answered. When he did, he spoke very gently. “It means it’s OK, Valerie.”

              Valerie rolled her eyes and sighed exasperatedly as she returned to the book. There was no use prying anything else out of him, he’d just take her around in circles again. Besides, if it was OK with him, then she supposed it was OK with her, too.

              Everything, however, was not OK.

              “Where are you going?” Valerie asked as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

              Damien had his cloak tied around his neck and was in the process of lacing up his boots. An empty sack lay crumpled on the floor in front of him. He glanced up at her before returning to his task. “Out,” he said.

              “Why?”

              “We need supplies. The first snows will be here soon, and we need to stock up on food and stuff.”

              Valerie approached him timidly, fiddling with her hands. “But…but you’re not completely healed yet. And I got us some food. I…” she faltered when she saw he wasn’t listening. “You could run into those hunters again. Or you could get seriously injured. And you might not be so lucky this time.”

              “I appreciate your concern. But that doesn’t change the fact that we still need to eat.”

              “Can’t you wait at least one more day?”

              Damien sighed. “Valerie, you know we can’t.”

              We, she thought, a strange word. “Then take me with you.”

              “No,” Damien said again, more firmly this time. “I’m going alone.”

              “But I’ve been out there before. I know how to…” Steal. “I could help you if you let me.”

              Damien pulled on his gloves and then grabbed the sack from the floor. Valerie felt as though a knife was boring deep into her belly as she watched him take his first steps towards the door. Do not cry, she scolded to herself. Do not cry. Not in front of him.

              Like a spoiled child, she turned her back on him, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Fine!” she spat. “Go ahead and get yourself killed. Don’t expect me to be here to help.”

              She felt him pause. Maybe this would be enough to make him stay. For a moment, she pictured him coming towards her, offering comfort, telling her that he would not leave now that he saw how upset she was. It was what her father would have done.

              The door opened.

              “All right, then,” he said and closed the door behind him.

              Valerie dug her nails into her arms as she stood there. There’s no reason for you to be like this, she thought. So what if he doesn’t come back?

              He will come back.

              He has to.

              I am such an idiot, Valerie thought as she violently threw some clothes into a bag. I should have left a long time ago. I don’t know why I’m wasting my time here. She reached under her pillow and held the Beast in her hand. The wood felt cold between her fingers. The horn pricked her skin. After a long moment, she tossed him into the bag, too. She tied a knot around the top and left it on her bed.

              Take it, she thought. Take it and go.

              Her fingers itched with the phantom action.

              Take it and go.

              The clothes she placed in the bag laid in a haphazard heap on the bed. The Beast stood on the side of the pile as though he were climbing to the top, as though he were braving a mountain.

              Valerie scrubbed the floor of her room, filling the silence with the swish of the cleaning brush. How long has it been? If she went to check the time now, she would never finish.

              The only things that moved outside were the branches swaying in the autumn breeze. Gold and red leaves blanketed the forest floor. Whatever path Damien created when he left had been erased.

              He wasn’t coming back.

              And she was going nowhere.

She went into the parlor and tried to read. The words looked like they were melting off the page and dripping to the floor like blood. She saw a small bullet hole burned in the middle.

Valerie slammed the book shut.

She returned to her room and tended to the cobwebs that were not there.

It was late in the afternoon when Valerie heard the door open. Startled, she returned the Beast to his proper place under her pillow and stepped out into the hallway. At first she thought it was her imagination, but then she heard the sound of Damien’s heavy footsteps, and she knew he had returned at last. When she reached the landing, she reminded herself to stay composed. Don’t make yourself seem so eager. She gingerly placed her hand on the railing and took one step at a time.

Two bulging sacks were lying in front of Damien, who was slightly out of breath. She could not fathom how he had carried them with him all the way back here. Quite frankly, he appeared exhausted. If he was a proper man, she would swear there were dark circles under his eyes. Why didn’t you take me with you? she thought as she reached the bottom stair. It would have saved us all this trouble.

Damien made no remark about the fact that she was still there. He did not allude at all to her prior behavior. He simply said, “Hello.”

“You did well,” Valerie said. When she stepped closer to him, she could smell wet earth and an underlying hint of metal.

There was an awkward pause.

“This is for you,” Damien said, gesturing to the bundle on his left.

“What is it?” Valerie asked.

“Things you will need.”

As Valerie knelt to untie the sack, Damien said, “That’s why it took me so long. I stopped to get this.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Valerie looked up at him once she had opened it and peeked inside. She found clothes for winter, not just skirts and dresses, but trousers as well, and blankets and a fox fur coat. There was also a pair of leather shoes and boots. “Where did you get this?” She didn’t mean to sound accusatory. “Not that I–”

“A traveler. I offered him some meat in exchange.”

Valerie extracted the coat and ran her fingers along the length. “These are very fine things,” she said.

“It was a good deal, then.”

Valerie nodded and rose, clinging to the coat. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

Valerie found herself growing quite timid. She shuffled her left foot. There were no traces of the feral creature that had stirred under her skin. All that remained was a girl who was embarrassed by her behavior—by all of it. “What I said…before you left. I wanted to –”

“You don’t need to apologize. If you like them, take them. I need nothing in return.”

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Valerie’s face broke into a small smile. “Well, I’m glad you’re back,” she admitted. Strangely enough, she was not embarrassed by this. “There were no hunters, I trust?”

“No. And I trust all went well here?”

“About as well as you’d expect,” Valerie replied as she glanced at his feet. “Did you need help putting this away?”

“If you want.”

They spent the next several minutes doing just that. Damien went outside to hang the meat he had collected in the shed while Valerie put away the spices, herbs, vegetables, and her new clothes. She secretly delighted in examining every article, holding it up against her body to imagine how it would look. Not everything matched properly. Not everything had to. Who would see her other than Damien?

It was late into the night and Valerie still could not sleep. She faced the window and saw no stars, only the trees that eclipsed them. The lack of typical animal noises still made her uneasy. It was as though she was in the farthest corner of the world, a place that had not yet been discovered by the regular populace. After a few more minutes of rolling and failing to get comfortable, she finally gave up and got out of bed.

Before making her way down the hall, she dared a glance at Damien’s room. She was sure she had not heard him leave like he used to before he was injured. If I knock on his door, will he answer? She took one step in that direction and then decided against it.

She turned and went towards the stairs as quietly as she could. It was like that moment she had tried to escape. That was not her intent now, and frankly, she did not know if it would ever be. She paused at the front door. She knew that if she tried to open it, it would yield. Damien had stopped locking it after she saved him. Was that born of trust? Or did he know that she had nowhere else to go? Even if she took her first steps outside, she would return. There was no fooling herself about that.

Valerie entered the parlor and busied herself with lighting the hearth. A healthy fire crackled to life, and Valerie sat curled up on the loveseat beside Damien’s faded bloodstain.

Damien no longer needed her. Of that she was certain. She could walk out now, and she doubted she would be missed. Perhaps that could be said of her situation no matter where she ended up, if she dared to end up anywhere.

It was time to face facts.

She had no coin and no other place to live. She supposed she could return to Leola, but then she would have to face Mrs. Lind, and she didn’t know if she could bear to. There was no one in the world anxiously waiting to hear news of her or waiting for her to return. She was truly on her own now, and it was the most frightening time of her life. It felt as though a giant ball was forming in her belly, growing big enough to crack her ribs and crush her heart. What dreams could I accomplish in such a state? she wondered. Thoughts of travel, of giant ships, of large cities, and even marriage all faded before her eyes.

That haunting question loomed forth again.

What am I to do now?

She was startled by the sound of the door opening behind her. She looked over the loveseat at Damien approaching, the shadows around his form disappeared the closer he came into the light.

“Good evening,” he said. He didn’t seem surprised to find her there.

“Good evening,” Valerie replied.

“What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I think I’ve spent quite enough time sleeping. Do you mind?” He pointed to the empty space beside her.

Valerie hesitated. “No, go ahead.” After all, it was his house. She was only the…well, whatever she was, she was not the owner.

Damien let out a long sigh as he sat beside her. He rested his hands on his knees. “So,” he said.

“So.”

“What brings you here at this hour?”

Valerie pressed her lips together. The bloodstain was between them. “I couldn’t sleep. I had a lot on my mind.”

“That’s understandable,” Damien said. “A lot has happened.”

He procured a flask from his pocket and unscrewed the lid. He took a sip and then offered some to Valerie. She stared at it for a long time and remembered what her father said. It won’t ease the pain, but it will dull it just enough.

“No, thank you,” she said finally and waved it away.

Damien took another swig. He wiped his mouth and said, “I’ve been thinking, too. About this…arrangement.”

Valerie dug her nails into her knees. “Are you sending me away?” She could not bear to look at him. Of course he would, she thought. What am I to him?

“You don’t seem happy about that prospect.”

“You are sending me away.” It’s all right, she thought. I can figure out where to go. Thank you for bringing me those clothes. At least now, that will be one less worry. I’ll get another job, and maybe they will be kind enough to let me stay there until I can either afford a house or get married, and then I can have a life like everyone wanted me to have. So go ahead; send me away. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. She could feel his eyes on her. It does not matter what he thinks. I will be fine.

“Valerie.”

She sniffed and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “What?”

“I am not sending you away.”

Valerie swallowed. “Oh. Right. Because I might tell.”

“No. That’s not –”

              “Because you want to hear the end of Saxon Matthews?” Valerie said with a forced laugh to hide her tears.

              “Because I need you here,” he said. “Because, even though I know you’re capable, there are men out there who would not hesitate to shoot you. You’ve seen that firsthand. And I’m not a skilled healer. It would be a poor repayment on my part if anything happened to you.”

              “Oh.” The word sounded small coming out of her mouth. “I don’t really want to be your responsibility or anything.”

              “I don’t want to be yours, either.”

              “Then what do we do?”

              Damien scratched the back of his ear. “All I know is that I will have to leave often. And I will have to leave you here. I can’t take you with me, even if I want to.”

              Valerie didn’t want to suggest it, but she had to know. “Do I have the option to…go somewhere else?”

              Damien was silent for a beat. “Yes,” he said. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

              “OK.” At least I’m no longer forced to be here. “If I’m honest, I don’t think I’m ready to leave.”

              “You can stay as long as you want.”

              “Thank you.”

              Damien nodded.

              “Will you…” Valerie began. She made an exasperated noise. “Will you be careful when you’re out there? I really don’t want to have to pull another bullet out of you.”

              Was that a smile? The corners of his mouth turned up uneasily. “I’ll do my best,” he said.

              They settled into silence again. Valerie sat there feeling as though something was going to break out of her the longer they failed to speak. She inhaled, exhaled, and then said rather quickly, “Can I explain to you why I acted the way I did? I’m still sorry about that, by the way.”

              “You don’t have to explain –”

              “But I want to. I…There is no one else I can talk to about this. And if I don’t say it, I worry that I’ll carry it forever, and I’m tired of doing that.” She closed her eyes and took another breath. “My father.” Her bottom lip trembled and she had to take a breath again. “My father killed himself. And I wasn’t there to stop him. I know it doesn’t make sense, but when I saw you leaving, it made me feel like you were someone else I was failing to save.”

              Before Damien could think to respond, Valerie continued, “I didn’t tell you this so you would feel compelled to say something to me or try to make me feel better. It happened and I’m still sad about it. I’ll always be sad about it. But I don’t want it to consume me. And I don’t want you to treat me differently because of it. I only want you to understand.”

              Valerie was glad to see there was no pity in his eyes. “I do,” he said.

              “Good.” Her voice broke. Even though it was out in the open, it still hurt. Her heart felt like it had been scraped raw.

              “I still feel like I should say something,” Damien said, “but I’m not exactly good with words.”

              “I can’t think of anyone who is. I don’t even know how to handle it myself.” She forced out a laugh again and sniffed. She wasn’t good at crying in front of strangers. We both have our weaknesses, she thought.

              “Well, is there something I can do? Or is there something you need?”

              For a person that supposedly wasn’t good with words, Damien had a way of taking Valerie off guard. She couldn’t remember the last time anybody had asked her what she needed. She had always been able to provide for herself. Her first thought was to reach for the Saxon Matthews book and finish it with Damien. But did she really want to sit through another happy ending? If she was being honest with herself, what she really wanted…

              Valerie hesitantly leaned against Damien, unsure if he would be comfortable with it or if he would just push her away. His body stiffened but he didn’t move her. He looked a little nervous as she rested her head against his shoulder. She felt a little nervous herself.

              “Do you need me to –?” Damien asked.

              “No. I’m OK. Do you mind?”

              She thought she heard him swallow. “No.”

              “Thank you.” Those words didn’t seem big enough to convey her gratitude.

              “You’re welcome.” He shifted to put his arm around her. Valerie was surprised how comfortable and right it felt. After a while, even Damien seemed to relax. Then he said, “I’m glad you’re here.”              

Chapter 20

One moment, the town of Leola was covered with burnt leaves; the next, the rooftops were dusted with fresh snow. It piled up around the corners and in the alleyways, blocking several front doors, and burying the Aubrey cemetery, the gravestone, and the iron-gate. People bundled up to their throats with fur coats and scarves. Men shoveled a path through the snow to get to their shops.

              Even with a roaring fire in his office, Young Aubrey could not escape the chill that lingered on his shoulders. He stared out of the window toward the hill of the Aubrey grave. When he was a boy, he built a line of snowmen and shot at them with the bow his father gave him. Lord Aubrey would stand in the background, beaming with pride when Young Aubrey stuck an arrow between a snowman’s coal black eyes. Sometimes Captain Yendel would watch. Sometimes he would be beaming as well. 

              Are you filled with pride now, Father, wherever you are? Young Aubrey thought as the memory was muffled in the snowfall. Are there monsters in your sanctuary? Have they eaten your remains? Small flakes dusted the windowsill. Young Aubrey could barely make out the trees in the distance.

              All was silent. He heard nothing. Not a whisper.

              After all this time. Nothing.

              Someone knocked on his office door. He did not need to guess who it was.

              “Enter.”

              Young Aubrey did not bother looking behind him. Captain Jonasson took a moment to shake the snow off before speaking.

              “Good afternoon, my Lord,” he said.

              “What news do you bring?”

              “Nothing out of the ordinary, sir. Most are just complaining of the cold.”

              “And what do they say of me?” Young Aubrey dared to ask.

              “They wish you are in good health.”

              Young Aubrey showed Captain Jonasson the golden, humored side of his face. “You are a liar. And you are a terrible liar.” 

              The first time Young Aubrey asked this question of Captain Jonasson, he had been told, “Well, sir, they do not seem to mention you much. When I did speak your name they…they say they do not know you at all.”

              They knew you, Father, Young Aubrey thought. Even now they see your face.

              “Sir, is there anything else you’d like me to do?” Captain Jonasson asked. 

              “No.”

              Captain Jonasson must have sensed his melancholy, for he said, “Perhaps once the snow has melted, you can make another appearance.”

              He said more, but the words were muffled. It took everything in Young Aubrey not to turn around and strike him. Young Aubrey made an appearance once. He waved and smiled, but everyone was staring at his mask. He needn’t have bothered smiling. What would they do if I told them that I am the only thing standing in between them and the mouth of the demon? he wondered.  Would they scream? Would they cling to me and say, “Save us! Please, save us!”

              Or would they only laugh at him?

              He only knew they would not cheer. So he said nothing.

              “My Lord?” Captain Jonasson asked. His voice was very far away. “What did you think of my suggestion?”

              The Aubrey office slowly swam back into view, as though he was just now waking up. “Explain how that would help.” What that was, he didn’t know. He wasn’t paying attention.

              “Going to Merrion would help you see more of the people. Besides, my Lord, it will be nice to get away for a little while. You haven’t properly rested since your father passed.”

              Must we always talk about my father? Young Aubrey thought. But he had to admit, he was slightly intrigued by the idea of going to Merrion. It was a port town that took about two days to reach by carriage. It might be nice to go to a place where no one knew about his father, where no one ever worshipped him. Captain Jonasson was right; it would be a grand opportunity to introduce himself to other people.

              “If I go, will you take care of things while I’m gone?” Young Aubrey asked.

              “Of course, my Lord.”

              “Good. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with this task.”

              “Am I to take it that you will be departing?”

              “Yes, Captain. Thank you for the suggestion.”

*

              Damien did not know how it began. Like the snow, it felt as though it happened without warning. One moment he found himself doing dishes with Valerie—he washed while she dried—and the next he found himself spending almost all of his time with her. They shared all of their meals, they read books together, and they even lounged in front of the window, watching the silent world. Valerie showed him how to cook a few simple things. He helped her knead dough, and he helped her dust and scrub. Sometimes they would talk, usually about anything that happened to come to mind. When they did not talk, the silence was just as comfortable. Whenever Damien looked beside him, she was there, and that was enough for him.

              Her presence made leaving difficult, but he had to for their survival. Damien couldn’t make her responsible for taking care of them. He hated seeing the look of disappointment on her face, but he knew it would be much worse if she ever saw…if she ever knew.  When he returned, she was there to greet him with lunch or supper, and then things would go back to the way it was as if he had never left at all. For the rest of the day, he could forget. He could get lost in the words they exchanged, and he could be happy.

He could not remember the last time he was eager to know someone else’s thoughts regarding the ending of his favorite book or found himself curious about how someone else lived before now. Damien never believed that he was suited for such a life, yet here it was right before him, and it was perhaps the most exciting experience he ever had. He caught himself smiling more often than not, remembering one of Valerie’s jokes or silly stories she told from her childhood. As snowstorms cold enough to freeze your bones howled past the windows, Valerie and Damien spent their time with hot tea, sat by the fire, and enjoyed each other’s company. Once, they stayed up so late talking that they ended up sleeping on the loveseat on opposite sides. When they woke, Damien offered to make more tea, to which Valerie gave him a funny look. “I may be a shit cook,” he said, “but I can make a simple cup of tea.”

“This is good,” Valerie said after taking a sip. They sat in the kitchen. The window was blocked completely by snow. It was as though there was no outside world at all.

“Glad you like it,” Damien said. “It’s made with my secret recipe.”

Valerie looked quizzically at him over her cup. “And what, pray tell, is that?”

“I’d tell you but…well, then I’d have to kill you.”

“Ha. ha.” Valerie rolled her eyes. “Hilarious.”

“I thought you’d appreciate that joke.”

“I’m in stitches,” she deadpanned.

Damien laughed. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time this house was filled with…well, “humor” he supposed was the right word.

Valerie shook her head and smiled. It looked like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

“What?” Damien asked, unable to help himself.

“I…” She set her cup down gently. “I think my father would have liked you.”

It felt as though his heart was melting like butter, dripping, staining his ribs, and collecting in his stomach. Though he didn’t like what her father did to her, he understood how much the man meant to her. He couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“You know…I think I would have liked him, too.”

As he lay in bed late at night, staring up at the ceiling, an overwhelming feeling threatened to burst in his chest. He held on to that feeling for as long as he could, gripping it so tight that he feared it would choke and die. But the fear was not enough to make him let go. 

              “I’ve been thinking,” Valerie announced as they joined up in the parlor, “about when spring arrives.”

              Damien settled stiffly into the space beside her. He dreaded what she would say, but wasn’t it inevitable? This wasn’t supposed to be permanent. “And?” he asked because he could not bear the silence.

              “And I was thinking that perhaps we should go somewhere. Together. It wouldn’t have to be anywhere far.”

              It was better than he thought it would be, but still… “I don’t think that’s a wise idea.”

              Valerie sighed impatiently. “I want to be able to see more of the world. I’m not going to do that staying here.”

              “I know.” Why couldn’t they just go back to reading and talking about other things like they usually did? There wasn’t anything exciting out there. She wasn’t missing anything. Damien knew if he said that, however, she would only argue further.

              “You said that I had the option to go somewhere else,” Valerie reminded him.

              “What I meant was that you could…” He didn’t want to say it because what if she took him up on that offer? He had nothing to go back to if she left, and that scared him more than anything. “Valerie –”

              “It can’t be that dangerous if you were able to do it for so long,” she said determinedly.

              Dante and I barely managed, he thought. We had to do terrible things to live, and I don’t want you to have to do those terrible things and be like me. He would have told her all of that if he wasn’t such a coward.

              “Besides, I’ll be with you,” she said.

              You don’t know what you’re saying. “Where would you want to go?” he asked tentatively.

              “Are you saying we’re going at all?”

              “I…am considering it.”

              Her eyes lit up. He hated himself. “We could go to Merrion. Every year in the spring they have a festival. People from all across the world go. We could blend in with the crowd.”

              Damien’s ears twitched upon hearing the word “crowd.” He didn’t know if he wanted to be around people again, or if he even could. Then again, would this not be the perfect opportunity to prove himself? He couldn’t prove himself to Dante, not anymore. That was a lost cause. But maybe, if he walked around the crowd like a normal person, if he spent a normal day with Valerie, then perhaps it meant he was not really a monster. He looked into Valerie’s hopeful eyes, and he could feel it welling up inside him, too.

              “All right,” Damien said finally. “Merrion is a three day trip on foot, but if we plan ahead, we can do it.”

              Valerie’s smile was beautiful; there was no other word for it. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! We can get more books, and I can finally see the ocean, and there will be so much food there I won’t know what to do with myself.” She was talking so fast he could barely keep up with her. It seemed she was already planning their entire trip.

              Damien was planning, too. He told himself that if all went well, then maybe this could be permanent.

              If she decided to stay, maybe he could, too. 

Chapter 21

When Dante arrived at the old house, there was no light emanating from the windows. He peered inside and saw only shadows thrown against the wall. Out of politeness he knocked three times. He wondered if the girl would answer the door, if she was still here, or if she had taken his advice. Sometimes he wished he could do the same.

              When I saw you lying in that cage, I knew that no matter what, I would have done anything for you. Even now I am still paying that price. And he knew he still would.

              There was still no answer, so he knocked again. “It’s me. I brought your wine,” Dante called. He waited another minute. “If you don’t answer, I may start drinking it myself.”

              Silence and an unsettling stillness responded. Dante threw caution to the wind and tried the door.

              It opened without a fuss.

              Damien rarely ever left the door unlocked. The last time he had, Dante had found him lying on the couch with a bullet in his side. He called for his brother again and was met with an echo.

