THE OTHER MOTHER

Holly Sharp

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To Paramore and bacon.

“Okay, men, let’s stick it over there.”

~ Captain James E. Cassius, on the highly complex and scientific process used to determine the location of the Heron’s Bluff gold mine.

PART I

1

“We’re lost.”

“We’re not lost!” I have to shout to be heard over the incredible roar of the wind. “We’re just… taking an unexpected detour.”

Thalia, my daughter, rolls her eyes. Then, she places her lantern down on the snow and zips her parka up as high as it will go. “Something otherwise known as ‘being lost’.”

I hold the map up in front of me, wipe the snow from my eyes, and have another look. “I thought for sure we’d have hit the river by now.”

“You mean the inlet,” Thalia corrects. She returns the lantern to her hand, an action which splashes golden light onto the paper in front of me.

Now my eyes roll. “Do you really want to have this argument again? Here? In the dark? In the middle of a blizzard? It’s a strip of water. I don’t care what it’s called. I just want to find the damned thing.”

Thalia comes closer and leans over the map.

“We just need to find a recognizable landmark,” I say. “There are more than a few in the area we could use to get back.”

Positioning a hand over my eyes to protect them from the wet, whipping wind, I look around through my fingers.

Thalia does the same. “Let’s see,” she says, and points out into the darkness. “There’s snow.” She rotates ninety degrees. “More snow.” Another ninety. “Slightly less snow.” And another. “And a large pile of snow.”

She ends up facing me.

I scowl at her. “Very helpful.”

Thalia raises her arms and lets them drop. “Well, what do you want me to say, Morgan?”

“I don’t know… how about something that’s actually helpful?”

“I have said something helpful. I’ve been saying something helpful for the past hour.”

Stuffing the map back into my pack, I shake my head. “They’re called ice caves for a reason, T. What part of the term ‘ice cave’ sounds like a great place to hole up for the night?” Glancing at our compass again, I resolve to stick to the original plan. “I say we keep heading south. We’re bound to hit that… inlet… sooner or later.” Extracting my foot from several inches of snow, I resume walking.

“It wouldn’t be for the whole night.” Thalia’s protests continue from my side. “We could build a fire and stay there until the storm passes.”

“And what about today’s catch? How long do you think fish keep unpreserved?”

“So we’ll bury them in the ice!”

I stop and tilt my head, thinking. “Huh. That’s not a bad idea.”

Self-satisfaction washes over the girl’s pale face. Then, she takes a mocking bow.

“Such modesty,” I drawl. “Got any idea where that last cave entrance we spotted was?”

Thalia tosses her chin back toward the north. “This way.”

Fighting our way through nature’s onslaught, a few minutes later, the outline of the hillside we passed a while ago appears before us.

The entrance to the cave is little more than a jagged hole in the frozen rock. We stop just outside that hole, and we both peer, apprehensively, inside it.

“Thanks for volunteering to go in first, Morgs.”

My eyes flick over to Thalia’s. “I don’t recall saying that.”

Her eyes are twinkling. “But I bet you were thinking it, being the courageous, kickass mother that you are.”

“No…” I respond, drawing out the word. “I really wasn’t.”

Thalia may joke, but she really shouldn’t. Northeim’s ice caves are legendary for being home to all sorts of horrors. Between the wolves and the bears, going in there is an extremely risky proposition. But, it’s not like there aren’t equally great threats outside.

Sighing, I extend my hand to Thalia. “Give me the lamp.”

Thalia holds it away from me. “I was kidding. We’ll both go.”

“You’re right. We will both go. And, while we do that, I’m going to be holding the lamp.”

The girl reluctantly hands it to me.

The warm light spilling from between the lantern’s frame is the sole source of light in our world. Outside the perimeter of its life-affirming glow is an empty, unending void. While I’m apprehensive about leaving the light on since it essentially broadcasts our position to predators out tonight on the hunt, I’m equally as uneasy about turning it off.

As we begin to move inside, a feeling of warmth engulfs my left hand. Looking down, I see Thalia’s small fingers threaded between my own. She shoots me a smile, and I give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

To my immense relief, the passage terminates after only fifty feet. Oftentimes, these caverns can extend for miles into the earth, but this one is comparatively tiny. The lantern is enough to light the whole space; its light dances off the icy walls and the stalactites.

Thalia removes the hood of her parka, shakes out her long, blonde hair, and makes herself comfortable on the floor. I do the same, and promptly place my brunette locks into a ponytail.

Thalia sits back on her hands, and looks around the cave. Then, she nods approvingly. “Coat of paint. Maybe a chair and a desk over there. We could make this work.”

I let out a chuckle. “I’d settle for a fire.”

My daughter’s small, sharp features pinch inward as she looks around. “Me, too. I don’t see any wood, though. Or anything to light it with. Or anything at all, really.”

“Me neither.”

“These storms can last as little as an hour, right?”

“Yeah,” I respond. “But sometimes they can last for days.”

“Well, you’ve been saying you want to start looking on the brighter side of things. Now’s your chance.”

Looking around, I also see no drinkable water, nothing to thaw the ice with to make any, and no way to cook food. While I don’t want to start shouting doom and gloom here, we’re in a bad spot, and I’m not entirely sure Thalia knows it. If this storm does last for days, we won’t.

I walk over to her. Then, I squat before her, and hold her eyes with my own. “I’m sorry I got us lost, T. If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t be in this position.”

Thalia waves me off. “And if I didn’t want a change of scenery, we never would have come inland. If it weren’t for me, we’d be back in Heron’s Bluff by now, sitting by the fire with a glass of wine in our hands.”

“Or juice,” I correct. “Nice try.”

She lies down, and uses her hands as a pillow. “Yeah, yeah.”

I fold her hood back over her head to make a better pillow. “I’ll deal with the fish. I’ll wake you when the storm passes.”

Her large, blue eyes stare up to me. “You sure?”

“Yeah. You just get some rest.”

She hesitates for a few moments. Then, she nods.

An hour passes, and still, the roar of the wind of the wind outside is as loud as ever.

I work to chisel out a depression in the ice using the handle of my fishing rod, as quietly as I can. By my count, Thalia and I caught thirty-seven today: by far not our record, but enough to keep the roof over our heads for another day.

My arms are killing me by the time I’m finished, but it’s better than leaving an entire day’s catch to the bears.

Mustering the last of my strength, I rake the icy slush into the pit, sealing the trout and bass into my own makeshift freezer. Then, I straighten my back, sitting up.

In this position, I rub my hands together with a manic urgency and imbue warm air into them, warding the frostbite from my frozen hands.

Once I’m confident that my fingers will not blacken and fall off, the worry begins to creep in. When I was working on the pit, my mind was occupied, and I got to feel like I was doing something worthwhile. Now, all I can do is sit here, and hope that either the storm stops soon, or that tomorrow’s sun will pierce the snowfall enough to let us spot a recognizable landmark.

I unfurl the map out before me again, and try to come up with a game-plan for tomorrow.

Ideally, when we emerge from the cave tomorrow morning, we’d pretty quickly spot Threkald Peak and then start heading east like before. But, based on our probable location ten miles from it, I doubt things will be so easy. No, the best bet will be to keep going south, toward Thormir’s Watch. Once we can walk no further, all we’ll have to do is follow the shore to the west and then the north, and we’ll eventually spot the ship.

I try to fold the map away, but the soggy paper promptly falls to pieces. I throw it to the ground and eye it with disdain; you’d think map-makers would plan for things like this.

I wriggle backward until I reach the cave wall, and bring the hood of my jacket over my head. There, I place my hands into my pockets, and lean back.

Stealing a glance at Thalia, now deep in sleep, I close my eyes, and let the whistles and howls of the wind put me into the same state.

Just as my eyes begin to grow heavy, though, I hear something.

A strange sound, coming from just outside, reaches my ears.

I expected to hear things during the night - there are undoubtedly bears and wolves roaming around out there, despite the weather.

But this is not a sound I was prepared to hear.

Outside, at night, in the desolate wastes that are northern Northeim, this is not a sound that one is supposed to hear.

Pushing myself off the ground, I stand still, and listen.

Again, the sound ripples into the cavern, as clear as Thalia’s soft snoring behind me.

It can’t be, I tell myself.

But then it comes, irrefutably, once again.

Ignoring the icy fingers running down my spine, I carefully make my way over to the cave entrance.

The same wall of black we left behind fills my vision at the start of the tunnel, and the wet wind begins to hit me again, chilling me to the bone.

I hug myself and strain my ears.

It takes but a few moments to hear it again.

The sound of a baby crying rushes toward me along with the wind: harsh, unrestrained, ugly crying.

Intellectually, I know that I should be concerned: the child making those noises might be hurt or in serious trouble, and I know that I should try and go to it to see if it’s okay.

But something feels wrong.

That sound out there in the darkness does not fill my heart with sympathy -

It makes my stomach sink with dread.

Rather than brave the dark and the cold to go out and help what I know can only be a poor, helpless child, I instead inch away, ever so slowly, until I’m safely back in the cavern. I’m not proud of it, but fear’s at my wheel now, and I have little choice other than to follow its command to retreat.

Atop a pair of shaking legs, I slowly, carefully, walk over to Thalia at the back of the cave.

There, sitting on the cold, wet snow beside her, I gather my knees in my arms, and listen intently, until I can hear the sound no more.

2

Never in my life have I been as happy to see her as I am right now.

The Neridia, my ship, sits offshore, just up ahead. Its impressive wooden curves rise out of the roiling water, and its mast reaches up before me as if trying to touch the heavens. After many hours of walking, finally, we’ve found it. Thank fucking God.

Thalia and I navigate our way toward it, through the masses of fallen pine needles and over the snow. We do so in silence, as has been tradition since she awoke just after the storm broke early this morning. I wish I could indulge her attempts at conversation, but, at the moment, it’s not happening.

Rounding a tall, stone outcropping, our venerable old schooner is revealed in all its glory. The small, flat-bottomed vessel bobs gently atop the sparkling water, silhouetted against the pinks and purples of the dawn sky. The wooden ship looks a little worse for wear after the storm last night, but, aside from those few dents and scratches, it’s still in pretty good shape.

We hoist our packs into the boat, exhaling mist from our mouths all the while. Then, Thalia climbs aboard to start work on the sails, while I deal with the moorings.

I’m so absorbed in the task of unfastening the tether from the trunk of the pine tree that it takes me a moment to notice Thalia’s curious stare. As much as that stare annoys me, I do not acknowledge it.

After the moorings are released, I join Thalia at the bow of the ship. There, we push that bow and the ship behind it off the shore and back into the water. We both wade knee-deep into the shallows, then, and climb into the ship’s shell.

Thalia grabs the line and looks to me hopefully.

I nod. “Go on.”

With an absurd amount of enthusiasm, Thalia begins to take us out away from the coast. I supervise her efforts from inside the small cabin at the back of the ship. I’m concerned about leaving the delicate operations solely in her hands, but I really shouldn’t be; the girl manipulates the controls almost as well as I can. She has learned well.