              Dirt was smeared across the floor. If the girl was still here, she was a poor housekeeper. Dante could see the footprints he left behind him. After a minute more of waiting, he climbed the stairs to Damien’s room. On the way, he caught a faint scent of the girl and stiffened.

              Damien’s room was empty. The sheets on his bed were lying in a haphazard pile as though someone had recently gotten out of it. Dante considered the possibilities of where his brother could have gone. He didn’t feel good about any of the possibilities. It meant more dirty business, and he was so tired of it. Is this my punishment for starting the fire? Or is it because I was so desperate to not be alone?

              In the end it did not matter. Dante would do what he had to in order to protect them both. If it meant more dirty business, then so be it.

              Dante returned downstairs and entered the kitchen and sat at the dining table. Did the girl occupy this space now? He considered starting on the wine and found his heart was simply not in it. He placed the bottle in the middle of the table. If the girl was still here, maybe he would even consider offering her a cup. He would make a toast to love—brotherly or otherwise.

*

              “Is that it?” Valerie asked breathlessly, pushing through the thin limbs of the bushes around her to get a better look. In the distance she could make out the brown and red stone of the buildings and the multicolored flags flapping in the fresh spring breeze. She could see the people, large, antlike clusters of them moving into the town.

              Damien stopped beside her. The end of his black cloak rippled around his feet. “Yes, that’s it,” he said quietly.

              Valerie let out a breath of relief. The weight of her bag sank heavily into her back and her calves were still throbbing from the day before. She did not believe they would ever emerge from the forest. For three straight days she saw nothing but trees and bushes and scattered pink blossoms. The only sounds around them were the crisp crunch of the foliage under their feet. At night, the stars were obscured by the branches and their tent. The soft chill of the damp earth seeped into their blankets, and they curled up together for warmth.

              In the end, she felt it had been worth it. Her belly bubbled with wonder and nervous excitement. She stood on her tiptoes to see if she could spot the ships or the ocean. There was a salty tang in the air. Was that the sea? I am here, she thought and she felt very much alive. 

              There was one last thing she had to do before they made a proper arrival.

              “I need to change,” Valerie announced.

              “Why?” Damien asked.

              “I can’t wear these trousers into town. It’s not something a lady would wear.” I haven’t felt much like a lady during these past three days, Valerie thought as she rummaged through her bag for her proper attire. She pulled out a lavender colored dress and walked back into the trees.

              She undid her braid and stripped off her clothes. It was something she would have previously been embarrassed about. The forest, however, shielded her body from unwanted stares. It was an oddly liberating and contained feeling all at once, as though she was alone in her room or locked in a birdcage. I should feel ashamed, she thought, but then why was she smiling? Why did she enjoy the feeling of the dirt between her toes or the beams of sunlight on her bare back? She didn’t try to answer; she enjoyed the moment for as long as she could.

              “Ta da!” Valerie sang as she stepped out from between the trees. She spun around. “What do you think? Do I look like a lady?”

              The hood over Damien’s face made it hard to read his expression. He had worn it for the entirety of their journey; even at night he kept it on. It was so warm out now; she didn’t know how he could bear it. 

Valerie missed seeing his face. Watching his reaction to the stories she’d tell, even the boring ones about her life in Leola. She missed the way his ears would twitch and the luminous glow of his unnatural eyes. They were unnatural, yes, but as familiar to Valerie as the world she was about to return to. It was going to be like this as long as they were in Merrion. That was one of the rules they discussed before embarking on this journey. One of many.

              “Yes,” he replied in a slightly somber tone.

              Valerie’s smile faded. She timidly moved beside him. “Are you ready to go?”

              He gave no answer. He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times.

              Valerie knew at once what was on his mind. It was something that had crossed hers a few times.

              What if someone discovers him?

              What if it all went horribly wrong?

              Instinctively, she reached for his hand. “Don’t worry,” she said with a smile. “As a lady, it is my duty to escort a gentleman such as yourself.”

              Valerie could feel Damien smiling back at her. “Then I suppose I should consider myself a lucky gentleman.”

              Hand in hand, they exited his world and walked into hers.

              The festival appeared to be in full swing by the time they stepped through the archway of Merrion. The cobbled streets were coated with pink spring blossoms and flooded with people. They shouted and called for each other; they sang over the violins and drums; they acted for a small crowd that gasped and applauded. It felt like they were in the middle of a storm; the sounds crashed in Valerie’s ears, and she found herself gripping Damien’s hand tighter as they walked through the throng.

She could not stop her eyes from wandering. Merrion was nothing like Leola. The tint of the red brick of the houses was as bright as the colors of the ladies’ gowns. The windows of the shops winked mischievously at her, inviting her to stop and look. And a few times she did. She took a few steps off the road to inspect the new fashions being displayed at the tailor’s. She couldn’t believe how much she had missed in such a short time. At the baker’s, she nearly pressed her nose against the glass as she took in the fresh scent of blueberry scones, and she watched as the baker pulled out a rack of bread from the oven. There were other smells dancing in the air: horse, spice, and sweat. It was hard not to linger by the stalls to examine the wares from the places beyond the sea. She was standing by a display of seashell necklaces when she felt Damien gently tug on her hand. 

“Oh, sorry,” she said, remembering herself.

When Damien replied, he seemed to be speaking through his teeth. “It’s all right. We’ll have plenty of time to look around after we’ve found an inn.”

He must be nervous, Valerie thought, with all these bodies pressing around us. She noticed that every time someone made to pass Damien, he’d stiffen and move closer to her.

“Come on,” Damien said. “I think we should go this way.”

Several minutes later, they arrived at one of the tallest buildings Valerie had ever seen—perhaps even taller than the Aubrey manor in Leola. Valerie had to crane her neck in order to take in the full view. The Centaur was clearly built with the festival in mind. The sign in front of the inn portrayed the mythical creature aiming a bow and arrow at an unseen foe. Inside, the walls were painted navy blue and had portraits of what must have been the sea hanging in bronze frames. The old woman at the desk was writing in a large book, her hooked nose nearly touching the pages. She sniffed sharply as though she was trying to locate the source of a putrid stench. Her eyes narrowed towards Valerie and Damien as they approached. 

              “Do I know you?” she asked Damien, squinting at him, trying to see beneath his hood.

              Valerie stopped in her tracks, but Damien approached the desk as though he had not heard her. “No,” he said as he fished into his pocket for some coin. “I need a room for Cara -”

              The old woman nodded and pointed at him. “Caraway, yes. You’ve been here before.” She then tapped the pages of her ledger. “You’ve been here a few times. Why, just last month was the last time I saw you.”

              Valerie felt as though there were worms burrowing through her stomach. She grabbed Damien by the arm. “Maybe we should –”

              “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Damien said. “I’ve never been here. You must be speaking of my brother.”

              “Dan –?” Valerie began. Damien held up his finger to silence her. She fought the impulse to clap a hand over her mouth.

              “Never said his name was Don. Never said he had a brother either. Last time he was here he caused a good deal of trouble at Mr. Weston’s shop. Apparently he stole from him. I promised that I would fetch the guards should he ever show up here again.”

              Valerie’s fingers dug into Damien’s arm. He placed his hand on hers in reassurance.

              “That won’t be necessary,” Valerie piped up. “Mr. Caraway here has never stolen anything in his life. It’s his brother that’s rotten.”

              “A likely tale. I get all kinds of rotten sort here, each spouting some fairy tale nonsense thinking they can pull wool over my eyes.”

              Damien placed a handful of coin on the desk. “I didn’t steal from anyone,” he said in a low, even tone. The old woman shrunk considerably, and even Valerie recoiled somewhat. She had never heard him speak that way before. Damien reached back into his pocket. “I’ve never been here before.” He placed more coin on the desk. “My companion and I are tired and we would like a room.” He held up a coin in his fingers and examined it. “You don’t want to fetch the guardsmen.” Gently, he placed the coin on top of the pile.

              There was an unspoken threat in his last words. The old woman could sense it, too, though she seemed to be fighting between her greed and her fear. Without a rebuttal, the old crone quickly fetched a key from a drawer behind her and slapped it on the desk.

              “You better not cause me any more trouble, Mr. Caraway,” the old woman said in a shaky voice as she quickly gathered her coin. “I run a good business here!”

              “I won’t cause you any trouble,” Damien said casually. “I just came here to enjoy the festival.”

              Once they were safely upstairs in their room, away from prying eyes and listening ears, Valerie asked quietly, “Was that really necessary?”

              Damien pushed the curtains aside to look out the large window. Light flooded the room and caused his shadow to fall on Valerie. He rubbed the top of his head. “I told you I wasn’t good with people.”

              “You threatened her.”                           

              “I coerced her,” Damien said, turning back to face Valerie. “I gave her what she wanted so she would leave us be.”

              “You could have handled that better.”

              “That was the only way I could have handled it.” He turned back to the window.

              “Why?”

              “Because we would have found ourselves in an unnecessary incident. Sometimes things like this have to happen. Sometimes I have to be unpleasant.”

              Valerie felt a slow shudder creep up her back. “I suppose I…understand to a certain degree.”

              She looked at the portrait that hung between the two beds. It depicted what must have been a ship in the middle of a purplish-gray storm. Forked lightning struck the water. The captain held his sword in the air as if he meant to catch it.

              “Have you really not been here before?” Valerie asked sheepishly.

              “I told you I haven’t. She was talking about Dante.”

              “OK. I’m sorry. I just want you to know that if you had been here before, you could tell me.”

Valerie lowered her gaze. She was embarrassed that she would even think of accusing him. But in that one moment, he had frightened her again.

Chapter 22

There was so much to see and do that Valerie felt like she and Damien were surrounded. It was hard to know what to do first and harder knowing that they weren’t going to have enough time to do it all. When Damien asked her what she wanted to do, she felt excited and small at the same time. She timidly wandered in vague directions toward stall owners that coaxed her nearer. Each display was as fantastical as the last: pearl necklaces, silk scarves, fruits she’d never heard of, brass telescopes, and, according to one stall owner, a compass that was used by a legendary dreaded pirate. And the food! Chocolates and pastries and fried fish, pies and puddings, caramels and turkey legs. Valerie didn’t have the coin to purchase anything. She knew Damien did but was ill at the thought of asking him for any. She merely enjoyed sight-seeing with Damien at her side, though she wasn’t sure if he was enjoying himself quite as much. He did not comment much on anything, though he was quick to tell her that the compass was fake. He and Valerie shared some fried fish, and while Valerie found it a little too salty, Damien said that it was merely all right. When people came too close to him, he stiffened and did his best to move out of their way. 

              After an hour or so of looking around at the shops and the street performers, Valerie saw the most incredible thing. She stopped Damien and pointed ahead of them.

              “You have to be kidding me,” he said.

              The sign in front of the large purple tent was a crude painting depicting what appeared to be a tan, muscular man with a waif looking woman in his arms. The words Saxon Matthews and the Dragon’s Keep was painted across them in slanted black letters. Valerie could not stop smiling at how beautifully awful it was.

              “We have to see it,” she said.

              “I was afraid you were going to suggest that.”

              Valerie laughed.

              When they entered the tent, they saw that it was practically empty. Three women sat as close to the little stage as possible, fanning themselves and whispering. Valerie and Damien chose to sit at the back. As soon as they took their seats, the play began. An actor rushed out onto the stage brandishing a wooden sword. He looked nothing like Valerie’s imagination, but she didn’t care, once he shouted the words, “Hold on, my dear Caroline, I will slay the beast!” she was convinced that Saxon Matthews really had stepped out of the pages. The acting was horrible, the story was silly, and the romance made Valerie laugh more than swoon, but she loved every minute of it. There was something about the way the actors were saying their lines that made it seem as though they were all too aware that this wasn’t to be taken seriously. Even Damien chuckled a few times and shook his head. Valerie was glad to see that he was finally at ease.

              As they sat there together, Valerie almost felt like they were back at the house, sitting in front of the hearth with the book between them. Sometimes, she found herself looking over at him, and she was glad that he was there with her. She wouldn’t have wanted to share this with anyone else.

              When the play ended, Valerie got on her feet and applauded the loudest. The actor that played Saxon Matthews blew her a kiss and tossed her a rose. Blushing, she tucked it in her bun and blew a kiss right back.

              “That was amazing,” Valerie said as they exited the tent.

              “That was…better than I thought it would be,” Damien replied.

              “Really?”

              “Yes. Saxon Matthews…he’s not a bad man.”

              “Even if he slayed the beast?” Valerie teased.

              “Sometimes the beast needs to be slayed.”

                 The play ignited a fire in Valerie. She no longer wanted to see; she wanted to do. She decided to test her skill at the games, getting into a few “friendly” competitions with Damien. They tossed balls at lines of bottles, which Damien handily won before Valerie could even knock over her third. They tied when they had to guess which hat the marble lay under. The one game Valerie was quite good at was tossing horse shoes. She managed a dead ringer at her second attempt and won a handsome leather coin bag, which she gave to Damien.

“It’s driving me mad that you keep digging into your pocket,” she said as she handed it over.  She wished that she could see his face to gauge his reaction. His thanks was almost too soft to hear.

From the games, they moved on to the attractions. Valerie volunteered herself to be an assistant in a magic show, where she had to pull an endless array of scarves out of the magician’s pocket. In the strongman show, she sat in a chair while one of the men lifted her high into the air. She let out a little yelp and gripped the seat as tightly as she could, fearing for a few moments that she would fall. It was amazing and frightening to look down at all those cheering people. Finally, she participated in a line of dancing girls, twirling and fanning herself like a temptress. As she danced, she felt like she did not have to be Valerie Mason if she did not want to be. She could be anyone in this crowd. This is what it’s like, she thought as she curtsied with the line of girls. This is what it’s like to lose yourself.

Damien mostly watched from the side, usually trying to distance himself from as many people as possible. Valerie was a little disheartened by the sight. If she could be anyone she wanted, why couldn’t Damien? Sometimes I have to be unpleasant.

Valerie was thoroughly tired by sundown. However, as soon as Damien asked her if she wanted to see the ocean before supper, she immediately forgot her fatigue. This was really what she was waiting for.

She caught wind of the briny, salty scent before she saw it. Her belly fluttered with excitement; she found herself reaching for Damien’s hand and holding it rather tightly, to the point where he asked her if she was all right. She didn’t know why she should be so nervous. Maybe it was because she feared disappointment. This was built up so large in her head that she feared it would never match her expectations.

It did.

Like the festival, Valerie did not know where to direct her gaze first: the magnificent ships, larger than any building she had ever seen, or the dark blue ocean, so vast that she could not comprehend traveling across it. Behind the ships, the setting sun looked as though it was sinking into the water. How deep does it go? she wondered as she leaned over the railing. She could only see her stunned reflection looking back up at her. Water lapped gently at the docks where men were throwing fish at each other and pulling up nets from the depths. The salty breeze teased the hair around Valerie’s face and the edges of Damien’s cloak.

“This has been one of the best days of my life,” Valerie said when she found her voice. She turned to Damien. “Thank you for taking me.”

“I wasn’t going without you,” he replied.

Valerie sheepishly looked back down at their reflections. “Do you think we’ll ever board a ship together?”

“I don’t know,” Damien said. “Sailing is harder than traveling by foot. At least when you’re walking, you know there’s a good chance that you can go back.”

“What if I don’t want to go back?”

He looked at her. “What are you trying to say?”

Valerie bit her lip. “What if…What if we just kept going? We don’t have to be trapped in that house forever.” As soon as she said it, she remembered that Damien still had Dante, and it was unlikely that he would want to leave him. Valerie only had Damien, and she didn’t know if she wanted to go anywhere without him, either.

“Do you feel trapped?”

“No, not at all. It’s just that seeing all of this made me feel like we could do anything.”

Damien was silent for a moment. “Where would you want to go?”

“The city on the sea. I want to know what a city looks like. I feel so ignorant about the things I haven’t seen. And I want…I want to go with you.” She added hurriedly, “Mostly because you would be able to show me around. I would absolutely hate getting lost.” Her palms were sweating on the railing. Why couldn’t she just keep quiet? “It was just a suggestion.”

The uneasy silence was filled with questions that Valerie feared the answers to.

“We’ll do it,” Damien announced.

“What?” Valerie asked, not sure if she heard him correctly.

“We’ll board a ship. I’ll take you to the city on the sea. We’ll go wherever you want.”

Valerie released a breath of relief. If she was a braver lady, she would have reached up and kissed him. On the cheek, of course. “Really?”

“With you,” he said. “Yes.”

*

              The roads were too clogged with people for Young Aubrey to take his horse. It made no matter to him. Perhaps the walk would do him some good. The crowd made way for him, pointing and gasping. Few admired the craftsmanship of his mask or the brilliant red of his cape. Children gaped at him and pointed and asked their parents, “Who is that man?” “Someone very important,” was the reply. Clearly not important enough for you to know my name, Young Aubrey thought bitterly as he did his best to ignore the fascinated stares. He thought he would be used to such behavior, yet it still managed to prick his skin like a thorn. He shrugged his shoulders and walked with as much pride as he could muster.

              “May I ask where we are going, my Lord,” one of the guardsmen asked.

              “We’re simply going to enjoy the festival,” Young Aubrey replied. He spotted a few performers wearing masks of their own. They were fashioned in the shape of animal heads. Young Aubrey sneered. He deliberately turned away from them to walk down the road on his right, towards the smell of searing meat and fresh spice.

              “Why do such self-proclaimed civilized people decide to dress in such a vulgar manner?” Young Aubrey asked.

              “Some people take the celebration too far, my Lord,” his guard replied. He pointed up ahead of them. “For instance, look at that man over there. Dressed like a common criminal, in my opinion.”

              Young Aubrey stared at the black-cloaked figure that was making his way down the road. He felt a small twinge of fear but suppressed it. He sneered at the unsightly attire, though he had to admit he was fairly curious. Why would a man choose to hide his face? 

              “I think someone is in love.”

              “What?” Young Aubrey snapped, inclining his head behind him to see which of his men made that stupid remark.

              “Thomas, sir. He can’t keep his eyes off that man’s female companion.” The guard nudged Thomas with his elbow.

              Young Aubrey returned his attention to the man, and saw that there was indeed a female companion walking by his side. She was smiling up at him, speaking to him as though he was another friendly face in the crowd. Young Aubrey passively thought she was rather pretty and couldn’t understand why she would associate herself with someone who didn’t even dare show his face.

              “I’m not in love,” Thomas protested. “I simply think I’ve seen her before, in Leola.”

              Young Aubrey raised his good eyebrow. “Is that so? How certain are you?”

              “A little,” Thomas replied. “Last time I saw the poor girl, I was informing her that her father was dead. I’m glad to see her well, if that is indeed her. It was quite a tragedy.”

              Young Aubrey spoke his next words slowly. “Then I wonder who on earth that man is.”

              “I’ve no idea, sir. Could be a relative. Could be her husband.”

              “They’re not intimate enough for him to be her husband.”

              The guard on his right chuckled. “Is my Lord in love too?”

              Young Aubrey watched as the black cloaked stranger and his companion disappear into the pub on their left.

              “I don’t know about love, but I do find myself rather parched. How would you gents feel about stopping for a drink?”                                         

*

              The Golden Apple was as loud and bawdy as any pub Damien had ever visited. In the far corner from where Damien and Valerie were sitting, two men were arm wrestling. A drunken man angrily threw his cup against the wall, creating a yellowish-brown splatter. Another man was playing the piano near the bar, badly, and yelling his love song more than actually singing it. Barmaids hurried from one table to the next, topping off drinks and delivering plates of fried pig skin. Damien knocked back his second drink in record time, praying that it would wash away all the lies he told. Valerie wrinkled her nose at the drink in front of her. Instead, she focused her attention on the plate of pig skin. 

              “Are you all right?” Valerie asked.

              Damien took his last gulp and loudly set his cup down. “I’m fine,” he said. “I was just thirsty.” How many more lies was he going to tell today? He felt as though Valerie was eating his heart off her plate.

              “Is there anything you want to do while we’re here? I realize I’ve been sort of leading you around.”

              “I don’t mind.” As long as you’re happy, he thought. That’s the least I can do for you.

              “Is there any place you want to go? After this, I mean.”

              There was a confession choking his throat and staining his lips. I can tell her, and she will hate me and I can go back to…what? I didn’t have anything before this. The real question he had to ask himself: How selfish am I?

              “Valerie –”

              At that moment, the door opened, and the noise faded into silence as a boy and his guardsmen stepped inside. The golden mask the boy wore glinted in the sparse light. The boy’s eyes flickered over to where Damien and Valerie sat. I remember you, Damien thought with a twinge of fear. He looked over at Valerie, who stared curiously at the boy.

              “What’s Lord Aubrey’s son doing here?” she whispered.

              Damien neither knew nor cared to know. “I think we should leave,” he muttered.

              Valerie stared dubiously at him. “Why?”

              “Patrons, please don’t let me disturb your fun,” Young Aubrey announced as he took his seat at one of the stools.

              “I would like to keep away from important people such as him,” Damien said.

              The noise started to pick up. Young Aubrey took in his surroundings as he drank, smiling pleasantly at the man who began to sing off key again. He raised a cup to his men.

Valerie studied Damien’s blank face for a moment. “All right,” she said. “Should we go now?”

“Wait.”

Damien carefully raised his cup to his lips, though it had long been emptied. When he was done, he set his cup on the table and rose to his feet. Valerie followed suit. They were about to head for the door when Young Aubrey called out.

“Miss? Excuse me, miss!”

He maneuvered around the tables to approach them. Damien nearly grabbed hold of Valerie’s arm, nearly ran out the door and into the night. If she’s going to find out my misdeeds, I’d rather she hear it from me, he thought. Or maybe I’d rather she not know at all.

Young Aubrey smiled at her, yet for some reason the expression appeared more natural on the golden half of his face. He dug into his pockets as he spoke, “Forgive me, miss, but I believe you may have dropped this on the road.” He procured a white handkerchief and held it out to her.

“That’s not mine, sir,” Valerie said quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, then.” Young Aubrey stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. “I apologize for wasting your time, miss…?” He waited for her to fill in the blank.

“Caraway.”

“And would this fine gentleman be your husband?”

“No,” Damien and Valerie said together.