Once the wind picks up and we’re on course, Thalia sits opposite me, behind the wheel, and peers into my eyes. “What’s wrong?”

I dismiss her question with a shake of the head. “Nothing.”

She issues a little growl of frustration. “No, Morgan, something’s up. I’ve never seen you this quiet. What’s going on?”

I lean back further into the cabin, and look past her, toward a seagull lounging on the end of the bowsprit. “I’m just worried about the fish.”

“Being worried about the fish is your natural state. This, however, isn’t.”

“I’m starving and worried about the fish.”

Thalia throws her attention over her shoulders to make sure we’re not about to hit anything and returns her gaze to me. “You’re really not gonna tell me?”

I regard her for a moment, before deciding to give in. “I heard something last night.”

“Something?”

“Something that kept me awake all night.”

“Was it my snoring?”

I chuckle at that.

“You don’t have to lie to me. I know I do it.”

“It wasn’t your snoring.”

“Then what?”

I go quiet for a second, reconsidering whether or not I should tell her. “You’re gonna think I’m nuts.”

“So, no change, then.”

I give her a gentle shove with the sole of my boot.

She leans in toward me, her blue eyes fixed on my own. “What did you hear?”

“I heard a baby crying.”

She leans back away. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

She motions toward the frozen wastes flowing past starboard. “Out there?”

“Yep.”

“At night, in a blizzard?”

“Uh-huh.”

She falls silent for a few moments. “That’s weird.”

“I agree.” I get up, cross my arms and walk over to the railing on the side of the ship. “But, it gets weirder.”

Thalia tips her hands outward in a silent bid for clarification.

“It sounded…” I search my mind for the right words. “Okay, maybe more like it ‘felt’ wrong, somehow.”

Thalia’s mouth straightens, and she begins to nod. “Yeah, you’ll need to explain that one.”

“Okay, well, do you know how, when you hear a baby crying, you kind of feel… I don’t know, more caring, somehow? Like, you want to go and do something about it?”

“You mean like hit the thing with a shovel to get it to shut up?”

Noticing that we’re straying just a bit too close to the coast, I pitch over and make a small adjustment to the wheel. “Not exactly.”

I lean back into the railing, and find myself unable to drive the grave expression from my face.

Observing that expression, Thalia stands, and looks at me. “So, you heard a baby crying, didn’t feel particularly sympathetic, and now you’re all down?”

My eyes flick up to hers. “I’m not down because I didn’t feel sympathy. I’m down because, rather than do the right thing and go out there to help it, I came back inside, and waited for it to go away.”

Thalia turns around to face the wheel. “And that’s probably the main reason you’re still alive.”

“And the main reason that a child might not be.”

Thalia maneuvers the ship past a small headland, and toward the sun rising out of the water to the west. Once done, she looks at me, and her eyes soften.

I must look as bad as I feel. She approaches me, curls her arms around my waist, and looks up to me. “You did the right thing, Mom. Based on the stories I’ve heard about the strange creatures skulking around on top of this rock, it could have been anything out there. I seriously doubt it was a baby.”

Mom… Huh. She’s really bringing out the big guns.

The pressure of Thalia’s small arms comfort me, but they do nothing to relieve my guilt. Still, I do not wish to dwell. She does have a point, and what’s done is done. We have a busy day ahead of us; perhaps it’s best we focus on that.

I draw Thalia closer to me, and give her a gentle squeeze. “Thanks, T.”

“No worries.”

The sun is high in the sky by the time the dark, brick buildings of Heron’s Bluff come into view.

I keep a close eye on Thalia as she guides the ship into the bay.

This far south, the cold starts to break. While there is no area of Northeim that could ever be considered warm, it’s comfortable enough to now remove the hood of my parka.

With all the precision of an expert, Thalia slows the boat, and brings it up alongside our dock. While I drop the anchor, she extends the platform out, granting us easy passage off the vessel.

Her feet planted firmly on the dock, Thalia closes her eyes, and takes in a deep breath. “I love that smell.”

Given the constant need for fire, the aroma of burning lumber is ever-present in Heron’s Bluff. “You’re way too chipper for this time of morning.”

Thalia shrugs and leaves to grab our packs from the ship. Behind her, I spy Vincent Karellius’ round form laboring its way through the pines and over to us.

I wave to him, and he returns the gesture. A few minutes later, he joins us on the dock. The wood creaks beneath his feet as he walks over to us.

Thalia empties the contents of our packs into a crate. The frozen fish and the icy slush in which they are contained fills that crate to the brim. Karellius’ nose crinkles as he gets a whiff of the smell; ironic given the fact that he smells worse than any of it.

“I expected you two back last night.”

“We expected us two back last night. We were delayed.”

Karellius frowns. “And, because of that, a great deal of the miners went hungry.”

Thalia eyes the man’s gut and opens her mouth to respond. I shoot her a mortified look, and she closes it.

“My apologies, Vincent. But, the storm…”

“Did not seem to affect Sabina’s ability to fulfill the requirements of her contract with the Eastern Territories Company. Our agreement states that you will present your day’s catch to us by 6pm, and no later.”

I stifle the burning desire to let loose on this overstuffed pencil-pusher. But, I manage to rein it in. “Again, Vincent, you have my apologies. As do the men.”

His beady eyes fix on me. “I’m not paying for this.” He motions to our catch.

My nostril’s flare, and I preemptively raise my hand to silence Thalia. “Vincent, you know we can’t afford to…”

“It is not my concern as to what you can and cannot afford,” the man bellows. “You violated the terms of your contract. You should be lucky that I do not terminate that contract right here, right now.”

My body instantly stiffens. Given how buddy-buddy the guy’s been with Sabina, my top competitor, lately, I do not take his words lightly.

When my body deflates, he smiles. “Good. Now, get this up to kitchens, and get back out there.”

With that, the guy turns on the heel of his ridiculous, extravagant shoes, and makes his way back up to the town. I feel Thalia’s hand on the small of my back, and she and I watch him go.

“Fat bastard,” I remark. “What were you gonna say to him?”

A corner of her mouth curls upward. “Let’s just say, I don’t think the only reason the miners went hungry last night was because we didn’t show.”

I cast my gaze back to Karellius’ ridiculously large back and snort. Then, I motion to the crate. “I’ll deal with this.”

Thalia nods. “What do you want me to do?”

“Go spend the day with your friends.”

I move to pick up the crate. That’s when I notice Thalia, arms crossed, standing still, and making no move to leave.

“Yes?”

“You’re not going back up north alone.”

“I was actually thinking of heading down south this time.”

She nears me. “Morgan…”

“I’ll be fine, T. We’ve had a shit night. Go enjoy the rest of your day.”

She shakes her head, and crosses her ankle over the other. “Absolutely not.”

A staring contest ensues. Eventually, I break gaze, and Thalia wins.

“Excellent!” she says. “What do you want for lunch?”

Picking up the crate, I turn to face the town, and answer her over my shoulder. “Anything that’s not fish.”

Having dropped the supplies off to Genevieve, I begin the walk back down the hill and to the ship. As I do, I notice that the normally bustling town of Heron’s Bluff is unusually quiet this morning. Weaving my way through the stone buildings and past the mine entrance, I spot something that explains why.

What looks to be the entire population of Heron’s Bluff are gathered outside a house on the outskirts of town.

When I realize to whom that house belongs, I immediately alter my course and head toward it.

Falco Accoleius, the mine’s senior administrator and a close friend, breaks from the crowd and nods in greeting to me as I approach.

“Falco.”

“Morgan.”

“What’s going on?”

I stand on tip-toes, attempting to get a look at the focus of the crowd’s attention through the mass of bodies.

“There has been an attack,” he replies, in his deep, authoritative voice.

I look at him, and my heart-rate increases. “What kind of attack?”

“Isabella Aeterno was assaulted in her home.”

“By who?” I ask urgently.

Falco glances toward the woman’s house, and then slowly returns his eyes to me. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

3

I approach the Neridia with my head down - a hollow attempt to hide my guilty expression.

Thalia gets up immediately when she spots me. Behind the railing, she crosses her arms, and tracks my approach with narrowed eyes. “Where the hell have you been??”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, still eyeing the wooden planks beneath me.

“You’ve been gone over an hour, Morgan,” she continues, tapping her foot on the deck. “What were you doing? Did you take a detour on your way back from the kitchens to write a novel or something?”

I shoot her a cross look. “Calm down, will you? I’ve waited longer for you to go to the bathroom. Falco wanted to talk to me.”

Her expression goes neutral at the mention of the mining boss’ name. “Oh, yeah? What about? Is he getting rid of Karellius?”

“I doubt it.”

“Then what?”

I grab the rigging and smile at her. “I’ll tell you all about it once we’re away.”

The pristine ceiling of blue above us is almost completely obscured by gray by the time we reach the mouth of the Isilde River. The river is small, shallow and narrow, but, thankfully, so is our boat. As such, we are able to slide through relatively easily.

Sliding silently over the gray waters amongst the pines, we eventually reach a wide part of the river, and drop the anchor.

Rain begins to spit from the skies as we pull up our chairs and flick out our lines. Within a few minutes, that spit turns into a deluge.

“For fuck’s sake,” I say, edging into the cabin, still holding my line outside.

Thalia peers out into the white sheets of rain buffeting the area. “It’s like it waited for us to get comfortable, huh?” She reels her head back, leans into her seat, and puts her feet up the wheel box. “Oh well. Lunch?”

I nod, prompting Thalia to remove two turkey sandwiches from her pack. She hands one of them to me.

“So. Falco. Spill.”

A cold wind blows into the cabin, and, in response, I roll down the sleeves of my flannelette shirt. “Someone was attacked in Heron’s Bluff this morning, just before we got back.”

Thalia’s eyes widen. “Really? Who?”

“Junior mine manager by the name of Isabella Aeterno.”

“Never heard of her.”

I glance at my rod and mouth a section of sandwich. “Yeah, well, Falco doesn’t buy her version of what happened this morning.”

“Oh?”

“According to him, the woman said that someone forced their way into her home, assaulted her, and then escaped through her window, which sounds fair enough. The only thing that’s wrong with that story is that Falco was walking by her window just after her screams were heard. He never saw anyone leave through her window, and neither did anyone else.”

Thalia tilts her head, and massages the side of her neck. “Okay, so, she’s lying. What’s all this got to do with you?”

A crow lands on the side of the boat nearest me and alternates between looking at my food and me. I draw my sandwich close. “Go get your own.” I shoo the creature away with my foot and turn back to Thalia. “Because he wants to know what really happened in there. Aside from the odd miner pocketing a few nuggets of gold here and there, there really hasn’t been any crime in Heron’s Bluff, and he’s not keen on that to change. As such, he wants me to try and get the truth out of her.”

“I figured that, but why you?”

I exhale a breath. “Isabella Aeterno and I have a bit of a history.”

A small smile forms on her mouth, and she raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “A history?”

My eyes shy away. “Yeah. And it’s because of that history that he figured I’d have better luck getting the truth out of her than one of his guards. Apparently, she’s got a bit of a reputation for being stubborn.”

Thalia leans closer to me, as if about to share a secret. “Are you going to seduce her, Morgan?”

My eyes roll back, and I shake my head.

“You could, you know.”

“I could?”

“Yeah, you could seduce anyone. You’re hot as fuck!”

I shove the remainder of the sandwich in my mouth and swallow. “The only way anyone would describe me as ‘hot as fuck’ is if I fell into a volcano.”

Thalia looks me over. “I don’t know - your dark hair, your dark features - you have a certain exotic appeal. Hell, if you weren’t my mother…”

I scrunch up the sandwich wrapper and take aim for the bin. “That’s disgusting.”

Before I take the shot, I notice Thalia’s eyes running over me, up and down. A smile forms on my face against my will, and I fling the ball of wrapping paper at her face. “Will you stop!”

Thalia, basking in my discomfort, grins and sits back. “Are you gonna fill me in on this ‘history,’ then?”

“Not right now.”

She considers that for a moment. “Fair enough. When are you going to talk to her?”

I exhale a sigh, and give her my reply. “I suppose I’ll talk to her tonight.”

I open my closet and survey its contents, searching for my good clothes in the candlelight. After about thirty seconds, I come to the conclusion I don’t have any good clothes, and settle for something clean.

Pulling a blue, checkered flannelette jumper over my head, and a pair of black jeans over my legs, I stand in front of the mirror. Fury rises in my stomach when I notice that my braids have started to unravel yet again, and I work quickly to fix them. As I do, I hear the door creak open behind me.

“You decent?” Thalia’s voice calls.

“I like to think so.”

I expect the door to open, but it does not.

“I’m not coming in unless you give me explicit permission. I learned my lesson after last time.”

“You may come the fuck in here.”

The door swings inward, and my daughter appears inside its frame. “Thank you.”

“Wow,” I say, getting a look at her elegant, black dress in the mirror. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Thought I’d go for a run.”

I stand on tiptoes and eye her shoes. “What are those, three-inch heels?”

“Four, actually.”

I turn to her. “Seriously, where are you off to?”

“Laura and I are having dinner at her house together tonight. We’re compensating for the lack of flashy restaurants around here by dressing up a bit.” She indicates herself with both her hands. “What do you think?”

A small pang of anxiety hits me when Thalia mentions her girlfriend, but I manage to swallow it down. “Amazing.”

Thalia lets her hands fall and smiles. “Thank you. You look good yourself.”

“I look like a lumberjack.”

She comes closer and fixes my collar. “And you look good doing it.” She looks me over. “I like this outfit. It’s very you.”

I smooth out the flannel. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Thalia winks at me, before turning to leave. “You should.”

Heron’s Bluff’s sole tavern is as crowded as ever by the time I get there. Pushing my way through the crowd and to the bar, I order my usual. In a moment, a pint of mead is deposited onto the counter before me.

Insufficient Cutlery is playing again tonight, the four-piece band filling the smoky, brick building with their catchy guitar and bass tunes. Given that the band is little more than an informal group of miners who happen to play instruments, they’re surprisingly good. If their lead singer, Cilly Borgan, didn’t sound like a dying cat, they’d be perfect.

I take a sip of my drink and survey the area over the glass’ rim. It takes me but a moment to spot her. She is sitting in the corner, alone, with a book in her hand, as far from the band as possible. Exactly what I expected.

I return the slurred greetings of my buddies, Will, Fred, and Owen over the music, and make my way over to her. I come to a stop before her. It’s impossible that she hasn’t noticed me, but she doesn’t look up.

“Is this seat taken?” I ask her.

Her deep voice answers. “No.”

I pull out the empty chair opposite her, and move to sit down.

“I did not say you could sit in it, though.”

I do anyway. “It’s a free island.”

She doesn’t respond.

I cross my legs and take in the smell of her lavender perfume, as well as the familiar sight of her short, red hair. Time has been kind to her - if anything, the woman looks even hotter than she did years ago. “Where’s the kid?”

“With his sitter.”

“Cool.” The chair beneath me is as uncomfortable as the atmosphere.

The woman puts her book down, takes off her reading glasses, and massages the bridge of her nose. “What do you want, Morgana?”

I wince. “I actually go by ‘Morgan’ now.”

She stares at me without expression. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thought it’d be less showy this way.”

“Isn’t trying to look less showy, showy in and of itself?”

I take another swig of my drink. This one’s a large one. “Probably.”

The woman puts her hands behind her head and regards me curiously. Her breasts are now pushed out toward me inside her red skivvy, and it takes all of my willpower to keep my eyes on hers. “So what does Falco want to know?” she asks.

I try to keep it cool. Almost choking on the mead doesn’t help.

“I know he sent you here.”

I avert my gaze. “How?”

“You and Falco thought you were all covert and everything, standing behind the silo and pointing at it as if discussing supplies. Falco needs to learn that his whisper can be heard from Ashenweir.”

Another large swig. “I just want to know what happened to you, Isa. Are you alright? You…” I motion to my chin and then to hers.

She touches the dark, purple spot on the right side of her jaw. “I’ll be fine.”

“What happened in there?”

“Exactly what I said.”

I eye her suspiciously. “Are you sure about that?”

She leans, conspiratorially, toward me, and I do the same, expecting to hear something good. “Yes,” she answers, and then she sits back with a smug smile on her face.

“Falco said he didn’t see anyone leave through your window.”

“Then Falco should stop day-drinking.”

I cast my eyes toward the ceiling, and try to ignore the fact that she’s trying to push my buttons.

“How’s your girl?” Isa asks, a definite edge still in her voice. “What was her name again…?”

“Thalia.”

She produces a stiff smile and nods slowly. “Right. Thalia. Kind of ironic, isn’t it? That you should wind up with a kid, considering what happened.”

I look into her hazel eyes. “The irony is not lost on me.”

That plastered smile returns. “Well, it’s good to know you’re not completely out of it.”

I plaster on a smile of my own. “Thanks,” I monotone. “I try.”

She shoves her glasses back onto her face, then, and picks up her book. “I’m not telling you anything, Morgan, Morgana, whatever your name is. If Falco wanted to speak to me, he should have done it himself. Please leave. I’m trying to read.”

I lock my mouth shut, but I have never wanted so badly to open it.

Getting up, I shove the chair back under the table. It hits the edge of that table with a loud, sharp crack. “Fine,” I tell her.

Then, I turn to leave.

4

Pushing my way out of the tavern, I emerge into the cool, crisp air of the night, and make a beeline for the Neridia.

I see Falco silhouetted against the lights of the Friday night markets just down the way. He hails me, and walks in my direction, but I am too far too angry to stop.

Changing course, he cuts his way in front of me. “Morgan!” he yells, putting up a hand in front of me.

For fuck’s sake. “What?”

Falco jumps slightly at my hostile tone, but quickly recovers. “How did it go?” His beady eyes are hopeful.

Sighing, I look up, toward the stars. This far away from civilization, they really pop against the black. “Not well.”

I refuse to meet his gaze. I just want him to go away.

“Morgan?” he places his hand on my shoulder, and examines my expression. “Are you alright?”

“I am. She gave me the same story she gave you, Falco. I honestly don’t know why you thought it would be any different with me.”

Falco straightens up. “I didn’t realize your split was so acrimonious.”

I snort. “Neither did I, until now.”

“Hmm.”

“Why do you care so much, anyway?”

Falco scratches his beard, his expression thoughtful. “What are you doing for the rest of the night?”

My eyes fall upon Laura’s family’s house down the way. “Nothing.”

A strong hand falls behind my back. “You should come with me, then. There’s something I’d like you to see.”

Leaving the village behind, Falco and I climb the grassy hill leading up to the mine. There, he pulls open the large, wooden doors, granting us access to the extensive tunnel network that is the Heron’s Bluff gold mine.

Inside the rough stone walls, the air is thick with dust; I resist the urge to use the end of my jumper as a mask.

Falco grabs a lantern from the wall and follows the track through the dark passageways until we find ourselves inside a small side-room. The wheelbarrows and pickaxes scattered around this room give its purpose as a storage area away immediately. Inside this storage area is a smell so terrible that it makes me want to gag.

Falco approaches one of the wheelbarrows and puts his lantern down beside it. Then, he pulls away the white canvas covering it, and the source of that horrible smell is revealed.

A corpse lies in the wheelbarrow’s tray, covered in blood, and with a knife jutting out of its neck.

Falco stares at me as I approach to get a better look. “Is this what you wanted me to see?”

“Yes.”

I look at Falco as though he were mad. ”You wanted me to see a corpse?”

Incredulity shapes Falco’s expression. “I didn’t bring you here for recreation, Morgan!”

“Then why did you?”

“Let me explain,” Falco says. “Two days ago, there was an attack in the mine. As a result of that attack, Ignatius O’Reilly here is dead, and two of his workmates are injured.”

“I don’t remember hearing about this.”

“That’s because I’ve worked my ass off to keep it quiet.”

“Okay…”

Falco paces to the door and rests his arm against its frame, staring out into the tunnel. “I made the right call to do that,” he says, speaking to himself more than I. “The two injured miners are already on a ship bound for Ashenweir. If this had gotten out, Heron’s Bluff would be a ghost town.”

“Seems a bit extreme.”

Falco turns back to me. “No, it’s not.”

He doesn’t speak after that. Always one for drama, he’s waiting for me to prompt him to continue. I close my eyes and rub my temples. “Falco, no offense, but if you’re not gonna cut to the chase soon, can we at least get the hell out of here? I have as much respect for the dead as anyone, but the smell coming off this guy is killing me.”

Falco beckons me outside. When we are both back out in the tunnel, he shuts the door.

“I don’t even understand why we needed to come all the way down here. You could have just told me there was a dead guy here.”

He raises his hand to silence me. “I brought you down here to impress upon you the gravity of the situation, Morgan.”

“Because…?”

“Because your ex-girlfriend knows something about these attacks, and I want to know what that something is,” Falco says. “If she does not relent and tell us what she knows of her own accord, then I’m going to need to take more drastic measures to get the information out of her.”

My ears prick up at that. “Drastic measures?”

Falco leans onto the cold stone wall. “I’ve already sent for an Inquisitor from Ashenweir. He’ll be here in five days.”

I take an involuntary step back from Falco. “You can’t be serious.”

“When it comes to the safety of this mine and its workers, then I am deadly serious.”

“You’re really going to lose it over two attacks?”

“A man is dead, Morgan!” Falco exclaims. “And, if you knew the circumstances in which that man came to be dead, I think you’d be singing a different tune.”

I open my arms wide. “Then, why don’t you fill me in?”

Falco shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He looks supremely uncomfortable. His discomfort makes me uncomfortable.

“Well?”

“The men who were witness to Ignatius’ death said that he was killed by an unseen force, that whipped around the room like an invisible hurricane, just prior to sending that knife toward the man’s neck.”

A smile breaks out on my face. “An invisible force?”

Falco’s expression remains serious. “Yes.”

“Like, a force you can’t see?”

“Indeed.”