Young Aubrey’s good eyebrow rose. “Oh. Pardon me for assuming – Are you… betrothed?”

Damien and Valerie started to talk over each other.

“We’re not –”

“He’s my –”

“I’m her father.”

It was the only thing he could come up with at the time.

Young Aubrey’s good eye flitted between the two of them, and only his mask remained smiling. After several tense seconds, he started to laugh. “Oh, of course. I can see the resemblance.” He showed his teeth as he laughed.

It took a moment too long for either of them to react. Valerie forced a laugh and gently placed her hand on Damien’s arm as a way of encouraging him to do the same. Damien gave a half-hearted chuckle.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Aubrey of Leola.” He gave a courteous bow. “Perhaps, as a way of apology, I could buy you both a drink?”

“We need to be going,” Damien said curtly.

“But thank you for the offer, my Lord,” Valerie added. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

Young Aubrey’s good eye lingered on Valerie too long. He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. Damien curled his hands into fists.

“Likewise, my dear,” Young Aubrey said. “I do hope I get to see you again.”

Valerie gave no reply. She bowed and quickly left with Damien.

*

Young Aubrey returned to his men. He addressed Thomas while staring at the patrons.

“That girl I spoke with. You said her father is dead?”

“If that is the girl I am thinking of, then yes. He is.”

“What is her name?”

“Oh, I’m not sure, my Lord. I believe her father’s surname was Mason.”

Young Aubrey nodded and pressed his fingertips together.

“Did you find out whom that man was, sir? Is he her husband?”

“No, Thomas. He’s not her husband.”

“Then who is he, my Lord?”

The drunken man at the piano banged on the keys. His love song turned into choked warbling as he began to sob. Young Aubrey watched this tortured display for a few moments before answering.

“He is a liar.”

Chapter 23

Valerie and Damien walked down the road in silence. It wasn’t an altogether comfortable silence and Damien wasn’t exactly sure where they were headed. It looked like they were coming across the square. At any rate, Damien was too preoccupied with thoughts on their encounter with Lord Aubrey. He could only imagine what Valerie was thinking. He wished he knew of some way to comfort her, to ease her mind. When she glanced at him, he could see the worry etched on her brow, and he could feel that she desperately wanted to ask him something. He did not know if she kept to herself out of good manners or if she did not want to know the answer. Even if she did ask, he did not know what he would tell her. This is my life, he thought.

              When they approached the square, they saw couples dancing around the fountain. A small band was playing in the corner besides a few barrels of wine. Those who did not dance helped themselves to a few cups and watched from the sidelines. It took a moment for Damien to notice that Valerie had stopped walking. He took two steps back to rejoin her.

              “Would you like to…dance?” Valerie asked. Her eyes darted across his face. A slow blush painted her cheeks.

              How best to answer this question without hurting her feelings…that was the endless struggle, wasn’t it? He cleared his throat. “I’m, uh – I’m still a bit sore.” He patted his side. “I don’t think I’d make a good dance partner.” The truth was his side had not pained him for quite some time. However, he needed an excuse, and for now that was all he had.

              “Oh. Right.” Valerie nodded at the ground. “I only thought…Well, I suppose I wasn’t thinking.”

              Damien looked over at the dancers. “Why don’t you go over there and join them? I’m sure somebody would…” He couldn’t finish the rest of it.

              Valerie followed his gaze then turned back to him, uncertain.

              “Go ahead,” he said. He pointed to a general direction by the band. “I’ll just be over there somewhere, keeping an eye on things.”

              Valerie opened her mouth to say something but appeared to change her mind. She offered a small smile. “All right.”

              He watched her walk away. She met up with a group of girls who excitedly embraced her. Damien’s old gunshot wound had flared up again. Was it out of guilt? Shame? He did his best to ignore it.

              There didn’t seem to be a place for him beside the band or the inviting wine barrels, so he leaned against a closed shop and crossed his arms.

              A young man began to dance with Valerie. He did not have to hear her to know that she was laughing.

              Every now and then, Damien would lose sight of her in the crowd, and a sudden fear clenched his chest like a fist. The truth was he was jealous. Of her. Of the man. Of the men that she would have. Of the one that would take her to bed and the one whose last name she would take in return. Of the places she would go and the fear she would not have when she went to them. Of the life that she would lead without him.

              The song ended and the dancers applauded. Valerie and the young man were catching their breaths as they waited for the band to play another song.

              That’s when Lord Aubrey stepped into view.

              Damien stood at attention as he watched Lord Aubrey cut in between Valerie and the young man. Valerie looked over Lord Aubrey’s shoulder to see her previous partner grab the hand of another girl. She had no choice but to dance with Lord Aubrey.

*

              “I confess I am rather happy to see you again,” Lord Aubrey said with a facsimile of a charming smile.

              Valerie did not like the way his hand was pressed against her back, the way he tried too hard to gently hold her hand, as though he was not fully capable of being gentle. Her eyes darted between his and the people around them. She saw only a myriad of strangers. What must Damien make of this? She didn’t know what to make of it herself, and it unnerved her that he was so hard to find.

              Her response was a heartbeat too late. “Likewise, my Lord.”

              If he heard the false modesty in her tone, he did not remark on it. “Ms. Caraway, may I ask for your first name?”

              Valerie bit her lip. She saw no reason as to why she should lie about that. “Valerie.”

              “What a pretty name.”

              “Thank you, my Lord.”

              He spun her around twice as the dance dictated. She saw a blur of faces and colors rushing past her.

“I expected your father to be nearby.”

              “He is,” Valerie said quickly. Perhaps if Lord Aubrey was aware, he would leave her be. “He’s over by the barrels.”

              Lord Aubrey looked over the top of her head as they spun around together. “You mean by the shop.”

              Valerie tried not to blush. “Yes, sir, that’s what I meant.”

              “He doesn’t dance?”

              She briefly lowered her gaze. “He suffered an injury not too long ago. He’s still sore from it.”

              “Oh, my. What on earth happened?”

              “A hunting accident. Someone shot him.”

              Valerie did not like the way Lord Aubrey was looking at her, as though he was trying to peer into her head and root out her secrets.

              “That is very unfortunate,” he said slowly. “He is lucky to be alive.”

              “Yes.” Valerie thought it was best to move away from the subject of Damien right now. “May I ask my Lord why he is here?”

              Lord Aubrey chuckled. “I was looking for you, my dear.”

              “What for, my Lord?”

              “I wanted to dance with you.”

              If she could pull away now, she would. She would look away from the cold smile. But Lord Aubrey’s grip felt like it was becoming tighter, as though he knew her thoughts, as though he was in the middle of reading them right now and wanted to get to the end.

              Valerie did her best to regain her composure. “You…flatter me, my Lord. But there are plenty of other girls who –”

              “I have no interest in dancing with the other girls. As I said, I wanted to dance with you.” He released her hand to tuck one of her stray hairs behind her ear. Valerie tried not to flinch. “Tell me, my dear, have you ever been to Leola?”

              Valerie was spared answering that question when Damien appeared. She nearly breathed out in relief. Lord Aubrey released her. The couples danced awkwardly around the trio, giving them dirty stares as they did so.

              “Oh, hello, Mr. Caraway. We were just talking about you. I am very sorry to hear about your recent accident. Tell me, did they ever catch the fool that mistook you for an animal?”

              “No,” Damien said, “it was an honest mistake.”

              Lord Aubrey laughed. “Well, not to worry, sir, I am taking good care of your daughter.” He made to grab Valerie’s hand again.

              “I would like to cut in,” Damien said.

              Lord Aubrey was taken aback. “Your daughter said that you –”

              “I’m well enough to dance.”

              Valerie could not help herself; she broke into the widest smile. For a moment she forgot Lord Aubrey entirely. She reached for Damien’s hand, but before pulling him into the crowd, she remembered herself and said to Lord Aubrey, “Thank you for the dance, my Lord.” And then he was far behind them.

*

              As Damien allowed himself to be led into the throng, a million thoughts raced in his head, the most prominent of them being, What on earth do I think I’m doing? They should have retreated back to the inn. They should have disappeared. But his legs were moving in her direction and he could not even begin to think of stopping them.

              When they were far enough away from Lord Aubrey, hidden amidst the clusters of bodies pressing around them, Valerie turned to face him. She grabbed one of his hands and placed it on her waist, the other she held in hers. It felt like there was a bullet stuck in his throat.

              Very slowly, Valerie guided him into the steps. They weren’t exactly following the rest of the dancers or the rhythm of the music, but Valerie did not seem bothered by it. Water had replaced the muscles in Damien’s legs, and he felt them tremble as he took one uncertain step after the other. He accidentally stepped on her foot and she winced but did not pull away. I can’t do this, he thought. But he kept trying because Valerie was still smiling and he would hate to be the reason for that to vanish.

              Her body was so close to his; he could feel her hip undulating under his hand and his head was pounding as loud as his heart—so loud that he swore the other people around them could hear it. But Damien didn’t really care if they could. In fact, nothing much seemed to matter. All the people melted away. Lord Aubrey was long gone.

              He forgot he was a monster. He felt that he could truly live in this world with her; they would get a house somewhere and maybe they would open their own shop, and why did he ever believe that she would walk away or that this wouldn’t work because she was here right now looking at him, smiling at him. Look how happy she is. I make her happy. In her eyes he could see the warm ocean of possibilities, and if he simply leaned forward he could bathe himself in her waters. He would gladly let himself drown.

              All he had to do was lean forward…

              Valerie gasped and pulled away. “What are you doing?” she whispered. Her frightened eyes darted around them to make sure no one was looking.

              The song was over. The people around him cheered and whistled. His body felt heavy.

              “Nothing,” he said quickly. “I was – it was nothing.”

              She looked up at him quizzically, her right eyebrow arched as though waiting for him to say more to explain himself. Please don’t look at me like that, he thought. Please don’t look at me like I’m a stranger.

              “I didn’t…m-mean to…” When did the air get so thin?

              She tried to crack a smile, but he could tell she was forcing it. “Didn’t mean to what?”

              “I don’t know.”

              The band struck up another song. All around them, the people started to dance once more.

              Damien swallowed. “Do you want to dance again?”

              Valerie blushed. “I – I think I need to rest for a moment.”

              Of course, Damien thought. “All right. I’ll be right back.”

              “Where are you going?”

              He didn’t answer. He pushed through the dancers. A few of them called him an idiot. They weren’t wrong. After he reached the wine barrels, he poured himself a cup and downed it as fast as he could. Then he poured himself another and another, until his stomach was full to bursting and he felt as though he would be sick—until his mind was numb and he did not have the strength to think much about anything.

              “Damien?”

              He felt a little dizzy as he turned around to face her. Nothing was funny but he laughed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the same hand that had gently held hers.

              “Can we go back now?” Valerie asked. “It’s late and I’m tired.”

              Me too.

              When they walked back to the inn together, the space between them was larger than before. Damien stared at the ground as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. He didn’t know how he managed to reach the inn without falling.

              Valerie had him wait outside their door while she changed into her nightgown. She knocked to let him back in, and once he was inside, she turned her back to him and busied herself with arranging her pillows. Damien removed his gloves and fumbled with the strings of his cloak. He had somehow managed to create a knot that he could not undo.

              Valerie sighed and approached him. “Here,” she said as she began to help him.

              Her eyes were completely focused on the task at hand. Damien stared down at her as she did so. He had a strong impulse to reach up and hold her hands and he wondered if she would let him. Several words bubbled up to his mouth.

              “There you are,” Valerie said. She got on her tiptoes, and at first he thought she was reaching up to kiss him, but she merely pushed his hood back. Stupid, he thought. Then she took the cloak off his shoulders and went to hang it on the peg in the wall.

              Damien sat on his bed and leaned up against the headboard. Valerie was about to go to hers when he patted the space beside him. “Do you want to sit for a moment?”

              She hesitated. Her cheeks reddened again. “OK.”

              She sat beside him gingerly, as though she was afraid of breaking something. Damien moved over a little so she could have more room. Though her arm, leg, and hip touched his, Damien still felt like she was too far away. He resisted the urge to pull her closer and keep her there.

              The silence was overbearing and his head was foggy. He had to say something.

              “You, uh…You looked very nice tonight,” Damien said. “I thought I would let you know.”

              Valerie twisted her hair around her finger. “Thank you. You, um, you danced well. It was very nice.”

              Damien laughed.  “It was. Better than I thought it would be, anyway.” He folded his fingers together. “I was having a lot of thoughts, actually.”

              “About what?”

              Damien shook his head. If I told you, you would think I’m disgusting. “I don’t want anything to change between us,” he said softly.

              Valerie searched his face. He wondered what she found. “Neither do I. I don’t understand why you think they would.”

              The words were bubbling up again. The beginnings of a confession. They were on the tip of his tongue, staining his lips.

              “I don’t know,” he said and forced himself to smile. “I guess I was worried.”

              “Well you don’t have to be,” Valerie said and mirrored his smile. “I value our friendship too much.”

              Friendship. How could such a harmless word hurt so much? “Me too.”

              “I’m going to get some sleep. Unless there was something else you wanted to talk about…”

              She stared up at him expectantly.

              Damien took in a breath.

              “No. I’m fine. Goodnight.”

              “Goodnight.”

              She left his bed and returned to hers, laying on her side with her back to him. After several minutes, Damien tucked himself in and tried to get some sleep, but his stomach was cramped as though he had eaten something foul. He just laid there with his eyes wide open. He wished he had told her to stay there with him. If only he was brave enough.

              He did not know how much time passed, but eventually he heard her move. She quickly crept across the room and tucked herself in beside him. Through her back, he felt her nervous heartbeats. And there was something else there, hidden in the sound.

              Fear.

              It was the same fear he was having now. What would happen next? Where would they go from here? He was so very tired of these questions and even more exhausted by the fact that he had no answers.

              At some point, he heard her breathing slow into the steady rhythm of sleep. As quietly as he could, he rolled over and placed his arm around her. He pulled her toward him. He reached for her hand. You are the only good thing I have left, he thought. 

I love you.

              Please forgive me.

              There were brisk footsteps in the hall. His ear moved toward the sound, but he fought to stay asleep. Morning light was streaming into the room. Damien could feel the heat pressing against his eyelids. He did not want to let go. Not yet.

              Someone was speaking. It was a voice he thought he recognized.

              “…told him I didn’t want any trouble! I knew I shouldn’t have let him stay here.”

              “My good woman, he isn’t in any trouble. I simply want to have a chat with him. That’s all.”

              “Well forgive me, my Lord, but when you bring your men in here to accompany you, I hardly think that you’re stopping by for a mere chat!”

              “My men are a precaution.”

              “For what?”

              The question went unanswered.

              There was a knock at the door.

              “Mr. Caraway?”

              Damien’s eyes flew open.

              “I know he’s in there. I didn’t see him leave yet. You always notice what those sorts are up to. Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have let him stay here. I knew I shouldn’t have!”

              “Mr. Caraway? Are you in there?”

              Valerie stirred beside him. “What’s going on?” she mumbled.

              Damien quickly released her and sat up. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.” He put on his boots, gloves, and his cloak. He double checked to make sure his entire form was covered before answering the door.

              The smile of the golden mask was the first thing he saw.

              “Good afternoon, Mr. Caraway,” Lord Aubrey said.

Chapter 24

“What do you want?” Damien said more harshly than he intended. The two guardsmen flanking Lord Aubrey stared reproachfully at him while the old crone stood in the background and peered over Lord Aubrey’s shoulder in a way that made it look like she was attempting to sniff out trouble. Damien used his body and the door to block their view of Valerie and prayed that she was still asleep.

              “I didn’t call them here, Mr. Caraway!” The old woman piped up.  “I told you I didn’t want any trouble.”

              “Madam,” Lord Aubrey said and slowly turned his gaze upon her. “You’re business is finished here. Thank you for your time.”

              “But, m’Lord –”

              “Thank you. You may go.”

              The old woman was fraught with indecision for a moment—torn between wanting to protect her business and wanting to put her nose in theirs. It wasn’t until Lord Aubrey impatiently waved her off that she finally scurried away, glancing behind her as she made her way back down the hall.

              “Now,” Lord Aubrey said, turning his attention back to Damien. He clapped his hands in front of him. “Forgive me. I did not know which room was yours.”

              But you knew I was here, Damien thought.

              “I was wondering if you would like to join me for lunch.”

              Damien’s eyes were focused on the guardsmen, particularly at the rifles holstered on their backs. He spoke slowly, “V – Ms. Caraway is asleep.”

              “Of course. No doubt from all the excitement of last night.” Lord Aubrey laughed as though he had made a witty joke. “But I was rather hoping to speak to you alone.”

              “Why?”

              “You shall address my master as My Lord,” said the guardsman to Lord Aubrey’s right.

              Lord Aubrey waved him off. “It’s all right. He’s probably never had a chance to speak to a Lord. Have you?”

              “Not very many,” Damien said.

              “So you will be forgiven in that regard. Now, about lunch –”

              “You haven’t answered my question.”

              Lord Aubrey worked his jaw as though he was biting back the words he really wanted to speak. “I thought it rude that I danced with your daughter before making myself acquainted with you.”

              Damien took a deliberate step back into the room. “That’s hardly necessary. Thank you, but I –” He attempted to close the door, but Lord Aubrey slapped his hand against it.

              “I insist.” Lord Aubrey showed his clenched teeth when he smiled.

              Damien felt his nerves twist tightly into a knot. He had his doubts, but he knew he could not refuse. It would make things worse than they already were.

              What was he going to tell Valerie?

              “Well?” Lord Aubrey asked expectantly.  

              What choice do I have? “Just let me tell her where I’m going,” Damien said. With a great struggle, he softly closed the door. He so very badly wanted to slam it on that golden face.

              He stood by the door with a strong churning in his gut. Across from him was Valerie, still sleeping soundly. He so wished he could join her again.

              This may be the last time, he thought as he slowly crossed the room. His mind was aflutter with all sorts of maddening thoughts. It felt like frightened birds were taking flight in his head. If this was to be the last time, then what would happen to her? All he knew was that he could not let Lord Aubrey take her. He knelt beside the bed and reluctantly roused her.

              “Valerie,” he whispered.

              She shifted and slowly opened her eyes. Her lips parted slightly as though she was about to say something. Then she rolled on her back and stretched. “What time is it?”

              “Early,” Damien lied. He swallowed before continuing; he was not entirely sure what he was about to say. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “I’m going out to, uh, get us a map so we can make plans for where to go next. Maybe I’ll also stop by and pick up some more supplies. It shouldn’t take me long.”

              He was glad his face was covered. He was certain that his expression would betray him.

              “Do you want me to go with you?” she asked.

              “No, no. I’ll be all right. You get your rest.” The confession nearly burned a hole in his chest. “I’ll be back before you know it.” He sounded more determined than he felt. But some part of him deigned this was true: he would do whatever it took to come back here. He would not abandon her.

              And if it came to it, he would end Lord Aubrey.

              “OK.” Her eyes were already closing.

              Damien swallowed again. I’m not brave enough. “Listen…If I’m not back –”

              She rolled over.

              Damien stood up and stared down at her. He wanted to rest his hand against her back and feel her heart beat one last time, but he did not allow himself the luxury. 

              With that, he left the room. Lord Aubrey was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He uncrossed them when Damien stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

              “Are you ready to go?” Lord Aubrey asked with his false smile plastered across the good half of his face.

              “I suppose so,” Damien said.

              Lord Aubrey led the way while Damien walked between the two guardsmen. On their way out of the inn, the old woman watched them out of the corner of her eye as she pretended to sweep. She muttered something under her breath. You were right, Damien thought, you should not have let me stay.

              The guardsmen gave people another reason to stare at Damien. Women whispered to each other, children pointed, and a few men swapped coin as they made bets as to what was going on. Believe me, I wish I knew, Damien thought as he followed Lord Aubrey down the road. Damien had a vision of Lord Aubrey leading him into an alley and ordering his men to shoot him.

              “I hope you don’t mind us returning to that quaint little pub where we first met?” Lord Aubrey announced. “Due to all the noise, we may be afforded some privacy.”

              Privacy, yet still in the public eye. That did little to ease Damien’s suspicions. Did Lord Aubrey plan to expose him at some point? That would certainly make it harder for Damien to escape.

              “Tell me, Mr. Caraway, is this your first time in Merrion?” Lord Aubrey asked over his shoulder.

              “Yes.”

              “The old woman at the front desk told me otherwise.”

              Of course she did. “The old woman at the front desk is confusing me with someone else. She’s been saying that since I arrived.”

              “Why do you suppose that is?”

              “Is this some sort of interrogation? I thought we were going to lunch.”

              Lord Aubrey laughed. “No need to be so defensive, Mr. Caraway. I was merely being curious.”

              The Golden Apple was just as crowded as the day before. Even in the early hours of the afternoon, men were drunkenly stumbling around, looking as though they were lost. The man at the piano was gone, replaced by a man playing a violin in the corner. The sweet sounds of the strings clashed with the wild nature of the patrons. Unlike before, none of them seemed to pay any mind to Damien or Lord Aubrey. They went about their business obliviously.

              Only the pub owner recognized Lord Aubrey instantly. He was quick to show off his good manners and even offered what he deemed “the best seat in the house,” which was a small table directly beside the frosted window. Damien supposed that this was deemed the best seat because the chairs were the least crooked. As he took his seat, the guardsmen stood behind him.

              At least Lord Aubrey was no fool.

              “What can I do you for, sirs?” a barmaid asked as she sidled up beside their table, her hand on her hip.

              “I heard,” Lord Aubrey said, “that you serve a pigeon pie that is absolutely to die for.”

              “You’d be correct in that thinking, sir. All of our pies are excellent.”

              “Wonderful. Why don’t you serve up a piece for myself and my companion. Oh, and we’ll also take two glasses of your finest ale.”

              The barmaid winked at him. “Of course, sir. Be back in a moment.”

              Once she was gone, Damien said, “I hope you know I’m not paying for this.”

              Lord Aubrey chuckled. “I didn’t expect you to be able to, Mr. Caraway. Don’t worry; lunch is on me.”

              Damien was about to make a comment that he could afford it, but he felt that unwise. If he wants to believe himself charitable, let him. It makes no difference to me. “May I ask why you’ve invited me out here?”