Okay. Maybe Isa was right. This man should stop day-drinking. Or just drinking, really. “Falco,” I begin carefully, considering my next words. “Are you trying to tell me that a ghost did this?”

“Perhaps,” Falco says. “But even what I’ve told you is not the strangest part.”

I try, desperately, to keep my expression neutral, but I doubt it’s working. “Go on.”

“The men who witnessed it happen said that, just before they were attacked, they heard something strange, coming from one of the unoccupied tunnels to the south.”

I just let the grin come now. “Okay, Falco. Tell me. What did those men hear?”

“They heard a baby crying.”

“And the fat man’s on shore.

He looks like a boar.

With Sabina.

The.

Whore!”

At the conclusion of my song, I bow to my imaginary audience. Halfway through the maneuver, I realize that’s a bad idea, and narrowly avoid falling into the ocean.

Pulling out of the bow, I stumble backward into starboard wall of the boat, and allow myself to slide gently down. Now seated, I scramble for a pen and paper, and try to recall the words to my new song.

Once I’ve satisfactorily scribbled something resembling the words to the final verse, I throw the stationary down, and raise the bottle of whiskey to my mouth. I notice that there is by far not as much heft to it as there was an hour ago, but it still should get me through the night. Once I’ve taken my fill, I slam the bottle down, grin with ecstasy, and lean my head back on the hardwood.

I have no idea how far the Neridia and I are from Heron’s Bluff right now, but I figure it can’t be far. The sounds of the markets are clear in the distance, and the crickets tell me that I’ve not strayed too far from land.

“Good work, Ms. Acacia,” I tell myself, in a ridiculous baritone. “You have done well.”

I fill my lungs with cool, salty air, and then exhale. This. Is. The Life.

“Morgan?”

My ears prick up (figuratively, of course). Rising, I look over port, and squint into the distance. “Who goes there?”

“It’s me.”

“Go away!” I shout, loud enough to echo. “I don’t know any ‘Me’s!”

Whoever it is, I hear them mumbling something under their breath. There’s definitely a few obscenities in there. “It’s Thalia, you idiot. What are you doing out there?”

Thalia. Yes. My daughter. I remember her! “What are you doing? Why aren’t you in bed?”

“Because it’s nine-thirty on a Friday night and I’m seventeen.”

I search my mind for a blistering comeback. I come up with nothing. “I concede the point.”

Squinting again off the side of the ship, I see Thalia standing a ways away. Then, I see the shore beneath her. The ship isn’t too far from it.

“Whiskey or vodka?” she asks.

“Bit of both,” I inform.

“Hasn’t anyone told you that it’s not good to drink and drive?”

I turn away from the railing, and think on that for a bit. Then, it comes to me. “I told you that! I remember it as clear as day, Thalia.” My voice is scolding, and I have no idea why.

“Yeah, well, you’re not docking that thing by yourself.” I hear water splashing, then, and witness my daughter wading out toward the ship.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I yell at her. “Get back! You’ll get hyperthermia in there. Is that what you want, Thalia? A thermia that’s all hyper? Really…” Wheeling around, I grab a towel and watch her emerge over the side.

Sweeping masses of drenched, blonde hair over her shoulders, she regards me with a giant grin.

Shaking my head, I approach her, and begin patting her down with the towel.

“Holy…”

I follow Thalia’s eye-line to the half-empty whiskey bottle.

“How much did you drink?”

“A lot.”

Once I’ve dried her as much as I can, I pull my jumper over my head, leaving me in nothing but a black camisole, and hand that jumper to Thalia. “Put that on.”

She pushes it back to me. “Why did you drink a lot?” Her blue eyes hold mine, searching for any hint of misdirection.

Gesticulating wildly, I slur an answer. “Becausethere’sahomicidalghostinHeron’sBluffIhavetotalktomyfuckingexgirlfriendwho’satotalbitchtofindouthowshe’sinvolvedinitandidon’twannadoitandthere’sbabiescryingeverywhereandidon’tknowwhattodo!”

Thalia’s expression cycles through various grades of confusion. “What?”

I shrug, too tired to repeat it all.

“Did you say something about a homicidal ghost?”

“Yes.”

“And… babies crying everywhere?”

“Apparently.”

“Morgan, what the hell is going on?”

I lean into the nose of the ship, and hold the bridge of my nose. “It’s complicated and I don’t care anymore. Can we just talk about something else for a while?”

Thalia looks toward the bottle again, and then slowly walks over to me. “Hey,” she says softly, looking at me. “I’m guessing things didn’t go well with that girl or Falco tonight, so I understand all that. But you’ve been, I don’t know, off for a while. Enough for me to notice on several occasions. What’s up?”

Anxiety flares in my stomach, and I turn away from her. “I would ask that you stay out of my personal affairs, Miss Blackwood.”

“Morgan!”

I look at her then, and hit her with my best doe-eyes. “I know I’ve been off a bit lately, T. I’m sorry. Really. But I don’t want to talk about it at the moment.”

“Why not?”

“Because it will require movement on my part, and I’m not really up for that right now. Again, I slide down onto the deck. Thalia joins me, cross-legged, by my side.

“How was your date?” I ask her.

“Great!” Thalia says, beaming at the floor. “I brought you some cake from dessert but it’s at home.”

“Much better than on my ass, I suppose.”

Thalia chuckles. Then, silence falls between us.

“So, what, are we just gonna sit here? Or do you actually want to talk about something?”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“The crying babies thing would be a start.”

I think on that for a while, and then, finally, I nod.

“Fine,” I say, and then I fill her in on everything that happened with Isa and Falco.

When I’m done, Thalia spies something on the floor behind me. She picks up the paper containing my song lyrics, and gives them a quick read.

Her eyes widen when she does.

“What the fuck is this??”

5

Ugh.

This is so not the life.

Apparently, I drank too much last night. Waayyy too much last night.

Thalia graciously filled me in on all the details over breakfast, just before I spent an hour bent over the toilet. Now, gripped utterly by nausea, I am making my way over to the mining office up on the hill, hoping that I am able to convince Isa Aeterno to tell me what she knows before my liver gives out.

In the lobby of the multi-storey wooden building, there is no receptionist at the desk. As such, I am free to simply walk inside without the need for any performance art.

Each of my footfalls upon the wooden steps reverberates through my head as if my brain has lost its cushioning and is now free to move around. By the time I reach the top of the stairs, I feel like I just came out of a fist-fight.

Taking the softest steps I can, I continue down the hallway, searching the signs on the doors for her name. After a few seconds, however, I hear something that renders the signs superfluous.

“That is the dumbest idea I have ever heard.”

Isabella Aeterno’s familiar voice comes clearly from the rightmost door at the end of the hall.

“Your job is what I say it is!”

She sounds as pleasant as usual. Slumping my shoulders, I gather all of my strength, and approach the door. This is not going to be fun.

“I don’t understand why you have such a problem with just doing what I tell you to do!”

Just as I am about move into the doorway, for the briefest of seconds, I see a dark blur. Then, I feel an immense force drive me backward and down onto the floor.

“Oh, my God.” A small, tremulous voice issues from above me. “I’m so sorry.”

Looking up, the face of a young woman is rotating clockwise. I’m pretty sure she’s not moving, but you’d never know it looking through my eyes.

“It’s okay,” I mutter, more winded than angry.

When my vision stops swimming and I get a better look at the girl’s face, it’s obvious that she’s been crying.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again, before pulling down her blouse, sniffling, and hurrying away.

“Don’t worry,” I say, waving to the sound of her retreating footsteps behind me. “I’ll help myself up.”

Before I can, the dull thud of approaching high-heels sounds in my right ear. “Who the fff…” Isa’s face appears in the doorway, her cheeks reddened by the perfect amount of rouge. She glares down at me, still lying on the floor. “What the hell are you doing down there?”

Standing there, with her arms crossed, it’s clear she’s not about to help me up, either. Since everyone seems to be okay with the fact that I’m on the floor, I figure I’ll stay here. “I had a big night and needed a quiet place to rest.” I starfish my arms and legs. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Rolling her eyes, she disappears into her office.

I get up and look down at my jeans, surveying the damage. It’s worse than I thought: the back of my favorite blue jeans is now black. Fuck!

I march into Isa’s office and thrust my ass accusatorially in her direction. “Look at this!”

She doesn’t look up from her paperwork. “I’m good.”

“Why is there soot on everything?” I ask, noticing that it seems to be a trend in her cramped, little office, too. “The mine’s all the way over there!”

“Smoke travels, often through windows.”

“These are my favorite jeans, Isa. Even if you don’t much care for me at the moment, at least think of my jeans. They have done nothing to you.”

She doesn’t respond. I take her silence as an invitation to sit down. When I do, she finally looks up, eyeing me through her dark-rimmed glasses.

“Yes?”

I indicate the hall with my chin, just after hearing the main door downstairs slam shut. “What was that all about before?”

“Stupid woman thinks she knows how to do my job better than I do.”

“So, you weren’t wishing her a happy birthday, then?”

Her eyes narrow underneath her crimson bangs. “No.”

“Huh.” I cross my legs, and try to think of a subtle, diplomatic way of bringing up the topic of what happened in her house again.

“So, about that lie you told Falco…”

The woman’s heavily lined eyes snap open. “What did you just say?”

Maybe my brother was right after all; I could use some sensitivity training. “I’m assuming you’ve heard about the death of Ignatius O’Reilly?”

“I have,” she says. “How the fuck have you?”

I arc my hand in front of her. “I have my methods.”

“I.e. Falco told you.”

I nod. Then, I lean closer to her. “Look, what’s going on, Isa? I know you lied about what happened in your house the other day. Why won’t you tell anyone what really happened in there?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

I sit back. At least she’s not insisting that she’s telling the truth anymore. “I can help you, you know.”

She smirks, then. “Oh, you can?”

“Yeah.”

She crosses her arms on her desk and leans forward. “If I ever need someone to catch a fish, Morgana, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, I don’t know what you think you can do for me.”

I sigh, releasing a small puff of air instead of a cloud of fury. “Isa, you should know that Falco’s very angry that you didn’t tell him the truth about what happened.”

She throws her arms in the air. “I am well-aware of that. What I’m not well-aware of, though, is why you’re involved in this. What are you doing here?”

“I’m involved because I’m worried about you.”

She scoffs and leans into her chair. “And why is that?”

I struggle to keep the words from spilling out of my lips. That struggle, however, is for naught. “Falco’s bringing an Inquisitor here, to talk to you.”

For the briefest of moments, sheer, unmitigated horror washes across the woman’s face. However, she quickly manages to regain her composure. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

The woman’s chest and shoulders then begin to rise and fall. As they do, I witness her face turn a noticeable shade of red. A few moments pass like this, before she ejects her chair out from under her, and stands behind her desk. She turns a scrunched up face toward me. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ms. Acacia. Goodbye.”

Isa barrels down the hallway and the stairs, wearing blackest expression I’ve ever seen on another human being. As she walks, I desperately try to find a way to stop her; while it was never stated explicitly, I’m pretty sure I was never meant to tell her about what Falco was planning. Despite all my protests, however, she continues unhindered in her quest to reach the mines.

In just a few moments, we are standing outside Falco’s office in the mine’s entrance tunnel. Isa pounds the door continuously, stopping only when Falco opens the door.

The bearded man looks first to me, and then to the small, fuming woman in front of him. A subtle widening of his eyes tells me that he’s realized what’s happened. In response, he forces a gigantic smile. “Isabella! What can I do for you today?” His voice is jovial, but the tremor in it gives him away.

“Cut the bullshit, Falco,” the woman says. Standing her ground, she points at me. “This woman has informed me that you intend to bring an Inquisitor up from Ashenweir to have a few words with me. Is that correct?”

Falco gulps, and keeps his eyes focused on Isa, even though I can tell that he desperately wants to move them to me. “That is correct.”

“You son of a bitch.”

Falco’s nostrils flare, then, and he straightens up. “All I want is the truth, Isabella. You are the one who is making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

“DIFFICULT?” The woman’s voice thunders through the tunnels. “You’re sending for a torturer, Falco. This situation calls for words a bit stronger than ‘difficult’, don’t you think?”

Falco shakes his head. “What really happened in your house the other night, Isabella?”

“What happened in yours, Falco?” Isa asks him. “Tell me, what does a lonely, divorced, middle-aged man with no hope whatsoever get up to in his home at night? You obviously think we should all share what happens behind closed doors freely, so, come on, let’s hear it.”

“You’re out of line,” Falco warns.

“Out of line??” Isa cries. “You’re bringing a torturer here!”

“A man is dead!” Falco responds. “And, without knowing how or why, many more could join him. You have pushed me into this, Isa. Remember that when the Inquisitor comes.”

“And when is that?” Isa asks quietly.

“Four days.”

Her hands balled into fists by her side, the smaller woman then begins to shake. “You’ll regret this for the rest of your days, Accoleius.”

“Perhaps I will,” Falco returns. “And perhaps so will you.”

With that, Falco shuts his office door.

Pivoting quickly, Isa turns to walk down the hall. She quickly finds, however, that I am blocking her way.

“Move, Morgan,” she spits.

I could say something about the fact that she got my name right, but I decide against it. The mood has shifted; witnessing Isa and Falco’s fight has made this all somehow more real, and not in a way that’s good.

Silently, I slide out of the way, and Isa pushes past me, heading for the mine’s exit.

“Hey,” I call after her. My voice comes out loud but soft.

The woman stops, to my surprise. Then, she slowly turns around.

It is then that I notice the moisture gathering inside her eyes.

“If you need someone to talk to, I’ll be here.” I glance around at my rocky surroundings. “Well, not here here, but… here, in a more general sense. Of that word.”

Her expression unchanging, Isa looks at me, not uttering a sound. The moment I lose count of how many seconds have ticked by, she responds.

“Thank you,” Isa monotones, before turning back toward the door.

6

“Eighteen fish in one morning and no giant holes in the side of the Neridia.” I take my eyes from the crate of fish on the dock and move them to Thalia. “Good job.”

“Of course it’s a good job,” my daughter replies with a wry smile. “I did it, didn’t I? What else were you expecting?”

“Giant holes in the side of the Neridia.”

“Your chronic lack of faith in my abilities is incredibly hurtful.”

“Noted.”

Each taking a side of the crate full of fish, Thalia and I make our way up the hill and toward the kitchens. This far from the mines, the cool air is fresh. The songs of many different types of birds sound from the pines around us, and a cloudless sky arches over us. I can tell, objectively, that it’s a beautiful day, but I just can’t seem to feel it.

“So, how did it go with that mining chick?” Thalia asks me, ducking beneath a snow-covered branch and continuing.

“Eh,” I groan. “Don’t ask.”

“I just did.”

“It went shit. Really, really shit.”

“In what way?”

“She and Falco had it out in front of me. It wasn’t the most pleasant thing to watch. To be honest, I wish I didn’t have to.”

“Well, you don’t have to again. Just tell Falco that you’ve done your best and be done with it.”

We reach the silo, then, a spot from which I am afforded a clear view of Isa’s house. “I could do that.”

“But…”

We reach the kitchens and let the crate drop. Then I knock on the door and lean against the frame. “I’ve been operating under the assumption that Falco’s bringing the Inquisitor up here as kind of a bluff. I never thought that he’d actually turn the guy onto the woman; he’d just use the idea of that to intimidate her.”

Thalia falls silent for a moment. “And now?”

“Now, I’m not so sure.”

A small, dark-haired boy opens the door and motions for us to bring the crate into the pantry. Entering the small, shadowy space, we do. Once we drop Thalia’s catch off, I wave to Genevieve Genwar, the head chef, and we exit the building. Then, we set off for home.

As we walk, I focus my vision squarely on the ship in the distance, actively attempting to avoid my daughter’s stare.

“You still have feelings for that woman, don’t you?”

“No.” My denial would have probably sounded more authentic had I not expressed it like an eight-year-old.

Every single part of Thalia’s face capable of lighting up lights up. Then, she gives me a friendly punch on the shoulder. “I knew it.”

I sigh.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”

“You knew it,” I confirm.

After almost a half a minute of self-congratulation, Thalia falls quiet. “Didn’t you say she was a bitch, though?”

“I did?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“I probably did.”

“So then why do you like her? Is it because she’s hot?”

Reaching the front door to our house, I insert the key and the door swings open. “That might have something to do with it.”

Inside the log cabin that is my home, we make our way across the carpet and to the kitchen, where I start throwing us together some lunch.

Thalia continues to pester me, as if my attraction to a woman is the most fascinating thing in the entire world.

“What do you like about her?”

“It’s hard to put my finger on.”

Thalia pushes herself up onto the counter, letting her legs dangle off the side. “Is she good in bed?”

“As if I’m going to answer that, Thalia.”

Thalia picks up a wooden spoon and starts twirling it between her fingers. “Well, then what’s something else you like about this woman? If she’s such a bitch like you claim, then I don’t get it.”

I cover the base of our sandwiches with cheese and throw some lettuce over the top. Then, I lean my hip into the counter, and think. “She wasn’t always like she is now.”

“Oh? Then what happened?”

“I’m not sure.” I continue with my sandwich preparation. “But something must have, because this Isa is very different to the one I remember.”

Thalia smiles. “Well, what was she like before?”

“She was kind; sweet; liked to take long walks on the beach.”

Thalia narrows her eyes at me. “Uh-huh.”

“Isa was…” I search my mind for the right word. “Isa was fun. Very, almost addictively, fun.”

“Okay…” Thalia says. “But, then why did you guys break-up?”

I cover the sandwiches with bread and hand one to Thalia. Then, I join her on the counter. “Because she had a kid.”

Thalia’s brow furrows. “And?”

“And I didn’t like that.”

Thalia’s face softens in realization. “Oh.” She looks at me, then, as if re-assessing who I am based on this new information. “How long was this before you and I…”

“Two years.”

Thalia snorts. “There’s all kinds of irony there, isn’t there?”

I take a bite of my sandwich. “I know.”

“So, what, you’ve had a change of heart? About this kid, I mean?”

I nod slowly. “Not about the kid, specifically. More about my ability to care for someone, whether that be a kid, wife, or whatever.”

Thalia’s eyes widen in surprise. “You didn’t think you could care for someone?”

“Back then, I could barely take care of myself.”

“What do you mean?”

I wave her away, having well-and-truly used up my quota of expressed feelings this morning. Thankfully, Thalia doesn’t press the subject.

“How’s your sandwich?” I ask her.

“Great!” she says. “I have a good feeling about this one - I might actually keep this one down!”

“That’s cold, T.”

Thalia giggles. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s great, Mom. Really.”

I feel a gentle flutter in my stomach at her use of the term ‘mom’. Reaching over, I wrap my arms around her shoulders and bring her close to me. “I love you,” I say, and then push her away. “But if you ever insult my sandwiches again, I will kill you.”

“Noted.”

Thalia then pushes off the counter, cleans her hand with a tea-towel, and turns to me. “Now, we have important business to attend to.”

“We do?”

“Yep. Do you remember that legend of a woman who handled all the fishing this morning while you were off chasing lost loves?”

“Vaguely,” I respond.

“Well, that woman is thinking of taking the rest of the afternoon off to spend some quality time with her own, not-so-lost love.” Thalia comes closer to me. “What do you think about that?”

I want, more than anything, to tell her that there’s work to be done, and that she has to come with me. But, I don’t. Rebelling against my own, selfish desires, I slide off the counter and give her a hug. Then, I walk away. “Have a good day, T.”

Just before I get to the door, Thalia replies. “You, too, Morgan.”

I open the front door, allowing the light from the midday sun to stream in.

“Oh and, Morgs?”

I turn back to Thalia, and raise my eyebrows in question.

“I love you, too.”

“Good morning, Morgan!”

“It’s 4pm, Will.”

“It’s morning somewhere in the world.”

“Granted, but, right here, in this part of the world, it’s 4pm.”

Will and my conversation echoes in the valley below Threkald Peak.

“How’s the fishing business?” Will asks me from the railing of his ship, slowly drifting past mine on its way back to Heron’s Bluff.

Leaning on the port-side railing of my own, I answer. “Good for me.” I take a look at the full crate of dead fish at my feet. “Not so good for the fish. How’s the scouting going?”

“It’s been a bust,” he says, his weathered face dejected. “We’ll keep looking, but I think it’s pretty clear that there’s no gold this far north.”

“Probably for the best,” I say, recalling the blizzard from a couple of days ago - a weather event that practically never occurs in Heron’s Bluff. Another mining town here would be a disaster.

“Yeah.” Will’s ship passes mine, then, and begins to drift away. “Hey, by the way, how far up are you thinking of going?”

I look up at the snow-capped mountain towering above me. “This was pretty much it. Why?”

“Part of Whiterock just collapsed. The section of the glacier that came free’s a big iceberg now. Happens from time to time. It’s quite a sight. You should definitely consider taking a look.”

“I might just do that,” I shout, his ship and mine slowly drifting out of speaking range. I cup my hands over my mouth to simulate a megaphone. “I’ll see you back in Heron’s Bluff.”

“Will do.”

As Will’s ship recedes into the distance, toward the blue horizon, I contemplate my next moves. I will admit, the idea of having a look at the glacier is tempting. Between my catch now and Thalia’s before, we’ve reached our quota for the day. As such, I could probably afford to take a quick trip up there and have a peek.

Unfurling the sail completely, the ship’s speed increases. As I wait for it to take me up toward the northern tip of Northeim, I take a much-needed rest in the cabin.

Sitting with my feet up on the wheel box, I sit still, and relax. In that position, the thoughts begin to flood in, and my mind replays what happened with Isa and Falco over and over, like a sadistic projectionist in the world’s most depressing movie theater.