              “It’s as I said, sir. I wanted to get to know you.”

              “There’s getting to know me and then there’s having your men posted at my back, looking as though they’re waiting for the order to arrest me.”

              Lord Aubrey knitted his fingers together. “They’re here to protect me.”

              “Are you expecting me to do something dangerous?”

              “No.” He showed his teeth when he smiled. “But it’s a necessary…evil.”

              Damien did not like the way Lord Aubrey’s good eye lingered on him. The boy Lord knew something. Whatever that was, Damien did not want to stay to find out.

              The barmaid returned with their drinks and told them the pies would not be too much longer. It gave Damien enough time to come up with something to say.

              “Listen, I’m not much of a…conversationalist. I doubt you’d be interested in anything I have to say.”

              Lord Aubrey was already immersed in his drink, taking long, slow gulps. He seemed to be ignoring Damien.

              “Certainly someone like you,” Damien continued, “has other potentially less time-wasting plans.”

              Lord Aubrey smacked his lips and set his cup down. “I put all of that aside to make time for you.” He smiled again. “Now, don’t you feel honored?”

              “I certainly feel something.” Damien started to drink, too. He felt Lord Aubrey’s eyes on him, and he could feel the boy Lord’s desire for Damien’s hood to fall.

              “Why do you disguise yourself?” Lord Aubrey asked. “Is it because of your hunting accident?”

              “It’s not a disguise. It’s a…necessary evil.”

              “For what reason?”

              The barmaid returned with two steaming plates of pigeon pie, so Damien was spared having to answer quickly. “Let me know if there is anything else you need.” She left with a wink and a little curtsey.

              “Now doesn’t this look delicious?” Lord Aubrey said. “Have you ever had pigeon pie?”

              “I’ve had pigeon.”

              “Well, this shall be another honorable first for you.”

              “I honestly don’t know what’s honorable about eating pie.”

              Lord Aubrey laughed and ignored the comment. “Back to my question. Why do you wear that…” He made a gesture to encompass Damien’s cloak, not knowing which word to use. I suppose I don’t look very honorable, Damien thought.

              “There was a fire,” Damien said. “I was badly burned. I figure I would do the world a favor by keeping myself hidden.”

              “My goodness, you are a very lucky man to survive a fire and a gunshot. Not many men can walk away from such events.”

              “I didn’t walk away so much as…limped.”

              It took a moment for Lord Aubrey to catch on. He laughed again and his laugh almost sounded genuinely good natured, as if he truly appreciated the joke. Damien forced a few chuckles himself before reaching for his drink.

              After the awkward laughter died down, there was a terse silence. Lord Aubrey rubbed the good half of his chin. “What on earth do you do for a living that you find yourself in these situations?”

              “I sell things.”

              Lord Aubrey stared quizzically at him. “You’re a merchant? What types of ‘things’ do you sell?”

              “Whatever people are willing to buy.”             

              “And these people are the type to shoot you and burn you to the ground?”

              “They were both accidents. Not done on purpose.”

              The good half of Lord Aubrey’s face stared at him with utter fascination. The golden mask, however, smiled as though it knew Damien was lying and was waiting for the right moment to trap him.

              “What does your daughter make of all these accidents?” Lord Aubrey asked carefully. He lifted his fork and finally took a piece of his pigeon pie.

              “She worries. But I would like to think she understands to a certain degree.”

              Lord Aubrey chewed as though he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Why isn’t she married?”

              “She isn’t ready.”

              “She isn’t? Or you aren’t?”

              Damien clenched his jaw. He couldn’t think of how to respond. Too much time was passing. Seconds slipped out of his hands.

              “I didn’t mean to offend you. I only meant that I can understand how hard it must be. But surely you know that it would be safer if she was away from all of your…accidents.”

              “What are you proposing? That she marry you?”

              “I have considered it.”

              Damien burst out laughing before he realized it wasn’t a joke. The guardsmen behind him tensed as though they were ready to strike him, but he could not help himself. The concept was utterly absurd. Lord Aubrey frowned.

              “Why is that so funny?” Lord Aubrey asked evenly.

              “I don’t know,” Damien said, his laughter faltering. “I guess it’s just the thought that you believe I would let that happen.”

              “My Lord,” one of the guardsmen barked, “please allow me to teach this dog some manners.”

              “At least let me finish my drink first,” Damien said and raised his cup.

              “Enough,” Lord Aubrey ordered. All traces of humor and politeness had been wiped from the good half of his face. Even his permanent smile was menacing in the light. “Mr. Caraway, what reason have I given you to make such a remark?”

              Damien took a long drink of nothing; his cup was already empty.

              “Would you like me to get the barmaid to refill that for you?”

              Damien froze for a moment, and then set his cup aside. “No, thank you. How is your pie? Does it taste as honorable as you thought it would be?”

              “No. In fact, it’s not as good as I was told.”

              “What a shame. To me, it doesn’t taste as humble as I thought it would be. Doesn’t even taste like charity. It simply tastes like grease.”

              “You haven’t even touched it.”

              “You taste one piece of pie, you’ve tasted them all, I assure you.”

              “Does your daughter make good pies?”

              “She’s the best cook I know.”

              Lord Aubrey’s smile returned. “Then I’ll have to convince her to cook for me sometime.”

              Before Damien could respond, Lord Aubrey interjected with a question, “By the way, what is her name?”

              Damien’s eyes quickly darted to the empty cup and the food in front of him. He did not have the excuse of either, so he had to think quickly. Maybe Lord Aubrey had asked her last night and she either told him the truth or she lied. Was Valerie capable of lying? For him, perhaps, but he could not be completely certain. Maybe she told him nothing. That was also a possibility.

              “Well? What is her name? Certainly there is no harm in telling me.”

              “Caraway.”

              “That is her surname. What is her first name?”

              “Did she not tell you last night?”

              “She did. I simply don’t remember.”

              “Why do you want to know? You’re never going to see her again.”

              “Why don’t you want me to know her name?”

              Damien swallowed the lingering taste of ale on his tongue. He found no answer suitable enough. He had to take a risk. “Margery,” he said finally.

              He tensed as he waited for Lord Aubrey’s reaction. Was that a small gleam in his good eye or was Damien imagining it? The boy lord kept his face impassive.

              “That is a lovely name,” Lord Aubrey said. “She is a lovely girl.”

              The storm appeared to have passed, but Damien could not relax. “She gets it from her mother.”

              “I had assumed so. Where is her mother?”

              “Dead. She died in the fire.”

              “That’s quite sad. It’s always quite sad when a parent dies. My own parents, for example. The entire town mourned for days.”

              “Hmm.” Damien placed his hand flat on the tabletop and took his chance to depart. “Well, I believe I must return to her – to Margery. I’ve been gone long enough.”

              “Of course. You wouldn’t want her to worry about you. Or have her think you’ve had another accident.”

              “Yes.” Damien cleared his throat. “Thank you for lunch.” He moved to get out of his seat when Lord Aubrey held up his hand.

              “Before you go, I wanted to give you something. For your daughter.” Lord Aubrey pushed himself to his feet.

              The barmaid returned with a slightly worried smile on her face. “My Lord, is there anything –”

              “No, we’re finished.”

              Lord Aubrey dug into his pocket and placed a fistful of coin on the table. “Come. The rest of my men should be waiting for us outside.”

              Was this it? Damien wondered as he reluctantly followed Lord Aubrey. Was this the moment he had been anxiously waiting for? As before, the guardsmen were directly behind him, ready to stop him should he attempt to flee.

              Lord Aubrey, however, did not lead him into any alleyway or dark corner. Instead, he pointed across the road, where two more guardsmen were waiting. “There. You may have one of them.”

              Two horses were tied to a post outside of the shop. They whickered and stamped their hooves on the cobblestone.

              “I couldn’t…” Damien began. “I – it’s too much.”

              “Nonsense,” Lord Aubrey said. “Every merchant needs a horse to help him carry his burden. Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve gone so long without one.”

              “Honestly, I’m not one for horses,” Damien said, his eyes still fixed on the beasts ahead.

              “Come, now. You insulted me by not touching your lunch, and I forgave you in spite of that. You don’t want to insult me a second time.”

              The guards practically pushed him forward. Damien’s feet felt as if they had turned to stone. Every step he took was laborious. If he could sweat, he would be drenched.

              The horses tensed up as they caught wind of his scent. They shifted awkwardly to the side, their ears swatting away unseen flies.

              If I run now, will I be able to get to Valerie in time? Damien thought frantically. The road was choked with enough people that it would slow the guardsmen down, but how many more men did Lord Aubrey have lurking about? And if he did manage to get to Valerie, how much time would they have to escape? Would they be able to do so without bloodshed? There were too many questions. They were drawing ever closer to the horses and Damien could feel their cold fear.

              Damien stopped. He could go no further. The guards were nudging him forward. Lord Aubrey turned back to face him.

              “Are you afraid?” he asked. His hand went to the pistol at his side.

Chapter 25

There was no time to form a plan—no time to fully think things through.

              He did the only thing that came naturally to him.

              Damien kicked Lord Aubrey square in the chest, knocking him off to the ground and forcing the air out of his lungs. Then, he quickly grabbed the two guardsmen by the backs of their necks and slammed them together. The clanging sound their helmets made when they crashed sounded to Damien like two swords meeting in a dual.

              Lord Aubrey was scrambling back to his feet and Damien was scrambling to get out of there. The guardsmen by the horses were already coming toward him, rifles in hand. He shoved his way through the crowd of onlookers. Behind him, Lord Aubrey shouted, “Stop him! No, don’t shoot him! Don’t-” And then his shouts were lost as Damien sprinted down the alleyway.

              He had to get to the inn as fast as he could. He and Valerie might have enough time to escape unscathed, unless Lord Aubrey sent the rest of his men there to wait for him.

              I should have killed him, Damien thought. 

              When he returned to the main road, he kept as close to large groups as possible without looking suspicious. He often looked over his shoulder to see if the guards were following. In the alleyways, he sprinted as fast as he dared. He took the most haphazard path, hoping that it would get him to Valerie quicker—hoping he would beat Lord Aubrey to the inn. Damien had no doubt that was where the boy lord would go. And if anything happened to Valerie…

              I should have killed him.

After several breathless minutes, he finally arrived. There were no guardsmen at the door, so he took it as a good sign. He ignored the old woman who cowered behind her desk when he entered. Instead, he ran straight up the stairs and down the hallway to his and Valerie’s room, his heart beating violently all the while.

              If there were men in there, he would have to kill them.

              Valerie would see the monster he was, the monster he was not in front of her. There would be no talk of love. There would be no talk at all.

              Damien paused outside the door, pressing his ear against it. It was hard to hear anything over his panting, over his heartbeat. It felt like there was a heart beating in his skull, too.

              He opened the door.

              The room was empty.

              “Where is she?”

              The old woman took two timid steps back, eyeing the desk as though it would protect her from Damien. Her hands were clutched together at her chest. “I don’t know who you’re speaking of, Mr. Caraway. I already told you that I didn’t want–”

              “I don’t have time for this. Where is Ms. Caraway?”

              “I don’t know! I saw her leave and – I don’t know! Please go away.”

              Damien resisted the urge to slam his fist on the counter top. “I need to know if she left with anyone or if she talked about meeting with someone.”

              “She didn’t say anything, and she didn’t leave with anyone. That’s all I know, I swear!”

              Damien was inclined to believe her. He was, after all, the only one whose business she nosed into, reluctantly or otherwise. There was nothing left to do but try to find her himself. Without another word, he turned his back on the old woman.

              Once he was back on the street, he felt the dizzying sensation of being lost. All around him there were people flooding the streets, and all around him there were multiple pathways and possibilities. Valerie could be anywhere and he had no idea where to start looking or if he would find her in time. It was another one of those moments where he felt the world was too big for him.

              He could not simply keep standing there, so he quickly moved forward. He searched the passing faces for Valerie’s, for Lord Aubrey’s, and for the guardsmen. It was hard to breathe amid all those bodies. It was like he had returned into the raging storm, being tossed about by the sea with nothing familiar in sight. He had never ventured alone in a town before. He no longer knew why he had come here in the first place or how he could have possibly thought this was a good idea.

              He somehow made his way to the marketplace. Damien could not understand how there could still be so many people. How could such a small space contain them all? And they all moved so quickly, rushing like a current along the road. His ears felt clogged with their noise. It was hard to think clearly; so many thoughts were scattered in his mind like pieces of glass.

              He gravitated toward the book shop, the only place that appeared to be quiet, or as quiet as it could be with a small group of older ladies gossiping near the front. Maybe she was in there. And if she wasn’t, he did not know. He did not know anything.

“Damien?”

              He whipped around upon hearing his name. Sure enough, there she was. Damien did not know how he could have missed her. She was as clear as the spring day in front of him. Valerie was smiling. Damien froze for a second.

              “I was looking for you,” Valerie said. “I was about to–”

              As glad as he was to see her, he had to cut to the chase. “We need to leave.”

              Her smile disappeared upon these words. “W-Why? What –”

              “There are men after me.” He motioned for her to move in the direction away from the crowd. “We can’t stay here.”

              “Who’s after you?” Valerie trotted alongside him to keep up.

              “These men they – they think I had something to do with whatever Dante got himself into. I tried to explain but they won’t listen and now we need to go.”

              Valerie pulled her arm out of his grasp and came to a halt. “But what about our supplies? We need to go back for them.”

              “There’s no time. We’ll just have to go on without them. Come on.”

              They hadn’t seen Lord Aubrey so far, but that did not mean he had ended his pursuit. Damien had no doubt that the boy Lord would scour the filthiest corners of this town for Damien. He did not know how much time had passed while he looked for Valerie. Certainly by now Lord Aubrey knew Damien was no longer at the inn. He had certainly sent his men off to look for him.

              He and Valerie walked briskly down the road, trying not to attract too much attention.

              “Where are we going?” Valerie asked.

              There was only one place he could think of that could properly hide them. “The forest. That will be the best place for us.”

              “And where will we go once we get there?”

              She was asking about their plans, if they would still one day make it across the sea, if that was even still possible. It was never really possible, but he had taken a liking to the image. He even dared to dream of them sitting on a rooftop in the city on the sea.

              “I don’t know,” he said. “We’ll figure it out once we get out of here.”

              “OK.”

              Damien realized he hadn’t inquired about her feelings. “Are you all right?”

              “I’m worried. Are these men trying to hurt you?”

              “If they are, I ran before they could.”

              “What do they look like?”

              Damien took a second too long to answer. “Like your typical brutes. Large…angry. Whatever Dante did, they are certainly not happy.” While he spoke, Damien kept his attention on the shifting bodies before them, looking for the glint of the golden mask. He noted that Valerie was also watching the crowd. Please, let me spot Lord Aubrey before she does, he prayed.

              “I didn’t mean to get you mixed up in this,” Damien said. He swallowed. “I really did want to enjoy the festival with you.”

              She glanced up at him. “I know. I knew the risks before we arrived here.” And then she said what possibly the most gut-wrenching thing she could say: “It’s not your fault.”

              The words physically hurt as though they were stones she had hurled at him. It’s not yours, either, he thought

              Valerie grew silent. She folded her arms tightly across her chest as though she was protecting herself. Damien wanted to reach out and place a reassuring hand on her back, but he could not be sure of anything at that moment.

              Suddenly, she gasped and stopped, her hand clutched the back of his cloak so he could stop with her. “Are those them?” she whispered, gesturing to a group of square-jawed burly men standing at the corner ahead.

              “No,” Damien said. His eyes moved from the men to what had caught his attention on the left.

              Lord Aubrey and his guardsmen were walking toward them. From the boy Lord’s expression, Damien knew he had just been spotted.

              “But we should probably get out of the open,” Damien continued, directing Valerie into an alleyway. The space between the buildings was so narrow that it felt like they would be crushed at any moment. They broke into a run.

              Damien felt something digging into his stomach as they ran and he pushed Valerie to run faster. He thought he heard footsteps behind them. Damien felt his heart rush into his throat and he worried he was going to vomit it out. They turned sharply to the right when they reached the exit.

              Behind them, a bullet lodged into the wall.

              Valerie flinched, screamed, and covered her head. Damien shouted for her to go and Lord Aubrey was shouting for someone to stop him. Valerie turned her head to look back.

              “Don’t look! Keep going!” Damien yelled. He moved her in front of him to shield her from any bullets, though he doubted Lord Aubrey would fire with all these people around. Stunned faces watched them pass, staring as the boy Lord and his men relentlessly chased after them. The scenario caused a few of them to move out of the way. Damien felt like he was putting on a show and that at any moment the people would start applauding.

              He could hear Lord Aubrey behind him. “Move out of the way! Let me through!”

              Even if they were to make it to the forest now, Lord Aubrey and his men would still be on their trail. Valerie would no doubt see them and know Damien was a liar. There had to be a way to lose them.

              Or at least slow them down.

              Desperately, he reached into his pocket for his coin bag. He untied the top and dumped the coins behind him. There were sharp pinging noises as they hit the floor. It took a fraction of a second for a few people to notice, but that was all it took. Men and women scrambled to grab whatever they could. Damien heard the shriek of the guardsmen’s whistles that slowly faded the further him and Valerie got away.

*

              Even in the welcome silence of the forest, they did not stop running. It was only until Valerie announced that she could go no further that they even thought to rest. She clutched at her side and took deep gulps of air, leaning against a tree for support. Her hand was on her chest and she felt her heart racing. That had to have been one of the scariest moments of her life.

              “Are you all right?” Damien asked breathlessly.

              “I don’t know,” Valerie answered honestly. “Are you?”

              “I’m fine.”

              They took several more seconds to catch their breaths, not saying anything, not looking at each other. The gunshot still felt loud in Valerie’s ears.

              “Who were those people that were after you, Damien?” she asked, staring directly into the black hole that surrounded his face.

              “I told you,” he said, a hint of aggravation in his voice. “They were –”

              “They had a gun. You didn’t tell me they would start shooting you!”

              “I . . .” he faltered. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

              Too late, Valerie thought. Something cold was dripping into her belly. She had to ask it again. “Was everything you told me, true? The men. And Dante.” And when you left me in the room. I heard voices. I don’t think I heard what they said, or maybe I did and I’m ignoring it.

              But why would he lie to me?

              Damien stepped closer to her until they were only inches apart. She was not afraid of him; only afraid of what he would say. She wished she could see his eyes.

              “It was true,” he said. “All of it.”

              Valerie closed her eyes and started to weep. She nodded. Why would he lie? “I don’t want to lose you, Damien. I can’t.”

              He pulled her into an embrace and rested his cheek on top of her head. His arms felt like they were sealing her away from the world. 

              “I won’t let that happen,” he said.

*

              By the time Young Aubrey navigated his way through the frenzied crowd, the demon and the girl were gone. He did not bother to run after them any further, knowing full well they had reached the forest by now and were probably lost amid the trees. It would be pointless to attempt a search with so few men, so he packed his things and headed home.

              He should have been angry, furious even. He should have been pulling out his hair at the root. Instead, sitting in the carriage, he was eerily calm as he watched the world from his little window.

              “My Lord,” Thomas said, “is everything all right?”

              Young Aubrey wiped his eye and steadied himself before answering. “Yes, everything is just…perfect.”

              “That man got away, sir.”

              “He did. For now.”

              “Are we going to pursue him, sir?”

              “Of course we are. We can’t let him get away with attacking us. We’ll form a plan once we return to Leola.” He was already devising one, but he wanted to keep it to himself for now. He wanted to let it stew and fester, and he wanted to dream of the day when he would finally wrap his hands around the demon’s throat. Truly, he did not know such…joy. It felt as though lightning was zipping through his veins, and he barely slept the two and a half days it took for them to arrive in Leola.

He was not welcomed by the cheers of his people with signs indicating that he was missed. Leola looked as much the same as he had left it, with people going about their business, hardly noticing as his carriage pulled in. Captain Jonasson, however, was quite happy to see him. He and the servants were waiting at the entrance hall and applauded as he entered.

              “Welcome back, my Lord,” Captain Jonasson said.

              “I take it everything was well while I was away?” Young Aubrey said and removed his cloak.

              “Very well, sir. We were even able to solve the crises with the –“

              “Wonderful. Listen, I have news I need to divulge. Come with me to my office.” He directed his next order to the servants. “One of you bring up a large pot of tea. We have much to discuss.”

              “Wouldn’t my Lord rather rest after his journey?” Captain Jonasson asked as he followed Young Aubrey up the stairs.

              “There’s no time for rest. As I said, we have much to do.”

              It was lovely to be back in his office with the warm glow of the spring light coming in through the windows. Young Aubrey had even missed the deer head on the wall, even though that creature was killed by his father and not by him. He wondered if the demon would make a suitable decoration in its place. That way, he would always be able to look at it and smile. Things would really come full circle, then, wouldn’t they, Father?

              It took only a few minutes for the tea to arrive. Once Young Aubrey had settled into his proper place, and the door was properly secured, he told Captain Jonasson all of the colorful events that had taken place at the festival. His reaction was just as Young Aubrey expected: Captain Jonasson looked as though he was not sure whether to take up arms or remain seated. He did not speak or ask any questions the entire time. I couldn’t have asked for a better man at my side, Young Aubrey thought as he came to the conclusion of his tale. I don’t know how I would endure without him here.

              “So…the demon is still alive?” Captain Jonasson said slowly, as though he did not want to believe such a terrible thing.

“And he has a hostage with him,” Young Aubrey added.

              “How on earth did he survive?”

              “That hardly matters, Captain. The real question is how we’re going to catch him.” Young Aubrey rubbed his hands together eagerly. “The girl. She is the key to finding it. If we get the girl…we get the demon.”

              “How do you figure that, my Lord?” Captain Jonasson asked.

              “That thing has as strange attachment to her. It acted more hostile when she became the subject in our conversation.”

              “Pardon me, my Lord, but if this demon has an attachment to the girl, how on earth are we going to find her? No doubt he’ll have her hidden away somewhere.”

              Young Aubrey spread his hands apart as though he was physically showing them the answer. “We’ll use the dogs.”

              The captain sported a bewildered look, so he explained, “Other animals are repulsed by the creature’s scent. We’ll use the hunting dogs to pinpoint the possible places he’s keeping her.”

              If this plan did not work, then he would just have to think of another. And maybe we will dance to this song forever, he thought, always out of reach.

              “The forest is very large, my Lord,” Captain Jonasson said. “It may take days to find her.”

“Of that I am aware. Which is why we must start the search immediately. Gather your men and form a search party.”

“What if we encounter the creature, my Lord?”

              “If you should meet him before you find the girl, you do everything in your power to bring him to me…Alive.”

              They immediately set out to do their work. For four restless days the guardsmen returned weary and empty. Young Aubrey wrestled with his fear that his men would kill the demon before he had a chance to. If there were a few casualties in the process, well…he had endured harder sacrifices. I am the only one who can end this, Young Aubrey thought as he once again watched his men leave in the early hours of the day. The world will know of my victory and maybe love me for it.

              The sun was setting on the fourth day. By now, his men would have returned but he did not see them arrive at the gate. He feared the worst. Captain Jonasson was with this group. The thought of him lying dead in the forest was enough to make his skin crawl. If you take him from me, Young Aubrey thought, I will kill that girl in front of you. I will make you understand loss.

              Fortunately, they returned an hour later, and they had someone with them. Young Aubrey quickly went to sit at his desk and knitted his fingers in anticipation. Captain Jonasson breathlessly entered his office. Young Aubrey did not have time to express how glad he was that the captain had returned. He leaned forward to receive the news.

              “We found her, my Lord. She was wandering alone in the forest. The dogs will not go near her.”

              “Bring her in,” Young Aubrey said. He dared to hope. After all this waiting, after all this work, could this possibly be it? Could he have what the demon so feared to lose?

              He held his breath as Captain Jonasson motioned for his men to bring the girl. At first, the guardsmen blocked Young Aubrey’s view, but they quickly stepped aside.

              She wore clothes that were too big for her small frame. Her hair was a matted tangle around her vacant expression. There was a thin line of dried blood on her left cheek.

              But it was her.

              “Oh, my dear, sweet girl,” Young Aubrey said as he stood from his desk to approach her. “What on earth happened to you?”

She spoke so softly that he almost did not catch it.

“He did.”

Chapter 26

The journey home was considerably more difficult than when they were traveling to Merrion. They had to stop frequently for food and water. Even so, they went hungry for most of the trip. During the day, the trees trapped the spring heat, filling every mile with oppressive air. They downed their share of water as though it would be the last time they would ever have it. Every mile pulled at their muscles, causing their feet to drag through the mud and dried leaves.

              Damien did not dare stray toward the path. He felt he had done enough damage, considering what had happened with Lord Aubrey. He knew that the boy Lord was going to continue his pursuit, that the trees could not put enough distance between their inevitable meeting point. Damien did not know if, in the long run, it would be better to remain in the house or to leave entirely. But where would they go if they left? He had no place in Valerie’s human world; their trip to Merrion had proven that much. He doubted they would ever be lucky enough to find another house in the middle of nowhere.

              Maybe there was no place for him. Maybe, in the end, he was destined to keep fighting.

              Was he willing to bring Valerie into the fray?

The selfish, strongest part of him said yes. He would keep her safe as he had so far. She would remain in the house where no one would touch her.

They would be all right.

              They returned to the house worn down and weary after three brutal days of traveling. There was still a bit of daylight left, but it was not enough to illuminate the dank remains of the house before them. Damien wasn’t sure if he was pleased to see that it was still intact. Without hesitating, he walked up to the door and opened it before realizing that Valerie was no longer beside him.

              She was looking back. Damien assumed she was wondering if she would ever get to go out there again. Maybe one day, he thought, but that felt like a lie.

              He allowed her a few more seconds before saying, “Are you coming in?”

              Startled, she quickly joined him inside. Damien shut the door.

              Things did not return to normal. Valerie scarcely spoke to Damien. When he offered to read with her, to walk with her, to stay up late talking like they used to, she often declined. She was still too weary, she wasn’t feeling well, or she simply wanted to be on her own. One morning, she did not come down to breakfast, and she chose to stay in her room for most of the day. It was like how it was when she was afraid of him.

              Does she know? Damien wondered. Did she know what he did when he left her alone? He studied her face carefully at supper that night, trying to gauge what was going on in her head, because every time he asked her, she told him nothing was wrong.

              He could not understand why she was like this. Surely something had to be wrong and surely there was something he could do to make it better. Was she angry at him? Did she resent him for putting her in this predicament? I did not ask her to stay, he thought bitterly, sitting alone once again in the parlor. I did not ask her to choose me.

              Surely you knew she would if you would ask.

              Yes, yes he did. Because, though she did not love him, she cared for him. She valued their friendship, and maybe that was why he was so bitter.

              The next night, he helped her wash dishes after supper as he had always done. He dared to glance over at her, but she was entirely focused on the task of drying the plates and forks. Her expression gave nothing away, and he hated it. He hated her silence; it filled his heart with glass shards. Angry words were threatening to burst from his mouth. If you value our friendship so much, then why are you pulling away from me? he thought. Why won’t you tell me what I did? Why won’t you look at me?

              He let the cleaning cloth fall into the basin. He leaned against the counter and shut his eyes, taking a deep, slow breath.

              He felt the pressure of her hand on his.

              Slowly, he opened his eyes. Then he turned to look at her. The corners of her mouth turned up into an uneven smile, but it was a smile regardless, and it wasn’t until now that he realized how much he truly missed seeing it. He missed seeing her like this.

              Silently, he begged her not to pull away, even though some part of him wanted to. He wanted to so badly that he could feel the ghost of the movement in his arm. But he couldn’t.

              Because he loved her so much.

              Valerie was about to head upstairs to her room, and Damien would have let her, but he was sick of being alone. She was half-way up the second step when he called for her.

              “Yes?” she said as she turned around, eyebrow raised.

              This might be stupid, he thought, but then again, he was known for doing stupid things. “Do you want to dance with me?”

              He attempted to sound as casual as possible, but there was a slight quiver in his voice.

              Valerie looked down at herself and pinched the sides of her breeches. “I’m not really dressed for the occasion.”

              “Neither am I,” Damien said.

              She smiled again, and Damien felt that maybe things were slowly settling back into place. “OK.” She walked up to him, took his hand, and placed his other on her waist as before.

              Even though they were no longer surrounded by people, Damien was still very nervous, perhaps even more so now than before. He took slow, steady steps, trying to find a rhythm amid the shuffling of their feet and the whispers of their breaths. Could she hear the frantic pace of his heartbeat? If she did, she gave no indication. She danced with him as though nothing had changed, as though she had often danced with a monster without music to accompany them.

              Valerie was so very close to him, he could almost feel her hip against his. Her knee brushed his. Her hand gripped his shoulder as though she feared letting go, feared letting the dance be over because neither of them knew what came next. She rested her head against his chest and her hand slid up to his neck, lightly parting his fur with her fingertips, dangerously close to his pulse. A shudder crept up Damien’s back. His body suddenly felt heavy and he was having trouble moving his feet. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in to erase what little distance was left between them. He resisted the urge to let his hands roam up her back, to tangle his fingers in her hair. He rested his chin on her shoulder; her ear was only an inch away from his mouth. If he wanted to, he could tell her. He could confess. He only needed to whisper, and he could release this tightening in his chest.

              Or he could kiss her neck. Or he could bite her, softly—nibble at the edge for just a moment.

              “Valerie.” His voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

              She gasped and pulled away slightly. Her eyes were locked on his.

              Damien forgot what he was going to say or if he was going to say anything at all. Hesitantly, he reached up and placed his hand on her cheek. He wanted to ask her if she minded, but his words were lost.

              It felt inevitable that they would kiss.

Damien was afraid of what it would feel like when their lips touched and what would come after when they parted. Her cheek warmed under his hand and he imagined her body warming under his.

              He tilted her chin up. Just once, he thought. Just once.

The front door burst open and Valerie and Damien parted as though they had been caught doing something wrong. Dante strolled leisurely into the entrance room, wearing a sardonic smile, but his eyes were red-rimmed as though he had been crying.

“Sorry, was I interrupting something?” he asked.

“What do you want?” Damien snapped.

Dante flinched as though Damien had struck him. He placed his hand over his chest. “You wound me, brother. You’re gone for days without telling me anything, and this is how you treat me?”

Damien tried to guide Valerie up the stairs. “Valerie, go–”

Dante intercepted them. “Why should she go? If she’s such a large part of your life now, then surely, she can be a part of this. Are you worried she’ll hear something you don’t want her to?”

Damien quickly moved Valerie behind him. “Dante, back off,” he snarled.

“Why? I’m not doing anything wrong. I only want the three of us to have a chat. I want us to be honest with each other. Because how can we get along if our relationship is tainted with lies?”

“Stop it!” Valerie interjected, stepping around Damien so she could glare at Dante. “That’s enough. Why are you being like this?”

Dante laughed. He laughed so hard that tears streamed down his eyes. “Oh, you poor, poor, deluded girl. There’s so much you don’t know.”

“Dante –” Damien began.

His maybe-brother shoved him back. He spoke loudly over Damien’s protests. “Do you know who the Lord of Leola is?”

Valerie stared blankly at him. “Yes. I’m from Leola.”

Dante laughed. “You’ll love this, then. Did you know that Lord Aubrey –”

“Dante, don’t –”

“—has been hunting my brother for months?”

It felt like the whole room was collecting its breath after that revelation. Valerie’s wide eyes met Damien’s and she shook her head vehemently. Damien quickly tried to gather up the words as though they were broken pieces on the floor, but they kept tumbling away from him.

“No,” Valerie said at last. “No, that can’t be true. Why would Lord Aubrey…?” She faltered. Her bottom lip trembled. Damien knew she was waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t know how to undo this—not with words.

“That’s something only my dear brother can answer.” Dante said and looked at Damien.

He had to say something. All that came out where scattered fragments. “I don’t – I didn’t…”

“You’re lying,” Valerie said to Dante. She was no longer looking at Damien. 

“Am I? Have you ever wondered why Lord Aubrey wears that golden mask? Have you pondered where my brother goes at night or how he received that gunshot wound? And have you not asked yourself where those pretty little boots came from?”

Valerie shoved him away. “He bought them for me! He has money –”

“Where did the money come from?”

“Damien, tell him, please!”

“Yes, Damien, please, do tell. Tell us both. I want to hear it.”

Damien couldn’t look at either of them. He felt so trapped inside of himself, and he was fighting desperately to stay that way. He did not know how so few words could do so much damage. “I didn’t…” was all he could say. The room was getting too hot. There are too many of us in here, he thought. 

Valerie and Dante called to him, demanded him to say it.

Tell the truth.

              Damien knocked Dante to the ground and wrapped his hands around his throat. He squeezed as hard as he could until Dante could no longer breathe. He felt Dante’s pulse beat against his palms. Dante wrapped his hands around Damien’s wrists, but it was no use. Damien could see and hear nothing. He only felt the weight of his anger as it slowly crushed them both.

              “I did it for you!” Damien did not know if he was screaming the words or whispering them. They echoed in his ears as though he was slowly descending into a pit. “I did it to protect us! I did it so you would not be alone and you left me anyway. You left me here! You left me, and you made me like this! You made me like this!”

              Something was pulling at his elbow. A voice was ringing in his ear. “Damien, stop! Stop it, you’re killing him!”

              Dante was dying and it was OK. I will free him of his burden and he will burden me no more. I won’t have to worry about where he is or what he’s doing or if he will ever come back.

              The voice was still calling to him, clawing at his ear. It begged him and begged him.

              “Damien, please stop! Sto –”

              One of his claws snagged her cheek when he struck her. Valerie fell back against the floor, her hand flying up to her cheek. A throbbing pain spread across her face. She felt the blood, hot and sticky on her fingertips.

              Damien immediately released Dante, staring in horror at what he had done. Dante coughed and sputtered on the ground. Damien attempted to reach out to Valerie, but she retracted back as far as she could.

              “Don’t touch me,” she said. Her voice wavered. “Don’t touch me.” She looked at the blood on her fingers. That’s my blood. That’s my blood, and he did this…he did this to me. Somehow, she got to her feet. She towered over Damien but she did not feel at all powerful.

              “I need to – I need to c-clean this.”

              Moving was better than standing still. She would walk to the end of the earth if she could. Once she was in the kitchen, it was better. It was quiet. She plucked a cleaning rag from the counter and pressed it to her face. It was a small cut, but it hurt. It burned. She put her free hand into her mouth and bit into the knuckles so she could distract herself from the pain. Was it really only minutes ago that he held this same cheek tenderly with the same hand that struck her? That no longer felt real.

              She could hear noise coming from the other room and it made her spine go rigid. “Get out!” Damien shouted. It felt as though his voice could shake the house down. That would be welcome, she thought.

              She heard a scuffle, and then the front door slammed shut. Soon, everything grew quiet again. Behind her, the kitchen door opened with a slow moan.

              “Valerie,” Damien said softly.

              She winced as though he had hit her again. “Don’t say my name like that…like nothing happened.” She was trembling violently as though she was surrounded by ice.

              “Valerie, I didn’t mean to –”

              “Please,” she begged, and she slowly turned around so he could see what he’d done and so she could understand why. “Please tell me it’s not true because I know, I know that you would never hurt anyone. Please tell me this was just an accident and it won’t happen again and everything will be fine.” She dissolved into tears.

              He reached for her again and she pulled away. This time, she looked at him, right into his eyes. I trust this face more than anyone else, she thought. If he tells me it’s not true, if he tells me it’s not….

              “I had to,” he said.

              It was difficult to breathe. It felt like she was comfortably flying and suddenly her wings were clipped and the ground was rushing up to meet her. When she finally fell, she would break into a thousand pieces.

              “I couldn’t let anyone find this place and I couldn’t let anyone hurt you. I did it to protect us.”

              “But you – you killed people. You killed them.” All those times he had left her alone…Sometimes I have to be unpleasant…And Lord Aubrey. That’s why he wanted to leave. He knew. He knew and he lied to me.

              And I let him.

              “I did. I had to.”

              “Stop saying that! Stop trying to make it sound like it was not your fault!”

              Valerie covered her mouth because she was going to scream, and she didn’t think she was ever going to stop. Suddenly she felt disgusting, like there were worms crawling all over her skin. Did you have to do this, too? she thought as she smeared the blood on her face.

              “I had to protect you from those people,” Damien said louder, pointing out of the window as though those people were out there now, staring at them. “You have no idea what they are capable of, what they could do to you if they found you with me. I couldn’t let that happen, Valerie. And I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t know – I didn’t know what I was…doing.”

              Valerie stopped him. She couldn’t bear to hear anymore.

“Why? Why did you feel you had to…to do those things for me? What was so special about me that you let me live and killed everyone else?”

              Damien stared sadly at the ground. He folded his arms as though he was attempting to protect himself. “I knew who you were.”

              “What? What do you mean?”

              He closed his eyes. “We met before. I found you in the forest. You were trapped in the net and I cut you out.”

              “I…” Her stomach bubbled dangerously. “If you hadn’t saved me…If you didn’t know who I was…What would you have done?”

              Damien hesitated.

              “Would you have let me live?”

              “I – I don’t know.” He paused for a second too long. “But that’s not what happened.”

              Valerie was too numb to feel any sort of shock. She let her arms hang at her sides, let the blood and tears stain her cheeks. She was so tired.

              “Valerie, you have to listen to me. I did all of those things, yes. I killed people and stole from them because I felt I had to. But I’m not – I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to hurt people, and I don’t want to hurt you. I –”

              Valerie shook her head. “You can’t just say those things as if it will erase what you’ve done. You expect me to – to believe you and keep pretending that you’re not a monster? You expect me to…” And in that moment, she realized what she had to do—what she needed to do. “You expect me to stay?”

              Damien stared at her uncomprehendingly, trying to process what she was saying. “You can’t leave,” he said. “Please, don’t go.”

              “I can’t stay here.” She should have said this a long time ago. Before all of this.

              “Valerie –”

              She walked out, through the kitchen door. Though she could hear Damien coming up behind her, she kept moving towards the exit. Dante was already long gone. I should have listened to you, she thought.

              Damien grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

              “Let me go!” she shrieked and fought against him. She released the scream that had been building in her lungs. The sound scraped against her ribs. 

              Damien covered her mouth and pressed her back against the door. She used her fists to feebly pound against his arms, still screaming into his hand. He caught her wrists and held them above her head and made her look into his eyes.

              “Valerie, listen to me, please. You don’t have to leave. You just – just tell me what I need to do. Tell me how to make this right and I’ll do it. We could go somewhere else; we could go across the sea, and I swear I’ll never hurt anybody again. We could live together and be like how we were and it will all be fine. All you need to do is to tell me what to do.”

              He released her. Valerie had already stopped struggling and screaming. Her eyes searched his face, trying to find the piece of him that she was so fond of. 

              But all she saw was the face of a monster.

              “Nothing,” she whispered.

Part III: The City on the Sea

Chapter 27

Valerie awoke in an unfamiliar room, in a bed that was too large for her. She could feel the empty space behind her. When she reached behind her, there was no hand to hold—no arm to drape around her waist. A thousand needles felt like they were puncturing her lungs. She drew her knees up to shield herself. She tried to force herself to go back to sleep, but then she saw his face emerging from her mind as if floating up from the water. She tried to push him back down, to drown him, but he kept swimming back to the surface.

              With his image came the horrible feeling of longing. Many times, as she wandered the forest, she thought about going back. To remind herself that she could not return, she reached up to feel the cut on her cheek, tracing the small scab that formed on the skin. Even if I could completely forget him, she thought, I will always have this.

              Why did you have to do it?

              It was what she should have asked him when she had the chance. Even when given the opportunity, she never asked as many questions as she should. Now she would never know.

              Someone knocked on the door. Valerie did not feel ready to get out of bed. She didn’t know if she could face whatever battle she had to fight next. It felt as though whatever strength she once had, she left on the floor of his house. But slowly, somehow, she managed to plant her feet on the floor and stand. She counted her steps as she crossed the room to answer the door.

              The Captain was standing there. Last night, he had told Lord Aubrey that she needed to rest instead of being interrogated immediately. Valerie knew she should have been grateful, but the sight of him made her sick. She knew what he was here for and knew what he would say before he said it.

              “Good morning,” he said.

              Valerie said nothing. She had no time for niceties.

              “I apologize if I’ve disturbed you, but Lord Aubrey would like you to join him for breakfast in his office. He’s had his servants arrange a bath for you, if you would like.” When Valerie still failed to speak, he continued on as though she had. “My name is Captain Jonasson, and if there is ever anything you need, you are more than welcome to ask me.”

              He held out his hand.

              Valerie ignored it. “Thank you,” she muttered.

              Captain Jonasson returned his hand back to his side. “You don’t have to keep wearing those clothes. I’m sure Lord Aubrey has something to spare.”

              “Oh.” Valerie looked down at herself. She was still wearing her overlarge slacks and tunic; both were stained with black and brown smudges. “That would be nice.”

              “I’ll have the ladies wash them –”

              “No. I don’t want them.”

              “Are you sure?”

              Valerie nodded. “They don’t belong to me.”

              After she bathed and dressed, Valerie went to join Lord Aubrey in his office. His desk was cleared of papers and inkpots. Instead, there were two plates set across from each other filled with a simple meal of boiled eggs, bacon, and biscuits. Lord Aubrey smiled when she stepped into the room.

              “Good morning,” Lord Aubrey said. “Please, have a seat.”

              Do I have any other choice? Valerie thought. She sat without speaking; it was perhaps safer that way. Immediately, she stuffed her mouth with a boiled egg and chewed as slowly as possible.

              “Has everything been to your liking?” Lord Aubrey asked.

              She could feel his eyes on her, assessing her as she ate. Even in this dress, do I look like a savage to you, my Lord? Valerie nodded in answer to his question.

              “Is there anything else I can get you?”

              Valerie shook her head. She supposed he was waiting for her to thank him. For what? For offering food and shelter and sweet words in exchange for what he wanted? Maybe she would offer thanks once she discovered how long she was to be kept here. She wasn’t too keen on the idea of asking questions, however, knowing that it would invite him to ask his own. Talking about what had happened was the last thing she wanted to do at the moment.

              “I wasn’t sure what you liked,” Lord Aubrey continued, motioning to the meal, “so I had the servants make something simple.”

              He wants to ask me now, Valerie thought, but he’s waiting to see how I will react. For a Lord, he certainly didn’t know much about being tactful. “It’s fine,” Valerie said. She dunked a piece of biscuit in some honey, careful not to meet his eyes.

              “How did you get that cut on your face?” he asked.

              Valerie was no longer hungry. She felt the flash of heat on her left cheek. “I’m tired, my Lord, I think I would like to return to –”

              Lord Aubrey quickly reached for her hand. It felt like it was hard for him to hold it as gently as he did. “Wait. Please. I did not mean to reopen old wounds. I was merely curious.”

              Wonderful. Another man who did not mean to do anything. “This one is not so old, my Lord.”

              “I see. So he did that to you.”

              Valerie felt the tightness in her chest growing, working its way up her shoulders and down her legs. I don’t want to say it, she thought. I don’t want to go back there, and yet I long to go back there. I just don’t want this to be real.

              “Why didn’t you tell me about him at the festival?” Lord Aubrey asked. “I could have saved you from him.”

              I didn’t want to be saved. I wanted to be happy. “I can’t say, my Lord.”

              “Were you afraid?”

              Valerie met his good eye. “No.” He would never hurt me.

              “If you were not afraid of him, then why did you choose to stay? Surely, if you had no fear, you could have easily left?”

              “I…I had nowhere else to go, my Lord.”

              The good half of Lord Aubrey’s face morphed into pity. She felt the hairs along her neck bristle.

              “Who exactly is he that he would do this to you, that he would…manipulate you in such a way to think he was your only means of safety?”

              “I never said he manipulated me. I said I had nowhere to go.”

              “You only thought you didn’t. He made you think that way.”

              “He –” He would never, she was about to say. What was the point of arguing? For pride? Because it wasn’t true? Lord Aubrey already believed what he wanted, and it hardly mattered who Valerie defended now.

              “It’s all right, my dear. He can’t hurt you anymore. Not while you’re here. I will keep you safe.”

              Valerie was hardly reassured by these words.