While I don’t agree with Falco’s methods, I can’t help but sympathize with him. Unsolved murders don’t look particularly good in investor reports. If word gets out about what supposedly happened in that mine and the investors or miners start to panic about it being a trend, it could mean the end of the Heron’s Bluff gold mine. Every cent that Falco has is tied up in that mine, and, if it goes down, so does he. Of course, that doesn’t give him the right to intimidate someone under threat of torture, but I do get where he’s coming from.

I just don’t understand Isa’s behavior in all of this. Telling Falco what happened inside her house might serve to protect her as well. But, then again, the only reason I can come up with to rationalize her lies is that she’s somehow tied up in all of this. I can’t help but think that she’s not a victim here - she might have something to do with the cause. Or, at the very least, she’s trying to protect whoever - or whatever - the true cause is.

As much as I am ashamed to admit this, there’s a part of me that looks forward to Inquisitor’s arrival here. The desire to know what happened inside Isa’s house is eating me like fire. I wouldn’t be surprised at all to find out that it was another ‘ghost’ attack. But, if that’s the case, then why is she keeping it a secret? Regardless of whether she’ll let me or not, I’ll exercise all of my limited power to protect Isa from the guy when he does come. But, there is a small part of me that wants him to get the truth out of her. Seriously - what the hell happened inside that house??

Moving around the cape, I see it.

Whiterock. The giant glacier covering the northwest tip of Northeim comes into view. And, just beside that monumental white dome of ice is another, smaller piece, hanging around next to it in the ocean. The newly formed iceberg looks to be heading north, on the same current helping propel my schooner forward. Since it only gets colder up in that direction, that thing’s not going to melt anytime soon. Someone’ll need to keep a close eye on it, because it’s going to be the bane of many sailors’ existences for many years to come.

When I take my eyes from the jagged hill of white, I notice something to my right. Something fairly large and white is heading toward the ship.

It’s a piece of ice, about half the size of my house. It’s a piece of shrapnel from the glacier collapse. There’s a few of them hanging around. This one, however, is getting a bit too close for comfort.

I spin the wheel slightly, and maneuver the ship around it. The Neridia outruns the slab of ice easily, and I watch it pass just a ways off port.

As I do, I spot an unusual discoloration upon the small iceberg’s white surface.

I pick up my spyglass, place it to my eye, and aim it at the dark area in the ice.

When I get a closer look at what that small disturbance in the ice is, the hundreds of fine hairs on my neck all stand at once to attention. Because, inside that slab of ice, perfectly preserved for who knows how long, is the face of a man.

The face of a man with a knife in his neck.

7

“I’ve never understood how this works.”

“Just try to describe what you remember of the man’s face.”

“How do you describe a face?”

The sketch-artist sits down next to me, and leans over his pad with his pencil at the ready. “Okay, well, for example, did he have a long nose? Short nose?”

“Relative to what?” I ask, getting frustrated at his lackluster attempts to explain how he wants me to help him draw a picture of the face I saw in the ice.

“Relative to a regular-sized nose.”

“What the hell is a ‘regular-sized nose’??”

“Morgan…” Falco’s voice comes from the shadows behind his desk.

“I have no point of reference, Falco,” I go on. “Without knowing what constitutes a regular nose, I don’t know how I’m meant to explain what his nose looked like. And, what’s more, I don’t even…”

“MORGAN!” Falco snaps.

He gets my attention.

“Just do your best.”

I exhale loudly. I’m annoyed at being essentially dragged here by Falco. I should have kept my little discovery to myself until the morning. I had a lot of drinking to get through tonight.

“Fine.” I bring up in my mind the image of the face in the ice, and tell them all that I recall. Over the next forty minutes, a picture of a man with a broad face, large forehead, long, black hair, and a goatee forms on the paper.

Once complete, the artist turns the page to me. The flickering candlelight illuminates an incredibly accurate portrait of the face I saw earlier. “Wow,” I say, genuinely impressed. “Great job.”

The man smiles and shows it to Falco, who takes it and examines it closely. “So this is accurate, Morgan?”

“Yeah. You really got the weird, magician-like quality to him down-pat.”

Falco nods, and hands the paper back to the artist. Then, he turns to me. “Now, before we start reproducing these, is there anything you think we should add?”

“Nope. It looks exactly like him, except for the knife sticking out of his neck.”

“Do you think adding that detail to the drawings will help people recognize him when we put them up around town?” Falco asks acerbically.

“You wanted accurate.”

Falco produces a stiff smile. “You can be a bit of a sociopath sometimes, can’t you?”

I return his smile. “Thank you.”

Falco addresses the artist. “I want thirty of those drawn up by tomorrow morning, poster-sized, and with a message for anyone with information to come to me.”

The artist nods to Falco, gathers all of his equipment, and leaves.

“I figure that’s better than having a public viewing,” Falco says to me, sitting back in his leather chair. “Easier than chiseling him out of the ice, too.”

“So, you’re not going to retrieve the body?”

“If a family member or friend comes forward and would like that done, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

A draft from a nearby window sends the candle into a momentary frenzy. “Well, they’d better come forward soon. That block of ice was on the move last time I saw it. If it keeps heading south, it won’t be a block of ice for much longer.”

“I know.” Falco exhales in the same manner as I did earlier. “Do you remember when this place was nice and quiet?”

I chuckle. “Fondly.”

Falco stares at the dancing flame on his desk, lost in thought. “A man dies, under mysterious circumstances, from a knife to the neck, and then, just two days later, we find another man who has suffered the exact same fate.”

“‘Mysterious’ circumstances? I thought you were all-in on this ghost theory?”

Falco massages his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. If it were anyone else, I would have just blamed the murder on the two men in the room at the time along with Ignatius.”

“Hey,” I say, cocking my head to the side. “Why didn’t you? Now that I’m thinking about it, why would you let them go? They’re the most likely suspects!”

“Gidar Vendosem was one of the miners with Ignatius O’Reilly at the time of his death.”

“Vendosem… Isn’t that the name of…”

“The CEO of the Eastern Territories Company. Gidar is Orantel Vendosem’s son.”

“Working as a laborer in the Heron’s Bluff gold mine?”

“You know how the Royal princes back in Ashenweir have to serve time in the military so they can get a better understanding of the world and all that crap?”

“Yeah.”

“Gidar’s son was doing the same sort of thing. His father wants him to take over the company when he retires, and thus ordered him to get to know the business in a more ‘intimate’ way.”

“So, you’re saying that Gidar Vendosem couldn’t have possibly been responsible for the murder, because he’s the CEO’s son?”

“No, but, should he have been guilty of Ignatius O’Reilly’s death, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Gidar, appearing genuinely terrified, wanted to leave the moment he witnessed the attack occur. If I’d have stopped him, I wouldn’t be here.”

“That’s great for you, Falco, but what about justice and all that crap?”

Falco goes quiet for a few moments before speaking again. “I was thinking about sucking it up and talking to Orantel myself. But, then the attack on Isabella Aeterno’s house happened, and I started to think that maybe I was right to believe Gidar and his colleague’s reports after all.”

“Are you sure you’re not just trying to see things a certain way, Falco?”

“Maybe,” Falco says. “But I’m not making up the fact that I didn’t see anyone escaping from Isabella’s window the other day. We searched her house and there was nobody there. So, unless your ex decided to attack herself and attempt to scream her house down because of it, it had to be something… else.”

“Like, a ghost?”

Falco breaks eye contact. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Not to my memory.”

“Look,” Falco says, resting his chin in his palm. “I’m in a bit of a spot here. Gidar’s probably back in Ashenweir by now, so his father’s going to know what happened up here by tomorrow morning.”

“And that means…?”

“That we’re going to need to figure out exactly what’s going on before he sends his investigators out here. If we don’t, Heron’s Bluff might be in a lot of trouble. Mines have been shut down over a lot less. There isn’t a lot of demand for fish in a ghost-town, Morgan.”

Falco’s words produce a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “So what do we do?”

“The man you found near Whiterock might be connected to all this somehow. Or, it might have nothing to do with it whatsoever. Either way, all we can do is wait for information and see what pops up.”

“Okay.”

“Apart from that, we can keep trying to figure out what happened to Isabella Aeterno. I have a feeling that, if we can find that out, everything will become clear.”

“And how do we do that?”

“We wait for the Inquisitor to arrive from Ashenweir. He’ll be here in three days.”

With a yawn, I emerge from the mine and out into the night. The markets gone, the only sounds that can be heard are the chirping of crickets and the waves striking the western shore.

Down the way, a warm, amber glow emanates from the windows of Thalia’s girlfriend’s house. In comparison, the windows in my house are cold, dark voids. Turning toward the latter, I begin to trudge my way back home.

As I do, a voice stops me.

“Evening.”

I rotate to find the face of Isabella Aeterno staring back at me. She leans back onto the wall of the mine, regarding me, wearing a very low-cut, black singlet.

“I think evening ended a while ago.”

The woman shakes her head then, agitating her red ponytail in a very sexy manner. “Evening ends at midnight.”

“Then why do they call it ‘mid night’?

The woman’s eyes dart from side to side, trying to come up with a response. “You may have a point.”

Isa pushes off the wall and nears me, her hands in the pockets of her gray jeans. Soon, she is standing very close to me, looking up at me with those familiar brown eyes. “What was that all about?” She throws her chin back toward the mine.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you go in there with Falco a while ago. What were you guys talking about?” Her voice is small and soft; noticeably different from the sharp tones she’s been sporting lately.

“Physics, the nature of the universe… same old.”

She comes closer still, close enough for me to feel the warmth radiating off her body. “Morgan. Please tell me.”

I look down at the woman. She is now utterly inside my personal space. And, if that wasn’t weird enough, she’s giving me doe-eyes. It’s fairly clear what she’s trying to do.

“You do not have to resort to cheap tricks, Isa. I’m happy to tell you anything you’d like. You don’t need to seduce me.”

Her face goes neutral, then, and she steps away from me. There’s something about the way she awkwardly takes that step that tips me off.

“Isa, would I be right in suggesting that you have, maybe, ingested something recently?”

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Ingested something?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Thoroughly,” she replies, just prior to grinning like an idiot.

Without hesitation, I close the distance between us again. “Isa, what happened in your house the other day?”

“Nice try,” she says, shaking her head again. “But I’m not quite that drunk.”

I shrug. “It was worth a shot.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

I glance over my shoulder, toward her house. “Where’s the kid?”

She waves a limp hand in the air for no apparent reason. “With the sitter. What, do you think I just left him at home?”

“No.”

“Good. Now what were you guys talking about?”

“Nothing related to you,” I tell her. “I found a corpse floating around up near Whiterock, in a piece of ice that broke off when part of the glacier collapsed.”

“Really? Who was it?”

“We have no idea.”

“Weird. Anything else?”

“Not a thing.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m Morgan.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Look, please don’t accuse me of lying, Isa. It’s highly disrespectful.”

To my surprise, I watch the smaller woman swallow. “Sorry.”

I expect to her to leave, but she lingers. She still stands very close to me, looking downward and with her arms behind her.

“Yes?” I ask.

She looks up at me again. Her goofy grin from earlier is gone, leaving a somber expression in its place.

“I don’t…” She shakes her head irritably, before sighing, and trying again. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.” She speaks her words as though it physically pains her to do so.