              “Now, tell me…who was that man that claimed he was your father?”

              How was she to answer when she did not know herself?

              “He was not a man, was he?”

              Valerie searched his face, taking in the flesh and metal. “No,” she said. “He was, in fact, the worst kind of monster.”

              “A demon.”

              “We can call him different things. In the end, it’s all the same.”

              Lord Aubrey leaned in closer, nearly whispering his words. “So you understand why this is so important to me? You understand why I need to stop him?”

              Valerie went cold. She wished she hadn’t eaten. “Yes.”

              “Then I need you to tell me where he is.”

              The boiled egg was stuck in her throat. I can do this, she thought. This is the right thing to do. His face floated up to the surface of her mind—the way he looked at her, like she was so special, so important…like she was everything to him.

              I can do this.

              “I…I don’t…remember. It was – in the forest somewhere, I – I don’t know.”

              Please forgive me.

              “Try to remember,” Lord Aubrey said. He grabbed her wrist as though he was attempting to squeeze the truth out of her.

              “I don’t know. We never stayed in one place. We always kept moving. I don’t know.”

              “Did you go anywhere specific?”

              Valerie tried and tried and all she kept seeing were his yellow eyes. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of false memories and answer Lord Aubrey.

              “How did you escape?”

              “I – I ran away.”

              “And he just let you leave?”

              “I escaped. I ran. There’s nothing else I can tell you.”

              Lord Aubrey sighed with disappointment. He leaned back in his chair. At that moment, Valerie glanced up to see the coal black eyes of the deer head. Her reflection was so small in those lifeless orbs.

              “May I show you something?” Lord Aubrey asked.

              “My Lord may do as he pleases.” Valerie’s words shook like they were made of ice.

              “What you’re about to see may disturb you, and I wanted to ask your permission in case you wanted to avoid such un-pleasantries. Do you still wish to see?”

              Valerie did not wish to see, but what power did she have to plead otherwise? Lord Aubrey took her silence as agreement and began to untie the leather straps of his mask. Valerie’s heartbeat quickened. It felt like someone was trying to pull her insides out through her chest.

              Lord Aubrey removed the mask from his face as though he was peeling off his skin. His fingers trembled as he laid his mask on the desk. Valerie would never forget the look in his eyes as he exposed himself to her.

              The scars were more horrible than in her imagination. Valerie could clearly see the claws that had left those angry red marks on Lord Aubrey’s face. She didn’t think that anything could surprise her anymore. How wrong she was.

              “That demon that dares to call himself a man did this to me,” Lord Aubrey said through his teeth. With disgust, he pointed at his scars. “I watched him kill my men, good men, who were only trying to protect me. I watched him tear their throats open with his teeth. I watched him bury his claws into their flesh. I heard their screams, their cries for help, and I was…powerless to save them.” He took a few breaths to steady himself. “I have been trying to stop him for a long, long time. All I need is for you to tell me where I can find him so I can finally end this madness.”

              Valerie resisted the urge to cover her mouth. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

              “So am I,” Lord Aubrey said. Valerie did not miss the bitterness in his tone. He quickly put his mask back on, as though he was embarrassed that he had removed it in the first place. “I don’t believe you were his accomplice. Even so, I can’t let you leave. Not while he is still out there.”

              Valerie felt the words sink under her skin. “H-how long am I to stay?”

              Lord Aubrey assessed her coldly. “For as long as it takes,” he said casually. “You can leave when he’s dead.”

*

Young Aubrey let the girl stay in the guest room. In truth, he cared not where she slept, so long as she did not dare leave the manor. When he thought of her, he felt curious and enraged. He did not understand how someone could protect a demon so heinous. Had the demon infected her mind so thoroughly that she no longer knew right from wrong? It was a frightening thought. It meant that the demon had more power than he imagined.

              He did his best to remain calm. The demon would eventually come for the girl, and Young Aubrey had to be ready to meet it. There was only the small matter of waiting.

              “Why hasn’t it arrived yet?” Young Aubrey asked as he stared fixedly out the window at the forest. The trees were now thick with fresh spring leaves that blew languidly in the breeze. If only the wind was strong enough to part the trees, they would reveal the secrets that lay among them.

              “I can’t answer that with certainty, sir,” Captain Jonasson said. “We’ve only had her for two days. Perhaps he is unsure where to look for her.”

              “He – it must know that I have her.”

              “Even if he does, you can’t expect him to storm through the manor. Not with all the armed guardsmen.”

              Young Aubrey nodded slowly to himself, as if he alone had conjured this thought. “You’re right. He mustn’t know she’s here. If he – if it does, then the plan will be ruined, and he will forever be beyond my grasp.” He balled his hand into an empty fist as if to demonstrate. “No, the girl must stay inside. She is not to go anywhere for any reason. No one is to speak of her being here.”

              “But, sir, she is not a –”

              “She is my only means of capturing the demon. If she has to experience some unpleasantness, then so be it. It’s the least she could do.” Especially after the way she looked at my scars, he thought. He was very familiar with the look that was in her eyes. She was just like everyone else. How disappointing.

              “My Lord, she has not committed a crime.”

              “She failed to disclose the location of the creature. I’d say I was being merciful.”

              “It could be that she really doesn’t know his whereabouts. Do you really think the demon would let her slip away if she did?”

              “You weren’t there, Captain. You didn’t see her face. She feared I would discover her secret. She feared that I would find him.”

              “Maybe because she knows what he is capable of.”

              Young Aubrey clenched his jaw. “You don’t believe me,” he said evenly. He towered over Captain Jonasson and looked down at him, daring him to say anything different—hoping that he would.

              To his credit, Captain Jonasson did not look away. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, sir. I simply don’t believe she deserves to be punished after all she’s been through.”

              “You promised that you would never question my orders. You promised that you would be loyal to me.” Young Aubrey placed his hand over his heart as though Captain Jonasson had physically wounded him. “Are you going back on your word?”

              “No, sir, I would never –”

              “Then the girl stays in her room. She is lucky to have that much.”

              Captain Jonasson appeared as though he wanted to say more, but he chose not to. What could you possibly do to me? Young Aubrey thought. He fancied testing the good captain. How far can I push him before he surrenders? Before he breaks?

              “What are we going to do now, my Lord?” Captain Jonasson asked.

              Young Aubrey sat at his desk and laid a map across the table. “We’re going to intercept the demon. If he is searching for the girl, he will return to the places she’s been previously. One of them will be Merrion.” He tapped on the town marked on the map. “The other, presumably, will be here. We’ll need to set up checkpoints here.” With his quill, he marked three locations near Merrion. “And a few near Leola. We’ll have the men bring the dogs to sniff him out from among the travelers.”

              Captain Jonasson stared at the map with a look of concern on his face.

Young Aubrey smiled. “Fear not, Captain Jonasson. If all goes according to plan, we will have him at last.”

              “It’s not that I fear, my Lord,” Captain Jonasson said somberly. “I fear what will come after.”

*

              Valerie considered staying in her room for the rest of the day, since she was exhausted and shaken by her encounter with Lord Aubrey, but the more she stared out of the window, seeing the familiar rooftops of the town she had once lived in, the more she wanted to walk about town, to see what she had missed in the months she was away. More than anything, she wanted to visit her parents.

              When she opened the door, she discovered two guards standing on opposite sides of the doorway. They turned and blocked her way out. One of them held his hand out in front of her.

              “Is there something you need, miss?” he asked.

              She supposed it was inevitable that an escort would be required. “I was wondering if someone could walk with me around Leola.”

              “I’m afraid that’s not possible, miss. Lord Aubrey’s orders.”

              Valerie was at a loss. The thought of being trapped in that room for another minute was unthinkable. She did not want to accept defeat. Perhaps she needed to request something smaller. “Then could I possibly have a tour around the manor? I’d love to see the gardens and –”

              “If there is anything you need, someone can bring it for you,” the guard said curtly.

              “I want some fresh air,” she said. Her voice cracked.

              “If you would like, I can open the window for you.”

              “I don’t want the window open. I want to –” She attempted to step around them, but they quickly intercepted her.

              “Whatever you may need,” the guard said through gritted teeth, “we will have it brought to you. Please return to your room.”

              Valerie pressed her lips together, struggling to retain what threatened to burst out. “I am to stay in my room?”

              “Yes, miss.”

              “I don’t know where he is. I would help if I could, but I–”

              “Please return to your room, miss.”

              Valerie shook her head. “No. Lord Aubrey cannot keep me here. I’m not a criminal.”

              “Please return to your room.”

              She tried to push past the guards, but they grabbed her roughly by the elbows. Their metal fingers pressed into her skin. “Let go of me!” she shouted. “Let me go! He can’t keep me here! He can’t!”

              They shoved her back into the room. Valerie staggered backwards, nearly tripping over her feet. Before she could regain her footing, one of the guards slammed the door shut.

              No matter how hard she pounded, no matter how loud she screamed, they would not let her out.

Chapter 28

Damien removed the freshly washed plate from the basin. He waited until some of the water had run off before handing it over. Several seconds passed before he looked over and once again realized that there was nobody beside him. He would have to dry it himself.

              This happened several times a day. He’d be doing something, fully aware that he was alone in his endeavor, and yet he’d turn to the side expecting someone to be there. When he read in the parlor, he’d look over to the empty spot beside him. When he went to the kitchen for his meals, he walked into a cold room with two empty chairs. And when he made to bid goodnight, his voice echoed within the walls of the house. Nobody was there to greet him when he woke.

              Damien finished the dishes and thought about what he would do next. The day wasn’t over yet; he had just finished having lunch. That was the problem with having too much time: You don’t know what to do with it next, and when you do, there is always, always too much left over. He almost asked his ghostly companion if she wanted to walk with him.

                            Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. He was startled by the sound. He waited. Maybe it was just in his head. A few seconds later, he heard it again—three insistent taps at the front door.

              At first, he thought it was a stranger trying to find some shelter or trying to find him. No, he thought as the three taps came again, surely the stranger would just let himself in. And if this person wanted to find him, well, he’d hardly be polite about it. It had to be someone who knew he was here—ready to answer the door should someone come knocking.

              What if she came back?

              The concept was impossible, and yet he couldn’t help himself. He started seeing her standing patiently at the doorway as though she had never left. His heart thudded madly. He broke into a short run to the door and then came to an abrupt stop. Mustn’t look too eager, he thought. Maybe I should have a drink in my hand, or maybe I should have two cups. I should have made some extra food; she might have liked some, even if it tasted terrible. What am I going to tell her? Should I start with how much I missed her? How much I did not mean to hurt her? How I so badly want things to work between us—for things to go back to the way they used to be? We can simply be friends, and I will learn to stop loving you. Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine.

After he let his stomach settle, Damien finally opened the door.

Dante held up a fancy bottle of brandy, akin to the one he had brought when he had returned the first time. His hood was down, allowing Damien to take in his somber expression.

Damien’s first instinct was to slam the door on his maybe-brother’s face. Somehow, though, he just did not have it in him. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice tinged with weariness and disappointment.

“I only want to talk,” Dante said. “Can I come in?”

              “You can talk if you want. I’m not much in the mood for it.” Damien moved out of the way to let Dante in. Then he shut the door.

              “Is there somewhere we can sit?” Dante asked.

              Damien gestured half-heartedly to the kitchen and led the way. After setting the table in relative silence, they took their respective places. Damien noticed that Dante was sitting in Valerie’s seat.

              Dante opened the bottle and poured two cups to the brim.

              “Is this your way of apologizing?” Damien asked.

              “I’m not apologizing. As I said, I’m here to talk.”

              Damien snatched his cup. Some of the liquid spilled on his hand. “So talk.”

              Dante assessed him for a moment, searching his face for answers to unspoken questions. “How are you?”

              Damien smirked. “Do you really want to know?”

              “Yes. Because some stubborn part of me still cares about what happens to you.”

              “You only care because you don’t have anyone else. Those people that you associate with? They are not with you. They don’t give a damn about you. And neither do I.”

              Dante folded his arms across his chest. “You don’t have to keep lying.”

              “I have lied about a lot of things. This is not one of them.”

              “I know you’re angry about what happened. But you are my brother, and no matter what you say –”

              “No. We are not brothers. We haven’t been for a long time.” Damien pushed his cup towards Dante without even taking a sip. “Is that why you really came back here? To try and make up for lost time? To act as though you never…” He trailed off and took a deep breath. “If you really were my brother, you wouldn’t have…” Something was wrenching loose inside of him, and now he was scrambling desperately to tighten it again.

              “I wouldn’t have what?” Dante asked sharply.

              Damien shook his head.

              “I wouldn’t have what?” Dante repeated, nearly shouting the words.

              Damien met his maybe-brother’s eyes. “You wouldn’t have let me be like this.” His claws dug into his palm; the biting pain was not enough. “You would have been there to stop me.”

              “You should have stopped yourself,” Dante snapped. “Don’t you dare put this on me, Damien. Don’t you dare.”

              “I did it for you,” Damien said quietly. “Who else is there to blame?”

              Before Dante could answer, Damien continued in the same deceptively quiet manner. Inside, it felt like something was threatening to boil over, to spill on the table before him, to stain his hands and sour the brandy. “I did it because I didn’t want you to be alone. I saw what it did to you, and how you hated me because I was not like you. You were what he had made us to be. There was a wedge between us the moment you took your first life. And I could feel you leaving me behind. Then you left me here and forgot about me, only returning to feed me like I was some sort of pet.” He spat the word like it was a bitter taste in his mouth. “You were the one who told me that people didn’t matter because we were never going to be like them. And then, when it was convenient for you, you decided that they suddenly mattered. Then, when I tried to make something, to make meaning out of what was once meaningless, you decide that I don’t deserve it. So, yes, Dante, I will put this on you.” He raised his cup in a facsimile of a toast.

              Dante stared at him with a mixture of pity and resentment. “You and I both know that whatever you had with that girl was never going to work. Killer or not. You are quick to place the blame on me, but I was not the one who guided your hand when you struck her. Or is that her fault?”

              Damien immediately got to his feet with his fist raised, ready to strike. Dante, however, did not flinch. He stared up at Damien with an expression that said, “Prove me right.” Damien’s fist shook, straddled between wanting to fight and wanting to surrender.

              “If she was here now,” Dante continued, “would you be blaming her for the decisions you made?”

              I already did, Damien thought. He slowly lowered his fist back down to his side. He slumped back down in his seat, sick and ashamed. How could he have done that to her, to someone he loved so much? I wanted to protect her and I wanted her to love me. And I could do neither.

              How could such good intentions go so irreparably wrong?

              His hand was still trembling as he raised his cup to his lips. The brandy tasted like blood.

              “We have both done terrible things,” Dante said, “to others and each other. The best thing we can do is move on. Which brings me to the reason I came here in the first place: I think the two of us should leave.”

              Damien took a moment to think on that proposal before shaking his head. “No.”

              “Why not?”

              “Where would we go?”

              “Someplace very far.”

              That had always been the answer. Damien did not know why he expected anything different. What sort of decisions will I make elsewhere? he thought. And who will I make them for?

              “I know why you don’t want to leave,” Dante said. “But that should be your motivation. She…is, without a doubt, very angry with you. There is a chance that she may want to enact some revenge and tell someone about us.”

              “She would never do that. She is not that type of person.”

              “I’m not willing to risk it. We should make plans to leave, and we should do it soon.”

              “I know we should, but…what if –”

              “She’s not coming back.” Dante let the words sink in. “Wherever she is now, she is better off.” He paused again. “I’m sorry.”

              Damien took a deep breath, still reluctant to let go even though he knew Dante was right. Even if she did return, there was no chance she would ever accept his apology. Maybe, in the end, it was better this way.

              “I thought you weren’t going to apologize,” Damien said with a small chuckle.

              “I’m not sorry about what I said. But I am sorry that it did not work between you and her. We both deserved a better life once. Maybe when we put this all behind us, we can try and earn that again. I want us to start over, Damien. I want us to really be brothers. We can’t be like that here.”

              At one point in his life, Damien would have given anything to hear his maybe-brother say that. At one point, he thought that was all he ever wanted. Now, he wasn’t sure.

              “You’re right,” Damien said finally. “We can’t stay here.”

              They made arrangements to leave in the next few days. Dante was going to gather some supplies, and once he returned, they would leave for good. “That should also give you enough time to say goodbye,” Dante said before he left.

              “Thank you,” Damien said.

              When Dante departed, Damien went upstairs. He thought he was going to his bedroom to lie down and get some rest, but he ended up stopping at the door of Valerie’s room. Barely hesitating, he opened it and stepped inside.

              Her scent was everywhere, as if she was a ghost haunting this place. Damien crossed over to the bed, grabbed the sheets, and carefully tore them in half. The snarling rip of the fabric felt satisfying, like a permanent end…a goodbye. He grabbed the pillow and ripped it open. Snow white feathers tumbled lazily around his feet. He then noticed something lying underneath the pillow.

              It was a figurine of a monster.

              Damien gently plucked it from the mattress and held it in the palm of his hand. He remembered the story she had told while he was lying there. He had been too weak to answer her, and he didn’t want her to stop talking. He remembered the question, too.

              Is that the kind of monster you are?

After staring at it for a few moments, he decided to pocket it.

              He could not leave it behind.

*

              The guards had to step into the room whenever the servants entered. Several times, Valerie tried to fight past the servant girls to leave the room, but the guards always stopped her, roughly shoving her back into her prison. She’d scream at them at the top of her lungs. “You can’t keep me here!” But they did for several long, agonizing days.

              Valerie felt like an animal as she sat curled up by the window, watching the world go on without her. Sometimes the servants brought her books, and sometimes she would read them, wanting to live vicariously through other people, even fictional people. It was her only means of escape.

              When the servants brought in a tub for bathing, the guards insisted on standing watch to make sure she did not attempt to escape again. Valerie no longer cared about being naked in front of others. What use did dignity have here? They already thought her strange—thought her not a lady at all—and in truth, she did not feel very much like a lady. She’d stare down the guardsmen with the iciest glare possible as the servants poured scalding water over her skin. Anger burned through the remainder of her grief. Every time she saw her scar in the mirror, she felt shame, and guilt, and loneliness. She wished with all her might that she had the power to tear the manor down.

              It was hard to keep telling herself to get out of bed. Even if I get up, where would I go? One day she lay in bed for hours, sick of watching the world, sick of reading about other people living, and sick of seeing the guardsmen’s disgust as they watched her undress. Have I become a monster? she wondered as she stared up at the canopy. Am I unfit to go out into the world? And if I did, would they accept me? Valerie did not know how to feel if that was true. It felt as though her anger had destroyed everything. What was left but ashes?

              She did not know how many days had passed, but one morning someone knocked on the door. It was strange because the servants usually did not knock. Perhaps Lord Aubrey was calling for her again. Maybe he thinks he has broken me to the point of confession, Valerie thought. She thought about telling whoever it was to enter, but then she thought that it would be nice to have control over that for a change.

              After forcing herself out of bed, she crossed the room and opened the door. Captain Jonasson was standing at the threshold with the guardsmen behind him.

              “Good morning, miss,” he said quietly. Valerie did not feel like returning his greeting. Her mind was too busy pondering what on earth Lord Aubrey was going to do to punish her now.

              “Do you mind if we speak inside?” Captain Jonasson asked, gesturing into the room. “I would rather have a conversation privately, if that’s all right with you.”

              Valerie made room for him to enter and then closed the door.

              “What does Lord Aubrey want?” Valerie asked before Captain Jonasson could explain himself.

              “I’m not here on behalf of Lord Aubrey,” Captain Jonasson said. “I’m here on your behalf.”

              Valerie raised her eyebrow. “Why?”

              “Because you haven’t been treated fairly. It’s not right for him to lock you in here with guards posted at your door. I know you expressed interest in going out to see Leola, and I would like to grant you that opportunity.”

              Valerie could almost see the strings holding his proposal aloft. “How?”

              “I would escort you out of the manor. Once we’re in Leola, we can go wherever you like. The town hasn’t changed much, but I’m sure you’d rather see it for yourself than hear me describe it.”

              “What about Lord Aubrey?”

              “I haven’t seen him all morning. He was called away for an errand.”

              “Would the guards be joining us?”

              “No. It would only be you and I.”

              “You’re trusting me not to run?” she asked.

              “You’re not a criminal; there is no need for distrust between us.”

              “To be honest, sir, I don’t see much of a reason to trust you. You work for Lord Aubrey. How do I know this isn’t a trick to punish me in some way?”

              Captain Jonasson folded his hands as though he was trying to hold on to his patience. “Would it help if I apologized?”

              “For what?”

              “For taking so long to come to my senses. You don’t deserve any of this. You deserve to go your own way, to move on from what you’ve been through. Yet I stood aside and watched because I was a coward. Because, yes, I do work for Lord Aubrey. In fact, I consider him my friend. However, I cannot go against what I believe is right. Not for anyone.”

The sincerity in his tone was enough to give Valerie pause, yet there was still something about all of this that she simply did not like. She could not place her finger on what that was. The thought of going outside was much too tempting to allow herself to question anything further. After all, Valerie did not have to accept his apology if she did not want to. She could let him stew in his guilt for as long as she liked. Having that power was almost frightening.

Valerie decided, for now, to ignore the apology. She assessed him coolly for a few moments before saying, “I accept your offer. However, I refuse to answer further questions about what happened to me or about my life. If you want to know more about me, you can simply ask Lord Aubrey.”

“I can assure you I have no intention of doing such a thing,” Captain Jonasson said.

“In fact, I think it would be best if you did not speak at all during our trip.” I’m doing this for myself, she thought. Not for you.

“If that is your wish, miss.”

“If you’re going to address me, you can call me Valerie. I’m not partial to the term, ‘miss.’”

They walked down the crooked path towards the gate in silence. As they neared the town, Valerie could feel her stomach dip with each step. It was late into the night when she was brought to the manor; by then most people were already tucked into their beds. Now, however, everyone was bound to see her. Would anybody recognize her? And if they did, what would she tell them? They would surely want to know where she had been. They would surely want to know how she got that mark on her cheek.

She had half a mind to turn back.

But what is there to turn back to? An empty room? She could not keep living in fear and shame. Yes, I lived with a beast. Yes, I wanted to. This scar was my reward.