“Okay,” I say, wary. “So, what do you want?”

A mortified look spreads across her face. I guess she expected me to be more sympathetic. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

Hey.” I catch her arm as she begins to move away. Then, I take a stab in the dark. “Do you wanna go get a drink?”

She looks toward the bar, and the ‘Closed’ sign on the door. “Unless you’re thinking of breaking-in, that’s probably not the best of ideas.”

I think twice about what I’m going to say next.

Ah, what the hell.

“Do you wanna come over to my place?”

My words coax another smile out of her. “Yes,” she says, straightening up. “I’d like that.”

I place my hand on the small of the woman’s back and motion toward my house. “This way.”

8

My eyes open.

The sight of my bedroom ceiling is unveiled before me, bathed in bright, white light.

It’s finally morning.

Ugh.

“Morgan?”

Turning my head, I see Thalia’s peeking in through the door. “That’s me,” I groan.

She opens the door, then, and enters fully. Closing it as softly as she can, she climbs onto my bed, and sits cross-legged on it. “Why is there a woman sleeping on our couch?”

“There’s a woman sleeping on our couch??”

Thalia looks horrified. “You don’t know??”

I grin. “Of course I do.”

My daughter clutches her heart. “Jesus, Mom,” she says. “I don’t do stuff like that to you.”

“You do stuff like that to me all the time, Thalia. Payback’s a bitch.”

She sighs.

“The chick on the couch is Isabella Aeterno.”

“Wow,” Thalia remarks.

“Wow?”

“Yeah, wow. She’s hot, Morgan.”

“She’s also twelve years older than you are.”

“I can appreciate older women.”

“Yeah, well, they can’t appreciate you, so eyes off.”

“I wasn’t pointing it out for my benefit, you idiot.” She punches my arm. “It was for yours. You bagged a hot chick. Good work!”

“Thank you.” I try to blink the blurriness out of my eyes and sit up. “There wasn’t any bagging last night, though, I’d like to point out.”

Thalia indicates the living room with her thumb. “Then what’s she…?”

“She came up to me last night, all out of the blue, and said that she didn’t want to spend the night alone. So, being the kind, generous person that I pretend to be, I brought her here. She passed out on the couch five minutes later.”

Thalia pushes off the bed, draws open the door to my closet, and surveys the contents. “Why would she do that?”

“She was drunk.”

Thalia chucks a red, flannelette shirt and a pair of black jeans at me, and I immediately take off my singlet to put the former on.

“I don’t get it,” she says, grabbing my boots from near the dresser. “You guys can drink all you like, and I’m stuck with O-J and water for a whole ‘nother year. What’s up with that?”

“I’m trying to give your liver a few years head start, Thalia. You’ll thank me one day.”

“You mean on that day, far into the future, when I don’t die of liver failure?”

“That’s the one,” I say, motioning for her to place the boots beside the bed. “And when that day comes, it will be glorious.”

A series of knocks sound on my bedroom door.

“Come in.”

The door swings open revealing Isa on the other side. Her eyes are surrounded by thick, black rings, her glasses are askew, and her crimson hair is a complete mess.

“Good morning,” I say to her.

She scrunches up her face, clutches the side of her head, and groans. “What’s good about it?”

The woman then notices Thalia. “Oh, hi.” She approaches the bed and holds out her hand to the kid. “I’m Isa.”

Thalia takes the woman’s hand and shakes it. “I’ve heard.”

I give Thalia a gentle kick under the blankets. “Isa, this is Thalia, my daughter.”

“Oh, wow,” Isa says. “You two look… nothing like each other.”

“Thank you!” Thalia exclaims, glancing sidelong at me. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.”

I look to Isa. “This is what I have to put up with. Every, single day.”

Isa laughs briefly, before wincing and returning her hand to her head.

“Bad?” I ask unnecessarily.

She nods. “Bad.”

I throw the blankets off the bed and get up. “Come on,” I say, pulling my jeans up over my legs. “I’ll get you some water.”

In the kitchen, Isa gratefully accepts the glass I pour for her and guzzles it down. “My sitter’s gonna kill me.”

“Just tell her you were abducted by aliens,” I supply. “I’d buy that.”

Isa smiles, exposing a perfect set of pearly, white teeth. It’s good to see her smile. “I’ll give that a try.”

“Glad to be of help.”

My attention is then caught by Thalia, sitting at the dining table, looking at me expectantly. “What do you want?” I ask her, resignation in my voice.

She bats her eyes at me, trying to look cute so I’ll happily be her chef for the morning. “Eggs, please.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine.” I turn to Isa. “You staying for breakfast?”

“Umm, no,” she says, shoving her hands into her jeans pockets and breaking eye contact. “I think I’d better head out.”

“Isa,” I say, drawing her eyes back to mine. “You should stay for breakfast.”

The woman thinks on that for a moment. Just when I believe she’s about to relent and stay with us, she shakes her head. “I have to get to work.”

“No worries,” I say, deliberately keeping my voice cheerful. “I’ll walk you out.”

Thalia moves down her newspaper, looking at me.

“Just give me a minute!” I exclaim, and her eyes once again disappear behind the paper.

“I swear,” I say to Isa once we reach the door. “I’m going to strangle that girl one day.”

“Well, when you do,” she replies, “at least make sure there aren’t any witnesses.”

I open my arms wide. “Who do you take me for?”

She smiles again. “Thanks for last night.”

I lean against the frame of the open door. “I didn’t really do anything.”

“No, Morgan,” Isa says. “You did.”

My brow furrows.

“Things haven’t been so good with me lately,” the woman explains, looking out over a waking Heron’s Bluff. “This stuff with Falco isn’t even the half of it.”

I reach out and place a gentle hand on her forearm. She looks at that hand for so long that I decide to withdraw it. She, however, catches it before it gets too far.

“As much as I’d like to, I can’t tell you about what’s going on, Morgan,” she says, her eyes soft. “But, it’s good to know that… there’s someone.”

“Someone?”

“I really needed someone last night,” Isa goes on, “and you were there. Even though I truly didn’t deserve it, you were there. I appreciate that.”

Tightening my grip on the small, soft hand in mine, I bend down to her eye level, and answer. “Anytime.”

Another smile. “Have a good day, Morgan,” she says, before turning away.

I don’t let go of her hand. She looks back at me, and raises an eyebrow.

“I mean it, Isa,” I tell her, my tone serious. “Anytime.”

She nods. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

I let our hands part, and she turns toward the mine. She only takes a few steps, however, before she stops in her tracks.

Hanging on a nail in the trunk of the tree just outside my house is a poster with the sketch of the man in the ice, and a note soliciting information about his identity. It was when Isa saw that poster that she stopped.

I walk over to her, and look at her face. On that face is an expression of pure, unrestrained horror.

I raise my index finger slowly, and point it at the poster. “Isa, do you know that man?”

She stares at the poster for a few moments longer, before tearing her eyes away from it and producing a very unconvincing smile.

“No,” the woman says quickly, before taking one last look at the poster, and hurrying away.

I watch her go, as my mind cycles through all the possibilities that this new information presents.

Eventually, I get sick of thinking about it, and go back inside.

As I walk toward the kitchen, Thalia’s eyes track me all the way.

When I arrive behind the counter, I lean onto it, and meet my daughter’s gaze. “Yes?”

“Where are my eggs, woman??”

9

“Please God, get that smile off your face!”

Thalia, leaning on the railing of the ship as I bring it up alongside the dock, does not obey. The obsequious grin she’s been bearing since we left the Isilde an hour ago stays firmly in place. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of the fact that you’re a midget and thus less intimidating to the fish? No, not really.”

“I didn’t out-fish you 2:1 because I’m short, Morgan. Admit it, I’m getting better at this than you are.”

Easing the schooner alongside the wooden platform, I slow her as best I can and hoist the anchor into the water. “You will hear no such admissions from me, Blackwood. You got lucky today. You just wait until tomorrow.”

“Oh, I will.”

Thalia’s smile widens when she notices the figure walking toward us through the pines.

When I get a look at the flowing, white formal dress in which the approaching figure is dressed, it takes all of my willpower not to roll my eyes.

“Laura!” Thalia shouts, leaping off the ship and running toward the newcomer.

“Thalia, my dear!” my daughter’s girlfriend exclaims, taking her in her slender arms. “It is so good to see you.”

Just as I begin to contemplate a way of avoiding Laura that doesn’t involve throwing myself overboard, she turns to me. “Good afternoon, Ms. Acacia,” she says in that odd, pretentious accent that seems to be hers and hers alone. “It is a fine day, is it not?”

It’s overcast and as cold as fuck, but I agree regardless. “How are you, Laura?”

“Just fine,” she says. “Better now that I have my darling girl here with me.” She looks down at Thalia, pressed up against her, her face buried in her neck.

I force a smile and lasso the tether on the dock with a rope, securing the ship in place. Then, I grab the crate.

“Oh, hold up,” Thalia calls to me. She extracts herself from Laura’s grasp and looks up to her. “We’re done for the day. I’ll just be another ten minutes or so, yeah?”

Throwing a lock of perfectly straight, almost unreal-looking blonde hair over her shoulder, she nods. “That is no problem. I will follow you up. Is that okay with you, Ms. Acacia?”

Someone kill me. “The more the merrier!”

Once Thalia helps me haul the crate off the side of the ship, we turn and start making our way up to the town, Thalia’s eighteen-year-old girlfriend in tow.

She eyes this afternoon’s haul with a strange expression. “So how was today’s catch? Were your efforts this afternoon fruitful?”

“They were,” I say. “Yeah. Very fruitful. There was fruit everywhere.”

Thalia shoots me a warning glance. I conjure an innocent expression, but it’s obvious she doesn’t buy it at all.

Oblivious, Laura continues. “When I was in Quagmir, the local fisherman occasionally employed the use of poisonous plants to catch fish. When there was a food shortage, the people gathered the leaves from several types of toxic plants and crushed them up in the water. The chemicals discharged into that water as a result of their efforts stunned their quarry the moment it passed through their gills. After that, all they had to do was collect the hordes of floating fish from the surface.”

Laura looks at me expectantly, waiting for a response. I’ve got nothing.

“That’s really interesting, baby,” Thalia says, massaging the girl’s exposed shoulder with her free hand.

“Perhaps even more interesting,” Laura continues, “when I was in Jabul, the locals used leashed cormorants for fishing. They have apparently used this method, to great effect, for thousands of years. They controlled the birds by tying a snare around their throats, and they sent them out, on a line, into the ocean. When the birds caught a fish, the fisherman returned them to their boats by tugging the line, and then removed the fish caught in the bird’s constricted throat.”

“Oh, wow!” Thalia says immediately, figuring there’s no point in waiting for me to come up with something. “That’s incredible!”

Laura might have smiled, but you’d probably never know it thanks to the two-foot thick layer of makeup on her face. “Then, two years ago, when my family and I were up in Elben, we were shown how a–”

“Sorry, Laura,” I say, cutting her off. I rap on the door to the kitchens with all my might. “Genevieve!”