Besides, it was already too late. The gate was directly ahead of them. With just a few more steps, she would be among her people again.

The guardsmen opened the gate without question. They bid Captain Jonasson good day and ignored Valerie completely. Captain Jonasson went ahead of her. When he realized she wasn’t following, he turned back.

“Are you coming?” he asked.

Valerie took a deep breath and let it out through her nose.

I’ve made it this far.

She entered Leola with her heart beating wildly on her tongue.

“Where would you like to go first?” Captain Jonasson asked when she returned to his side.

She took a moment to think about it. “The marketplace.” There, she thought, I will encounter my first test.

As usual, the marketplace was buzzing with activity. Much to Valerie’s surprise, it had hardly changed. As they walked around to take in the wares of the shops, she felt like she was back in the time when her father was still alive. To her, that was more overwhelming than if the buildings had been completely renovated. The pub her father frequented sat right across the street from the gunsmith where he worked. Valerie nearly ran into both buildings to see if she could still find him. Everything else was exactly how she had left it; why couldn’t that be, too?

Someone bumped into her, snapping her out of her reverie.

“Excuse me, miss,” the woman said. Valerie was startled to recognize Mrs. Lind. Her hair was in the signature tight bun. Her sharp eyes lingered on Valerie’s for just a second. Valerie nearly asked Mrs. Lind if she remembered her.

The woman smiled forcibly and moved on to the book shop. She had another assistant sweeping the front.

Have I really changed so much? she wondered as she watched Mrs. Lind’s retreating back. She honestly didn’t know how she felt about that encounter—part relief, part longing.

“Are you hungry?” Captain Jonasson asked. He pointed to the bakery. “Every time I pass by, the smell drives me mad. He makes blueberry cakes that I absolutely cannot resist.”

I remember them, Valerie thought. Every so often, she had allowed herself that simple indulgence. They always tasted wonderful.

“I think I could use one right now,” she said softly.

A few minutes later, she and Captain Jonasson were sitting on the bench by the bakery with two slices of fresh blueberry cake. They were just as delicious as Valerie remembered. Each bite was like being transported back in time. If only that could happen. She would change so much. Then again, maybe nothing would change. Maybe no matter what she did, she would still end up on this bench, watching people and wishing she could go back. 

Several passersby that she thought would recognize her waved and greeted Captain Jonasson instead. A few even stopped by to have a short chat. Captain Jonasson was always quick to ask how they were doing. Most people would ask out of politeness, but Captain Jonasson sounded as though he genuinely wanted to know. No wonder people were so eager to speak to him; his smile alone could make anyone feel as though he was in the presence of an old friend. When he conversed with these people, it was as though he had grown up in their home and he was reuniting with them again. He introduced Valerie as Lord Aubrey’s guest, saying that he was escorting her around Leola. Valerie was grateful that he didn’t mention her by name.

“Would you permit me to ask a question?” Captain Jonasson asked after he had finished eating.

Valerie picked at the remains of her cake. “You may ask a question, but you should not expect an answer.”

“I would understand if you chose not to. It is something I’ve been wondering ever since Lord Aubrey received his injury. This man that he is hunting. The man that held you hostage…is he really a demon?”

She felt the hairs along the back of her neck bristle.

“I understand if you don’t wish to answer –” Captain Jonasson began.

“He is a monster,” Valerie said quickly. “The worst thing he did was fool me into thinking he wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to –”

“It’s all right.” Valerie stood. “There is somewhere else I’d like to go.”

They walked down the lane with the familiar row of crooked houses. They looked like teeth ready to eat—ready to crush. As Valerie walked beside Captain Jonasson toward the end of the lane, she felt as though she was about to be devoured.

Valerie assumed that her old house would be the same, but she received an unpleasant shock when she found that it wasn’t at all. At first, she thought she was mistaken, but no…this was the front gate she opened to get to the steps. She almost mimicked the movement to do so, just so something about it could feel familiar. Her eyes wandered over the house and she noted the changes. The door had been painted anew, and she could no longer see her father’s guardsman’s mark. There was a bed of flowers in the small patch of earth that was dry when Valerie lived there. The roof had been fixed—not recently, but at some point when she was gone. And through the window of her old room, she could see a stranger staring down at her—a mother with a babe in her arms.

It was too much. She had to look away.

“Are you all right, Miss Valerie?” Captain Jonasson asked.

“I…” She didn’t know if she was all right. “When did they move in? The family?”

“I do not know, Miss Valerie. I do not have access to those records.”

“They’ve taken good care of this house.”

“It appears so.” The captain looked at her from the corner of his eye. Then he looked back to the front door. He gestured to it with his metal hand. “Would you like to go inside? I’m sure the family would not mind.”

Valerie took a moment to carefully consider the question. A part of her wanted to. She wanted her memories back. She closed her eyes and took a breath. When she breathed out, she said, “No. There is nothing in there that is mine.”

The mother moved away from the window, probably to fetch someone to see why there were two strangers standing outside her house.

“Perhaps we should go,” Captain Jonasson suggested. “If you’re ready.”

Valerie did not hesitate to reply. “I am. But there is one more place I’d like to see before returning to the manor.”

“Of course, Miss Valerie. Anywhere you’d like to go.”

The cemetery had a few visitors clustered around the gravestones. Fresh grass had grown where the bodies lay buried. There was a nice, quiet smell of flowers and rain. The only sounds were scattered sobs.

Valerie had only been here twice in her life, but she remembered where her parents were buried as though she had frequented this place. She stood silently with Captain Jonasson, looking at her parents’ names and the dates that signified their lives. These came to her as merely facts. Valerie had the hardest time picturing their faces. When she tried, she could only see blurry outlines of them sitting together at the table. There were other memories she had carried with her, but it was like looking into a muddy pond. Only sparse details came to light. She did not feel as though she was among the presence of ghosts. She did not feel as though her parents were standing behind her or hovering above her at this very moment. She did not hear any strange whispers. Where was the overwhelming grief? Where was the anger?

Buried with you, she hoped. Buried for good.

“I am not staying in Leola,” Valerie announced, “and I am not waiting for Lord Aubrey to let me go.” It felt scary to say it because it was so final. But that was merely it. It was final. It was done.

“Do you know where you will go?” Captain Jonasson asked.

It was only now that she knew the answer, now that she was standing here among the dead. Perhaps her parents did not want this for her; perhaps they did.

But it was what she wanted.

“Wherever I want,” she said.

A storm of a crowd was building as they walked back on the streets. People were excitedly chatting as they made their way to the square.

“What’s going on?” Valerie asked Captain Jonasson.

“I’m not sure.” The captain stopped one of the passer-by and asked, “Excuse me, sir, can you tell me where everyone is going?”

“The crier just made the announcement,” the man said. “Lord Aubrey’s returned from the forest. He says he’s caught the demon.”

Chapter 29

It wasn’t quite yet dawn when a knock arrived at his bedroom door. At any rate, he hadn’t been asleep. Young Aubrey threw on his robe and opened the door to one of his guardsmen. Young Aubrey did not need him to speak. From the expression on his face, he knew.

              “We found it, my Lord,” the guard said in barely a whisper, as though afraid to speak the news aloud. “It was too horrible to bring into town. You shouldn’t go near it.”

              “I must,” Young Aubrey said. “Fetch Captain Jonasson and take me to him.”

              “I’m afraid Captain Jonasson was not in the barracks this morning.”

              “Where is he?”

              “I’m not sure, sir. He has not spoken to anyone of his whereabouts.”

              Young Aubrey had his suspicions, but they could wait. “Fine. Let us go without him.”

              Quickly, Young Aubrey dressed and followed the guardsman out of the manor. They rode on horseback to the forest as quickly as they dared. So many thoughts raced in Young Aubrey’s mind. He felt a strange sense of finality as the buildings and streets raced past him in a blur. It felt as though something had slammed into his chest.

              Young Aubrey took his time dismounting and tying his horse to a nearby tree. He and his guardsman walked slowly into the forest.

              “How did you catch him?” Young Aubrey asked.

              The guardsman seemed to have snapped out of some sort of stupor upon being addressed. “It was as you said, my Lord. It was on its way to Merrion to look for the girl.” He appeared to have more to say, but he looked away quickly and swallowed.

              “What happened?” Young Aubrey pressed.

              “It killed…two men. It tore through them like – like parchment. I heard the noise and I…I’m sorry.” He would say no more on the matter. Young Aubrey could only imagine.

              “Sorry for what?”

              The guardsman did not answer, but Young Aubrey could guess what he was going to say. I’m sorry we did not believe you. Young Aubrey felt a slight tinge of satisfaction. If only his father was here to see this.

              “You did well,” Young Aubrey said as a way of accepting his apology.

              “You should have let us kill it, my Lord.”

              “Killing it would have been too easy. You remember what my father said? Evil must be punished.”

              The guardsman stopped. “Evil must be destroyed.”

              “Excuse me?”

              “That’s what your father said. Evil must be destroyed, not punished.” He pointed ahead. “They are holding it over there, waiting for your orders, my Lord.”

              Young Aubrey thought it best not to comment on what his father used to say. He was sure he knew Lord Aubrey best. After all, this man did not watch his father die. “Are you coming?” he asked.

              “No, my Lord. I don’t wish to lay my eyes on it again.” He turned away and leaned against a tree as if his own weight was too much for his fragile, shaking bones.

              Young Aubrey left him, knowing full well that nothing he could say would provide comfort. Besides, he was simply not one for comforting others. The demon had seen to that.

              That’s why you want this to end, he reminded himself, so you can get that part of you back. So that no one will be afraid of you. So that you can return to the Aubrey you were before you were a false smile and before you killed your father…who you loved so much.

              Six guardsmen surrounded a man chained up on his knees. There was a small burlap bag over the man’s head and two of Young Aubrey’s men had their rifles pointed at him. It looked like a man. Young Aubrey knew it was the demon; the fact that it took six of his men to bring him down was proof enough. He could see the bag moving as the demon gave slow, harsh, rattling breaths. Blood was seeping through the left side of the bag and was dripping down the demon’s shoulder. The blood was wine red like a man’s. What kind of foul creature could be so deceiving? Young Aubrey thought.

              One of his men bowed his head when Young Aubrey approached. “My Lord,” he said as he stepped to the side, giving Young Aubrey room to approach the prisoner.

              Young Aubrey almost did not want to remove the burlap bag. He could hear the demon’s breathing quicken with his own. How are we both so afraid of each other? Young Aubrey pondered as he slowly lowered his hand to the top of the demon’s head. He hovered over it for a moment, as though he feared the demon would break free and take him. Then, in one swift motion, he curled his fingers around the bag and violently yanked it off the demon’s head.

              It was more horrible than in his nightmares.

              The demon’s triangular ears were stiff and alert, like a dog’s. There was a deep cut on the left side of his black-furred brow. His thin-lipped mouth was curled back to expose his blood stained fangs. And those eyes. His eyes were jade green daggers aimed at Young Aubrey’s heart. Young Aubrey could not help himself, he had to take a step back and recoil his hands.

              “I don’t care what that bitch told you,” the demon spat, his voice sounding like there were stones trapped in his throat. Young Aubrey shuddered. “I’m not telling you where he is.”

              It took several seconds for Young Aubrey to regain his composure. What was this demon playing at? “Where who is?” Young Aubrey asked.

              The demon kept his eyes on Young Aubrey, refusing to say a word. He merely bared his teeth again, reminding Young Aubrey of the damage he had done.

              Didn’t the old crone from the inn say the demon spoke of a brother? At the time, it did not mean much to Young Aubrey.

              “There’s more than one of you,” he said slowly as comprehension dawned on him. This was not the demon he had spoken to in Merrion.

              His guardsmen were visibly terrified by the idea. Young Aubrey did his best to remain authoritative. If I go down, who will sail this ship?

              The demon remained silent, but his reaction to Young Aubrey’s words was enough. 

              “That’s all right,” Young Aubrey said as he knelt before the demon. “You don’t have to tell me where he is.” He pointed to one of his men. “Give me your knife.”

              The guard did as he was instructed.

              Young Aubrey held up the blade to the demon’s face and slowly waved it back and forth as though he meant to hypnotize him. Then he asked, “I wonder how much your fur is worth.”

*

              It did not take long to say goodbye.

              It took longer for Damien to leave. He lingered at the threshold of the front door and looked up the stairs as though he still expected someone else to come down to meet him. All was still and quiet. Eventually, this house will collapse, and the forest will embrace it in its leaves and bushes and tree roots. It will be as if no one had ever lived here.

              It was better that way.

              Damien slowly let out a breath, and then he stepped outside. He locked the door behind him and then chucked the key away. He didn’t wait to hear the sound of it landing in the distance. Instead, he moved in the opposite direction to meet up with Dante. The only thing he carried with him was the little monster figurine in his pocket. He could feel it tapping against his leg as though it was trying to get his attention. “We’re going to start over,” Damien said. He patted his pocket as though he was reassuring the little monster. “It’s going to be good for us.” He let the words linger in the air. “Maybe we’ll return to the city on the sea…”

              He couldn’t finish it.

              He settled into a steady rhythm of forward walking. It became so monotonous that, at first, he did not register that he had missed their meeting spot by a few yards. Dante had yet to arrive. Maybe some things would never change.

              Damien leaned against a tree, folded his arms, and waited. And waited. And waited. He started to worry. He reached for the little monster in his pocket and held it. He’s on his way, he thought. He did not know if he was sharing this thought with the little monster or not. Something must have held him up.

              Or someone.

              The waiting became too much; Damien had to do something. He walked for a short distance to see if Dante was coming along the path. As he walked, he noticed a faint copper smell in the air. It grew stronger as he kept on. The scent made him nervous. He recognized it as blood.

              He moved faster toward the scent, frantically ripping down the branches that were in his path and kicking the stones in front of his feet. After a while, he broke into a run. It’s not Dante, he thought as the wind whistled in his ears. Dante is fine. He probably had to kill someone or he probably killed an animal so that we could have some food for the trip. “Where are we going, anyway?” “Wherever we want,” Dante had told him the first night they met.

              Wherever we want.

              At the end of the road, Damien saw a bleeding man chained to two trees, his arms were spread apart as though he was waiting for an embrace. As Damien drew closer, he realized that it was not a man, and his heart felt as though it would never beat again.

              Without thinking, he rushed towards Dante. Alarm bells shrieked above him. Damien knew it was a trap, but he ran to Dante anyway because they were supposed to start over together and he could not do it alone. He fell to his knees in front of Dante and called his name.

              They had cut off both of his ears and skinned the flesh off the left side of his face, leaving a pulpy, bloody mess. His left eye was lidless, lifeless, focused on the ground. Blood stained his front and slid down his neck. Damien shook his maybe-brother’s shoulders but Dante would not move. But he is alive, he has to be. The bells were screaming into Damien’s brain and it made it hard to think. He grabbed one of the chains and started to pull with all his might. It wouldn’t give. He stood, planted his foot against the tree, and pulled again. I am strong enough to break a man’s bones, but not my brother’s chains, he thought.

              “Dante, wake up! Please, I can’t –”

              Dante stirred slowly, almost drunkenly. His left eye wobbled as it moved. He said something but his voice was drowned out by the bells. Damien moved closer to him and forced his maybe-brother to look him in the eye.

              “Lord Aubrey is coming,” Dante said hoarsely. “His men. I thought the girl told him.” His laugh was broken. “He doesn’t even have her.” 

              “It’s going to be all right,” Damien said hurriedly. “I just have to find a way to –”

              “You can’t.”

              “I’m going to –”

              “Leave me here. Get out.”

              Damien tried to pry the links loose. He nearly bit them with his teeth as if that would be any better. There wasn’t much time. He knelt back in front of Dante.

              “Dante, listen to me. You have to – to tell me what to do. Tell me how to get you out,” Damien said. He pulled on the chain one more time.

              “Run,” Dante said.

              “No. I can’t.”

              “There is nothing you can do.” Dante took a few ragged breaths. When Damien failed to move, he said, “Go. They are coming.”

              Damien winced and released his brother’s shoulders. “I know,” he said. He stood and turned his back on his maybe-brother, facing the trees and the unknown. “I know.”

              Damien waited.

              Slowly, the bells ceased their ringing; leaving an emptiness that Damien could almost feel.

              Seconds fell like rain; they were so scattered that Damien lost count of them. It felt as though the bells were still ringing in his head, drowning his thoughts and his fears. There were rustling noises above and snapping noises below.

              And then there were footsteps.

              He would not give them a chance to surround him, and he was not surrendering without a fight. They could take him if they wanted, but they would not have Dante. Now I have to pull you from the sea, he thought. Damien charged forward.

              There was a bang and a searing hot pain sent him crashing down on one knee. Damien gritted his teeth as blood spilled from the small hole in his right leg. His leg felt so heavy; he fought with all his strength to get back up again. Meanwhile, ten guardsmen emerged cautiously from the trees, each with their rifles trained at him. 

              “Stay down!” a guardsman barked.

              Damien started to get up.

              He felt something crash against the back of his head. His vision went blurry and his head crackled.

              “Damien, don’t,” he heard Dante say behind him.

              “I’ll kill you for what you’ve done to him!” Damien shouted. “And I’ll send your heads to Lord Aubrey.”

              “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?”

              The men roughly moved Damien so he could see. Young Aubrey strolled up behind Dante. He pointed his pistol at the back of Dante’s head.

              “You will do as my men instruct you to,” Young Aubrey said, “or we’ll all see what a demon’s brain looks like.”

              “I will surrender if you let him go,” Damien said.

              “I don’t make deals with demons, and you have no leverage against me. If you try to get up again, he dies.”

              “He has done nothing to you. It was all me. I marked your face. I killed your men.”

              “And I don’t care. You have ten seconds.”

              Damien met Dante’s eyes. What choice did he have? I can’t let you go, he thought. “All right,” he said.

              “I want to hear you say it,” Young Aubrey said. “Say that you surrender, and I will free him.”

              “I surrender.”

              “Say it again.”

              The pain in his leg cemented him to the ground. Damien said it through his teeth, “I surrender.”

              Young Aubrey shoved the pistol against the back of Dante’s head. “I can’t hear you!” he shouted.

              “I surrender!” Damien shouted back. He raised his hands. “I’ll do as you say. Just let him go.”

              Young Aubrey waited for a moment. And then he slowly lowered his pistol. “Chain him up,” he commanded his guards. “And take off that ridiculous disguise. Leola needs to see him as he really is.”

              The guards did as their lord commanded. They ripped off his cloak and tossed it aside. Damien did not need to hear their murmurs of disgust; he could see it in their eyes. They chained his hands behind his back. They wrapped the chains around his body, binding him tightly. And when they were done, Young Aubrey inspected their work, still standing behind Dante.

              “I can’t believe there were two of you all this time,” Young Aubrey said. He shook his head incredulously. “It’s a shame I’m only bringing back one.”

*

              Most of the townspeople were already gathered in the square by the time Valerie and Captain Jonasson arrived. The wall of bodies in front of them made it harder to get any closer to the platform, so they settled for standing in the center. Valerie wasn’t sure she wanted to get any closer. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to be here. It’s not him, she thought as everyone waited anxiously for Lord Aubrey. It’s not him. Maybe it was Dante, but if it was Dante, Damien would most certainly come for him. She did not want it to be either of them.

              “We do not have to be here if you don’t wish to be, Miss Valerie,” Captain Jonasson said gently.

              “I know,” Valerie said. It would be no better to hear about it later. “Do you really think he caught him, Captain?”

              “He would not have arranged all of this if he hadn’t.”

If Valerie had asked Damien that question, he would have lied.

A hush fell over the crowd as Lord Aubrey stepped onto the platform. Behind him, four guards were escorting a severely skinny man with a bag over his head and his hands chained behind his back. The clothes he wore were too big for him. Around his waist was a knotted rope. He shook as he limped up the steps. Dried blood stained his right leg. The guards shoved him to the center of the stage beside Lord Aubrey. The smile on Lord Aubrey’s face was brighter than that of his mask.

At first, the crowd did not know what to make of this man’s ratty appearance. A few murmurs broke around Valerie. She heard one of them ask, “Is that really the demon?” Valerie knew better. She felt something tighten in her stomach. She was suddenly very aware of how many people were present.

“My good people of Leola,” Lord Aubrey began, “for two years we have lived with loss. We have watched our loved ones enter the forest and never return. We have stayed awake at night wondering why—wondering if we would ever know the answer.” He paused to gauge the reaction of the crowd. “When we lost my father, and I became lord, I made it my duty, my purpose, to keep us safe. May my father rest in peace, but he failed to understand the true danger that was hiding in our forest. Perhaps if he was here today, he would understand. I, however, knew the truth. And the truth is that it was not a man who robbed you of your sons and daughters. It was not a man who cost you your livelihoods. And it was not a man who cut me open and left me to die.”

He stepped over to the man beside him. Valerie hands were balled into fists. She could not blink, she could not look away.

“I present to you: the demon,” Lord Aubrey said, and he removed the bag with a flourish.

It was Damien.

Of course it was.

At first, a deadly silence permeated the square. The people stared open-mouthed at Damien for what felt like a long time.

And then the shouting erupted. Most were cries of panic; others were calls for justice.

“It really was a demon,” Captain Jonasson breathed.

Valerie loosened her fists. She wanted to run to Damien and shield him from the world. She also wanted to hate him like everyone else around her. She wanted to join the people in their shouts of outrage. All she could do was stand with them and feel too large and too small all at once.

“At dawn, I will fight the demon,” Lord Aubrey shouted above the roar of the crowd. “And I will mount his head in the square for you. I will do it, always, for you.”

The crowd cheered and shouted Lord Aubrey’s name. “Long live Lord Aubrey!” they said. Lord Aubrey extended his arms as though he meant to gather them in an embrace.

“Why are you crying, Miss Valerie?” Captain Jonasson asked. Valerie was surprised she could hear him over the cacophony.

“Because it’s over,” she said.

Chapter 30

After Young Aubrey sent the demon to the dungeon, and after the crowd had faded away with excited chatter about tomorrow’s event, Young Aubrey retreated to his office. The noise of his people filled his ears and slowly morphed into the report of a gunshot. He tried to pour himself a drink, but his hands were trembling so badly that he ended up spilling some wine across his desk. It dripped over the edge and stained his trousers, and he let it.

              Everything I did, I did for you. To keep you safe.

              He needed to focus on how he was going to kill the demon. It had to be heroic and awe-inspiring, and it had to be in a way that would let him shed the skin of this persona and become something better. Maybe he would even become what his father wanted him to be. 

              Why didn’t his father tell him how wearying it all was? Young Aubrey felt as though he could sleep for days.

              He was startled by the knock at the door. “Come in,” he said.

              Captain Jonasson entered. He had his helmet tucked under his arm, so Young Aubrey could fully see the grave expression etched on the captain’s face.

              “Is there nothing I can say for you to stop this, my Lord?” Captain Jonasson asked.

              Young Aubrey leaned back in his chair. He gestured to the seat across from him. “Why don’t you sit down? Have a drink.”

              “My Lord –”

              “Ah, ah, Jonasson. We are celebrating.” He quickly passed the bottle to the captain; he did not trust that he could pour it himself.

              Captain Jonasson noted the mess on his desk. “I would rather not, my Lord.”

              Young Aubrey rubbed the good side of his chin, assessing the captain. “Well, you could make yourself useful and pour me a drink. I think a toast is in order.”

              Captain Jonasson sighed and did as he was told. Young Aubrey fought to gain control of his hand—the hand that pulled the trigger—and raised the cup eye-level.

              “A toast to – well, I was going to say our victory, but since you were not there…to my victory.” He took a slow, unsatisfying sip. “You should have been with me.”

              “I am here, now.”

              Young Aubrey shook his head. “Where were you?”

              “With Miss Valerie. She wanted to see Leola, and I was happy to escort her.”

              Young Aubrey swiftly set his cup down on the table. “Were you just as happy when you discovered the truth?”

              “I did what I believed was the right thing, my Lord. It was not right to lock her away.”

              “You are blinded by the fact that she’s a woman. She was protecting that thing.” Young Aubrey closed his mouth and then took a deep breath. “It matters not. The demon has been caught. Tomorrow, it will die by my hand. What really concerns me is your betrayal, Captain.”

              Jonasson looked flabbergasted. “I would never–”

              “Oh, no, of course not! You would never. You and Yendel both. Is it because you deem yourself too good for such a thing? You swore to me that you would obey my every command, that you would follow me anywhere. That was part of your guardsman’s oath! And then you go behind my back and disobey me. You could have ruined everything I have worked so hard for. Does that mean nothing to you?”

              “My Lord –”

              “Did you even believe me? Did you ever?”

              “I believed in your cause –”

              “That is not what I am asking, Captain.”

              The worst thing Captain Jonasson could do was remain silent. Young Aubrey knew the captain knew this, too, and yet silent he remained.

              Young Aubrey spoke as slowly and calmly as he could. “I want you to leave your helmet on my desk, and leave your armor and weapons in the barracks. I am dismissing you from my service, Captain.”

              Captain Jonasson grew pale. “M-my Lord, you can’t –”              “I already have.”

“Please, my Lord. I-I’m sorry if I hurt you. And I am sorry that I was not there. You know my loyalty lies with you.”

              Young Aubrey looked away from him.

              “I have been with your family for twenty years, sir!”

              “And that is precisely the problem, Jonasson. You’re getting old and you’re set in your ways, and I need someone who will listen to me and not the ghost of my father.”

              “But, sir, I have been with you through everything. I stood by you when you lost your parents, when Yendel betrayed you. Would you really cast me aside for one error?”

              “For a grave error, yes. Now do I have to fetch the guards to escort you out, or are you going to be obedient for once?”

              Captain Jonasson hung his head. The pained look on his face wounded Young Aubrey more than the captain would ever know.

              “You should know that when I ordered the demon to do something, he did it without hesitating,” Young Aubrey said. “I think that speaks volumes, don’t you?”

              Captain Jonasson did not weep or yell. Like everything else about him, his departure was quiet and careful. He placed his helmet on the desk gently. He saluted Young Aubrey before turning his back on him. Once he reached the door, however, he paused and said over his shoulder, “I hope you live a good, happy life, my Lord.” He said it with a sad smile.

              There was only a half-second left for Young Aubrey to change his mind. The words were in his head but not yet in his throat.

              The door closed and Captain Jonasson was gone.

              Young Aubrey knocked the helmet off his desk.

*

              She didn’t have much to pack, but before the sun had officially set, Valerie was ready to leave. The only thing she had was a small bundle of clothes that she was sure Lord Aubrey would not miss. She would figure it all out later when she was out on the road.

              Once everything was prepared, she made to leave, only to find the two guardsmen at the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” one asked, holding his hand out in front of her.

              “Lord Aubrey captured him. He said once he did, I could leave,” Valerie said.

              The guardsmen looked at each other, then back at her. “New orders now. He’s allowing you to stay here one more night, but after he kills the demon, you’ll be sent off to the dungeon.”

              Valerie felt the blood drain from her face. “He promised me –”

              “He makes no promises to criminals like yourself, miss.”

              “And what is my crime?”

              “Concealing the whereabouts of the demon,” Lord Aubrey said as he stepped into view. “And concealing other, vital information. I’m sure you’ve guessed by now what that is.”

              He discovered Dante, Valerie thought. She felt sick. “You said you would let me go,” she said evenly.

              “And you said you swore you didn’t know a thing. Because of you, I had to dismiss Captain Jonasson. So I suppose we can both be disappointed in each other.”

              “You didn’t have to do that.”

              “His loyalty was tested, and he failed. In the end, I did what I had to do. Just as it will be tomorrow once I sever the demon’s head. I would invite you to watch, but I’m afraid it might cause further damage to your mind.”

              “There’s nothing wrong with me!” Valerie seethed. You won’t make me feel guilty. I won’t grant you that power, she thought. I have given up enough.

              Lord Aubrey stepped so close to her that she could smell the oil in his hair and smoke on his skin. “Is that right?” He smiled, and it was so perverse that Valerie had to step back from him. Lord Aubrey grabbed her chin and stroked her left cheek with his thumb. “As much as you may hate me, I am not the one who did this. I hope you remember that when you sleep tonight.” He shoved her back into the room and slammed the door shut.

*

              The waves beat over his body. The hot sand burned his cheek. He didn’t think he could open his eyes, but he somehow did. And when he woke up, he saw Dante lying across from him. He wasn’t moving.

              Damien tried to call for him but he only managed the “Da” sound. He willed himself to push his body on all fours and crawl very slowly over to him. He tried calling his name again. This time, he managed to say it completely. “Dante.” Wake up; we survived; we made it.

              He laid his hand on Dante’s chest. He could barely feel his maybe-brother’s heartbeat.

It was very cold in his cell, and there was barely any light. All around him he could hear murmurs and shouting and laughing. In his head, he heard the gunshot. He saw blood and bone and brains splattering across the trees. He saw the green eye staring back at him. And he could smell the burning flesh and fur of his brother when they lit his body on fire. 

“Dante,” Damien said as loud as he could. Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me. I can’t do this by myself. He shook his maybe-brother. “Dante.” We survived. We made it.

Please don’t go.

              Damien did not know why he never thought he and Dante were brothers. The pain was proof. He felt the loss in every inch of his body. It was as though someone was trying to pull out his organs one by one, until only a husk remained. The pain in his leg was not enough to drown it out. Shuddering sobs scraped his chest raw. There was so much he should have said before. And now he couldn’t remember what that was. The words were gone. 

              Dante coughed and sputtered water across himself. “What happened?” he asked groggily.

              Damien helped him sit up. He laughed in relief.

              “What’s so funny?”

              “You’re alive,” Damien said. He could have embraced his brother.

              Maybe when I’m dead, I will go where you are, he thought as he wiped the tears from his eyes. It was no small comfort, though, because who knew where, if anywhere, Dante was? He was not in a cage with Damien. Dante hated being trapped.  

              “Of course I’m alive. I wouldn’t let some pithy storm get the best of me.”

              “I should have known better.”

              “Are you crying?”

              “No.” Damien shielded himself as he wiped his eyes.

              Dante gingerly punched Damien’s arm. He looked back out at the ocean.

              Damien thought of Lord Aubrey—of that golden smile and the false one he wore when he pulled the trigger. Lord Aubrey was the one who lit the match and watched his brother burn. And now a fire was building inside of Damien, too. It was erasing everything he had left.

              Damien wrapped his hands around Valerie’s little monster and squeezed.

“Look at how far we’ve come,” Dante mused.

              “I can’t believe we made it.”

              “I always knew we would. You need to start having a bit more faith in me.”

The sharp bits of wood buried into his palms until they cut him open, but he held on.

Dante smiled crookedly and said, “It’s going to be a good life, Damien.”

              The little monster broke into pieces.

Chapter 31

When the morning light spread across her bedroom, Valerie knew that her time was almost up. As usual, she did not have a plan of escape. Though most of the guards were down at the square, the ones at her door remained. She had spent the night scouring every corner of her room for something to use against them, but it was fruitless. She wondered if Damien was as afraid as she was right now. Was he already dead? Had Lord Aubrey already given the people the head of the demon?  And I’m not there, she thought. And I wasn’t there.

              Why am I still thinking about this? It wasn’t going to help her escape.

              The knock at the door sent a spasm in her stomach. Though she supposed if it was the guards coming to take her to the dungeon, they would not be politely knocking. She was still cautious as she opened the door.

              It took Valerie a moment to recognize the former Captain Jonasson. He was wearing plain clothes instead of armor. The wisps of his brown hair were in disarray, and his eyes had dark circles under them. Clearly, he too did not sleep well.

              “Captain –” Valerie began.

              He held up his hand. “I’m not captain anymore, if you haven’t heard.”

              “I have. I’m sorry.”

              “There’s no time for apologies. I’ve come back to help you get out of here. Come with me.”

              Valerie didn’t know what to say, and there was no time to come up with any words other than, “Thank you.” She followed him down the corridor. 

              “What happened to the guards?” she asked.

              “I told them that Lord Aubrey assigned me the task of escorting you to the dungeon before I was officially dismissed.”

              “Oh. I’m still sorry, Jonasson.”

              “It was bound to happen,” he said gravely. “It took me long enough to learn that there was only so much I could do to protect him.”

              “I know what you mean,” Valerie replied.

              He led her outside to the stables. Horses neighed and pawed at the ground. The air was thick with the scent of manure and wet hay. Valerie could not believe that her first instinct was to be slightly afraid. How much longer were such things going to control her?

              They stopped in front of a black horse. It was already saddled and loaded with supplies. Valerie gingerly stepped up to it and reached out to touch its face. The horse whickered in response.

              “It’s not everything,” Jonasson said, “but it should be enough to get you wherever you need to go.”

              Valerie turned back to face him. “I don’t think I could ever fully thank you for this.”

              “You can thank me by getting as far away from here as possible and doing what you said you would do.”

              “What’s going to happen to you?”

              “I am not your concern,” Jonasson said firmly. “And neither is anyone else.”

              Valerie understood well the meaning of his words. She walked up to him and reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

              Jonasson helped her get up on the horse and guided her out of the stables. Before departing, Valerie said, “Goodbye, Jonasson.”

              “Goodbye, Miss Valerie. And good luck.”

*

              He was not nervous when the guards came for him and shackled his hands and ankles. He was not afraid when they led him out of the dungeon and into the dawn light. He ignored the shouts and catcalls from the people and remained stoic when they threw their garbage at him. A rotten tomato splattered across his chest. Even that did not inspire fear.

              But the steps…the damned steps leading up to the platform where Lord Aubrey was waiting for him. He had to limp up the stairs, and his legs trembled, though not in pain. As he rose, his heart fell. And when he met the golden smile of Lord Aubrey, when he saw the sword gleaming in the light, he nearly froze on the steps. The guards shoved him forward, and he had no time to think about recollecting his resolve.

              At one point, I would have welcomed death, Damien thought when he was standing in front of Lord Aubrey. Yet, now when I am faced with it, I can’t help but fear what will happen after I’m gone.

              “Remove his manacles,” Lord Aubrey ordered.

              The guards exchanged dubious stares. “My Lord–”

              “Do as I say. Or have you forgotten what happened to the last man who refused to obey me?”

              The guardsmen obeyed as quickly as they could. Damien saw one of the guardsmen’s fingers tremble. He wanted to say that they had nothing to fear—that he had no interest or desire in killing them.

              But that would have been a lie.

              The guardsmen hurried off the platform, and then only Damien and Lord Aubrey faced each other. They stared at each other for several tense seconds. The crowd was so quiet; Damien almost forgot they were there.

              Lord Aubrey pointed his sword at him. “I hope you give me everything you have, demon,” he said. “I expect nothing less.”

              Damien let the words wash over him. The fear was still there, but the lust for revenge was slowly overtaking it. “I’ll try not to disappoint you,” he replied.

              “Good.”

              Lord Aubrey raised his sword and made to slash at Damien’s chest. Damien leapt back and landed on his bad leg. He didn’t have time to contemplate the pain; Lord Aubrey came at him again. He swung wildly in a diagonal motion. Damien ducked and wove around the blade with no time to catch his breath. His wounded leg was throbbing, reminding him of the pain, and it was getting harder to firmly plant his foot and harder to leap out of the way. Several times, the blade came close to cutting him. When Lord Aubrey jabbed the sword near Damien’s neck, Damien ducked and charged into Lord Aubrey’s leg in attempt to drag him down. Lord Aubrey slammed the hilt down on Damien’s back, sending him to his knees. Damien quickly rolled away as Lord Aubrey stabbed the platform.

              If only Damien was quick enough to get back on his feet. He was just getting to his knees when Lord Aubrey kicked his stomach. It felt as though all of the air had been pushed out of Damien’s lungs. He lay sprawled on the floor for a second too long. Get up! Get up! he told himself, but his body would not obey. All of the pain he tried to ignore now gripped him. Somewhere far away, he heard the sound of applause.

              He felt the cold steel of the blade against his neck. “I could cut your head off now,” Lord Aubrey said, “but I don’t think you’re quite done being punished yet. Get up. You’re disappointing me…and after you promised you wouldn’t.”

              His body was too heavy. It was slow work getting to his feet. He gulped down as much air as he could. “I made no such promise,” he said and took a frantic swipe at Lord Aubrey’s torso. Damien’s claws snagged into Lord Aubrey’s doublet, but the boy Lord jumped back before any real damage could be done. It was enough to make Lord Aubrey nervous enough that he held his sword out in front of him. 

              Damien charged at Lord Aubrey, making a grab for the sword. He wrapped both of his hands around Lord Aubrey’s, which were wrapped around the hilt. For a time they wrestled for it. Damien bared his teeth and snapped near the boy lord’s throat. He nearly had Lord Aubrey at the edge of the platform. There was a flicker of fear in the boy lord’s good eye. The crowd was screaming and screaming. Lord Aubrey desperately kicked at Damien’s wounded leg. The first blow sent a wave of pain up his calf and into his hip. Damien winced but held on. Then Lord Aubrey kicked him again and again, and Damien had to let go. He staggered back and doubled over, covering his right leg with his hand. The crowd cheered again.

              Lord Aubrey took another swing and this time he found his mark. Damien felt a hot, stinging pain spread across his chest. He gritted his teeth, fell back to his knees, and cradled the slash mark. Blood welled up and then spilled down to his stomach. The crowd went wild, and the roar was like the stormy ocean pulling him under. Lord Aubrey took his time approaching him.

              Damien quickly staggered back to his feet. He had one hand still pressed against his chest and he was panting as though he had been running forever. 

              He had one chance to end this.

              He wildly ran at Lord Aubrey with his claws extended, aiming for the boy lord’s neck.

              His claws were about an inch away from Lord Aubrey’s flesh.

All he had to do was…All he had to do…

              He looked down.

              The blade sunk deep into his belly. He could feel it tearing through his guts. Blood spread across his stomach; he could smell it. The blade was ripped out of him.

*

              Young Aubrey watched in shock as the demon collapsed into a crumpled heap. Blood was leaking out of its stomach and dripping from Young Aubrey’s sword. The demon writhed and spat out blood. It curled up like a shriveled leaf on the blood-stained platform. One yellow eye stared up at him.

              Finish it.

              Young Aubrey glanced at his people, and he thought he saw his father in the crowd. He was standing stoically, showing neither pride nor disappointment. In fact, as Young Aubrey took in his surroundings, he saw that the crowd was made up of all the Aubreys who had ever lived. Young Aubrey was standing above them. He raised his sword in the air. A drop of blood fell onto his brow and slid down his nose to the good half of his face.

              The crowd erupted into cheers. It was so thunderous that Young Aubrey could feel it vibrating in his heart. The face of his father was lost among the faces he didn’t recognize. Young Aubrey started to weep, though he doubted anybody could see it. It was over, it was finally done, and it was everything he expected it to be and nothing he wanted.

              “Forgive me,” he whispered.

              “No,” said a voice from behind him.

              Young Aubrey did not have time to turn around. One hand covered his neck, the other blinded him. He made to yell, but he felt the demon’s claws stab his eye and bury into his throat.

*

              Damien stood over the fallen Lord Aubrey drenched in blood. The good half of Lord Aubrey’s face was torn to ribbons; the rest was a gleaming smile. Damien’s body threatened to sink to the ground beside Lord Aubrey, and he nearly teetered over the edge of the platform, but he somehow stood his ground.

              The people stared up at him in complete disbelief. The guardsmen did not know whether to run or to shoot. Damien took a staggered step forward and they all stepped back.

              He roared.

              “Get back!” one of the guardsmen shouted. He was the lone brave soul who dared to point his rifle at Damien. “Get back, now!”

              Damien ignored him and leapt into the crowd. He rolled when he hit the ground.

              The people screamed and scrambled into haphazard directions around him. Someone stepped on his foot. He willed himself to get up and run.

              “Don’t shoot! You’ll hit the civilians!”

              “What do we do?”

              “What do we do?”

              “Keep the people safe!”

              “What about Lord Aubrey? Is he –?”

              “He’s dead. He’s not breathing. He’s not –”

              “We have to do something. We have to go kill the demon!”

              “Nobody else is going to die by that thing’s hand.”

              “Lord Aubrey is dead! What are we supposed to do? Tell me what we’re supposed to do!”

              “I don’t know! I just don’t know!”

Epilogue

The horse slowed down to a trot as she rode into the forest. Valerie didn’t know where she was going, but forward was the best option. She felt the ties of her old life being cut away as she left it behind. I wonder what kind of person I am going to be now, she thought idly. All she knew was that she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life being bitter or hateful. There were other, more important things she could do. And she could do anything. She had to admit, it was a little frightening.

              Without warning, her horse whinnied and reared back. Valerie quickly wrapped her arms around its neck. “Whoa,” she called. The horse took several steps back until it felt safe. Valerie stroked its mane several times. “It’s OK,” she whispered. “It’s OK.”

              She looked at the spot where the horse first lost control.

              Damien, is that you?

              Valerie dismounted and tied her horse to the tree. “Shh. I’ll be back. I promise. I just have to do this one last thing.”

              The horse whickered as if it understood. Valerie stared at the spot a few moments more, steeling herself for whatever she would find. It could be nothing. But she had to be sure. The only way to go was forward.

              She walked for a short time, her mind running in wild directions. Do I want to see him if he’s already dead? Do I even want to see him if he’s alive? Her feet kept moving despite her doubts. It was as though something was pushing her to do so. Only one last thing.

              Valerie broke through the trees and entered a clearing. 

              And there he was.

              He was sitting on a rotted log. His front was soaked in blood and he was shaking.

              He looked up, and when he saw her, he opened his mouth to say something. All that came out was a small, choked noise.

              Valerie felt a lump in her throat. During her time locked away in the room in the Aubrey manor, she pictured what this reunion would be like, if it ever happened. She pictured hurting him the way he hurt her. She pictured the devastated look on his face when she tore his world apart the way he did to her. In her imagination, she broke him.

              But…she never imagined it like this.

              She never wanted it to be like this.

              He looked so unbelievably frightened. It was the most human she had ever seen him.

              Valerie did not run to him. She walked slowly, carefully toward him. Tears were falling down her face and she didn’t bother to stop them. She didn’t want it to be like this.

              She could see tears in his eyes, too, as she approached. She made to put her arms around him, but he pushed her back with what little strength he had left.

              “Don’t,” he said hoarsely. “Please, don’t.”

              Valerie knelt in front of him. “Oh, Damien. What did you do?”

              He burst into tears. He tried to cover his face, but Valerie saw he wasn’t strong enough. She wiped his tears away, and he let her.

              “I’m sorry,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry, Valerie. I’m so sorry.” The rest of his words were drowned by his sobs.

              Valerie placed both hands on his cheeks.

She reached up to kiss him.

              Because she wanted to. Because she did not want to live her life with any more regrets.

              It was strange and awkward and warm all at once. It did not last very long. Maybe a few seconds at most. It was the first and only kiss they would have, and to Valerie, it was right. It was perfect.

              Valerie made Damien look her in the eye. He needed to know it, and more than anything, she needed to say it:

              “Damien, I forgive you.”

              He looked away in shame after she said that. She knew it hurt him. But he needed to know.

              Damien kissed her brow and rested against her. “I’m scared,” he whispered.

              Me too, she thought. “I’ll sit beside you until it’s over. I won’t leave you alone.”

              She moved to sit beside him and rested her head against his shoulder. And he, in turn, rested his head on hers. They didn’t speak again.

              It was awful watching him die, but Valerie kept to her word and stayed with Damien. Every now and then he would be overcome with an uncontrollable spasm and he would cough up blood. He muttered things she could not understand. Now and then, he’d look into her eyes, as though he was trying to memorize them, and then he’d look away as though he could not bear to see her anymore. Valerie held him tight, not to anchor him there, but to let him know that she meant what she said. She could tell he wanted to hold on to her. She could tell he didn’t want her to watch him go. Several times, he tried to pull away from her. But she knew she was strong enough for the both of them.

And when he was gone, she was strong enough to let him go. She laid him gently down on the log and gave him a parting kiss on his cheek. She wiped her tears away. She stood vigil for a long time.

              But she couldn’t stay there forever.

              She was strong enough to slowly turn around.

              She was strong enough to return to her horse and get back on.

              And she was strong enough to ride away and keep going—to live her life…to find her own ending.

              It was entirely up to her.

The End