In a moment, the smiling face of Genevieve Genwar appears in the frame. She starts talking, meaning Laura can’t. I could kiss the old woman, despite her breath.

Following her instructions, we disseminate the various species of fish into their respective storage containers to be salted for preservation. They’re already pretty full, I notice; Sabina must have been busy. That’s a bit of a worry.

Emerging back out into the dark, overcast afternoon, I spot Laura’s mouth opening.

I am able to act just in time to stop it. “So, what are you girls doing this afternoon?” My question sounds like it’s directed at both of them, but my eyes are squarely on Thalia.

That doesn’t stop Laura from answering. “We will be accompanying my parents on a tour of several new sections of the mine. Several promising new veins have been uncovered, and I am eager to check them out.”

Maintaining the best straight face I can, I look Laura up and down. She looks like she’s ready for the Governor’s Ball; not a trip into a mine. “And you’re going dressed like that?”

“I am, indeed.”

“Hang-on,” Thalia interjects. “I thought we were going over to Daniel’s house to have a look at that new sculpture he’s working on.”

“We were,” Laura returns.

“And now…?”

“Now we’re not.”

Thalia doesn’t meet my eyes, most likely because she already knows what she’ll see in them. “Alright,” she says quietly.

Laura’s face lights up. “Lovely!” She snakes her arm around Thalia’s and leads her away.

“Bye, Morgan,” Thalia says, twisting her head as much as she can to address me but not quite making it far enough. “Have a good day.”

“You, too, T,” I respond, before turning back toward my house.

After I weave my way through the snow-capped buildings and my home comes in view, I see someone at my door.

It is a man. He’s a scruffy looking specimen, with long hair and a rather dirty bag slung over his shoulder.

“Thalia Blackwood?” the man asks as I approach.

“Not quite,” I respond. “I’m her mother. What’s this about?”

He reaches a gnarled hand into his bag and removes an envelope from it. “I’ve got a letter for her.” He hands it to me and looks at me, waiting.

Exhaling, I reach into my pocket and give him a few coins.

Taking them, he bows to me, and makes his way down to the dock, probably to catch the next boat back to Ashenweir.

I stare at the letter in my hands. It has a very official-looking, raised wax seal on the back bearing a logo in the shape of a book and quill.

Casting my eyes back toward the town, I confirm that Thalia is nowhere in sight. I could open this letter if I wanted to. Alternatively, I could not be scum of the earth, respect my daughter’s rights, and let Thalia open it by herself.

My curiosity gets the better of me. Neither Thalia or I ever get letters - especially letters that look like this. I have to look inside.

That familiar feeling of anxiety begins to creep along the walls of my stomach as the seal comes free. It does this because, truth be told, while I have no idea as to what exactly this letter pertains, I’ve got a decent idea of what it’s about.

Inside the envelope is a thick sheet of vellum, bearing the same logo as the one on the back. The writing on that vellum begins with a large, elaborate drop cap.

I read the letter, as calm and coolly as I can. After that, I replace it into its envelope, trying my best not to damage the paper, and to ignore the fact that my hands are shaking.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the house key. Then, I shove that key into the lock and twist.

I don’t hear the expected click on the other side.

I try turning the small strip of metal once more.

Again, nothing.

Fully aware that it’s futile and that I should just do what we always do and use the back door, I keep twisting that key. I twist that fucker again and again, determined to get that lock open.

Ten seconds and as many turns later, the key snaps.

I stare at the broken piece of steel in my hands, devastated.

Then, I turn my gaze upward. Toward that fucking, goddamned, evil door.

Backing up, I put a few meters of space between it and I. And then, I launch myself toward it.

Pain flares in my shoulder as I make impact, and the door flies open, smashing into the coat stand next to it, and I careen into the floor.

Howling with pain, I take a look at my shoulder. A small, splintered piece of wood is lodged deep in my flesh. It’s gonna hurt like hell getting that out.

Sitting up, I watch the door swing slowly back into a closed position. I watch it do so with pure, unrestrained hatred.

The door slams shut, taking most of the light along with it.

In the twilight, my attention is caught by something on the floor.

Small, white, and rectangular, that sealed letter stares up at me, mocking me with its presence, and I realize at that moment that I hate it, too, with every fibrous structure of my being.

My chest heaving, I chance a look at my injured shoulder.

Blood pours out of the wound now, seeping into my shirt, and tracing bright red patterns in the lace of my bra.

That splinter will need to come out, and I’m not in the mood to stuff around. I take that confounded sliver of wood between my fingers, and pull with all my might.

As the splinter is ripped from my body, a wave of lightheadedness rushes over me. I don’t feel anything after that; the whole thing turned out to be quite uneventful after all.

It takes twenty seconds for me to start feeling the pain.

It doesn’t even take one after that for me to start screaming.

10

“Fuck you; fuck the person who made you; fuck the person who brought you here; and everyone in between.”

It just sits there, in the warm glow of the candlelight, mocking me with its stoicism.

“What have you got to say for yourself??”

The empty bottle of whiskey does not reply. That might have something to do with the fact that it’s an empty bottle of whiskey. Regardless, I interpret it as the height of rudeness, and turn away.

It’s 9pm now, and, on a weeknight, that means the tavern is shut. And that means that, now that this bottle has had the gall to run out on me when I need it the most, there will be no recompense. There’ll be no more alcohol for Morgan tonight; I’m gonna need something else to cheer me up.

Lifting the curtains next to my mutilated front door, I take a look outside. Past the tree, I see the lights in the windows of the many houses outside. One set of lights piques my interest. The rectangular spots of amber on the facade of one of the homes on the outskirts of town tell me that Isa’s at home and awake.

Perfect.

Pocketing my keys, I stumble out into the cold night. An icy wind blows through the quiet town, and that wind carries the distinct smell of ozone. A faint flash of lightning in the southern sky and over the ocean confirms my suspicions: a storm is coming.

Turning back toward my house, I try to decide what I should do about the door. There’s a good chance Thalia won’t be back until morning. If that’s the case, there’ll be no one home to watch the house tonight. Anybody could just walk in and take anything they like.

I laugh out loud the moment the thought enters my mind. Rotating to face Isa’s again, I leave the house; any thieves who want my ancient jeans and flannels are welcome to them.

Stumbling up the path, it takes me no time at all to reach Isa’s. Her curtains are drawn, but an inviting warm glow still shines through.

I knock on the door.

Curiously, a few moments after I do, the lights go out.

Rapping on the wood again, I stand back, and wait.

No answer.

Is it possible that Isa turned off the lights to pretend that she wasn’t home? There’d be more than a few shrinks back in Ashenweir that’d love to have a chat with her if that is actually the case.

I try once more, but this time, I just don’t stop. I keep beating on that door, again and again, until, finally, someone answers.

Isa’s face appears in the frame. She looks furious. “What?”

“Hi.”

Isa’s nostrils flare. “What the hell is so important, Morgan?”

“Answer me this first - did you switch your lights off to pretend you weren’t home?”

She breaks eye contact. “No.”

What the hell. “Do you also believe that if you close your eyes and stick your fingers in your ears I won’t exist anymore?”

She huffs, and crosses her arms over her chest. “Again, what do you want?”

“Do you remember how you came up to me the other night and told me that you didn’t want to be alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Well, the shoe’s now on the other foot.”

Isa throws a nervous glance over her shoulder, back into her house. Then, she turns to face me again, but her eyes do not meet mine. “It’s not a good time at the moment, Morgan.”

I crane my next to get a look at what could possibly be so important that cannot be interrupted, but all I see inside are shadows. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

She begins to close the door. “I’m so sorry, but I have to go.”

I watch, stunned, as the door slams in front of my face, and I stand there, slack-jawed, looking at it.

The small pile of lumber by her door catches my attention. Then, the closed window above that lumber does the same.

I reach down, pick up one of the small pieces of wood from the pile, orient myself in the direction of the window, and raise the wood in the air.

“Morgan?”

I freeze. With a scrunched up face, I slowly turn around.

“What are you doing?” Falco asks, his eyes firmly on the block of wood suspended above me.

“Would you believe me if I told you I was weight-lifting?”

“No.”

“Shit.”

I throw the wood back on the pile and exhale. “What do you want?”

Falco indicates the town around us with his hands. “Look around, Morgan,” he says. “What do you see?”

I humor him, and pivot my head this way and that. “Hell without the fire.”

His eyebrows knit together. “No, I’m talking about the posters.”

“You mean the ones of the dead guy?”

“Yes.”

“What about ‘em, Falco?”

“They’re all gone.”

“They are?”

“They are.”

“How?”

Thunder rumbles in the distance, coming from somewhere over the ocean.

“It’s been a cold one this evening,” Falco answers. “Everyone’s been inside for hours. The posters were still up just before sunset. Someone must have ripped them all down between now and then.”

I cast a wary glance toward Isa’s door. Then, I motion for Falco to follow me. Once we’re a safe distance from her house, I talk.

“Isa did it.”

Falco looks surprised. “What makes you say that?”

“Because just as she left my house this morning, she saw one of those posters, and looked like she’d been told she had stage-4 liver cancer.”

Falco winces. “Must you be so morbid?”

I shrug.

“What was she doing at your house this morning, anyway?”

I shoot a black look back toward her house, just prior to a bright flash of white light flaring in the heavens. “Sleeping.”

Falco’s eyes widen, and he points at her house and then to me. “You mean, with–??”

“Not with me, no.”

Heading in the direction of the forest, I start to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Falco calls from behind me.

I keep walking. “Isa ripped down your posters; I’d bet my last dollar on it. I don’t know why, and I don’t care enough to find out. Goodnight.”

I get about ten paces before something stops me.

“MORGAN!”

The sheer volume of Falco’s voice pulls me up.

I turn around to face him.

“Are you okay?”

Something about the softness of his voice makes my eyes begin to water.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it.”

I don’t answer.

Falco, looking supremely uncomfortable, motions toward the town. “You know, if you need to talk about anything, my door’s always open.”

I open my mouth to make a remark about my door now sharing the same trait, but I do not. “Thanks, Falco,” I answer instead. “But I just wanna be alone right now.”

He nods. “Very well. Goodnight.”

Twenty minutes later, Heron’s Bluff is now but an orange speck in the distance, sitting between the pines of Maerin forest. The lightning has gotten brighter and the thunder has gotten louder, but still, the storm has yet to truly break.

The forest is empty. Even the crickets are silent now. All that’s around me now is darkness, and the sound of that icy wind passing through the foliage.

I keep walking north. I’m not entirely sure why, but my best theory is that my subconscious mind is trying to put as much distance between the Neridia and I as possible right now. I think it knows that, if I am to get on that ship tonight, there’s a fairly good chance that I’ll point it in the direction of Ashenweir, and never look back. That would be bad on a number of levels. As such, north it is.

I weave my way through trees, climb over hills, force my way through thickets, and pass over streams, with a determination not befitting someone who has no idea where the hell they’re going.

It isn’t until I hear something rustling in the bushes behind me that I start to think that maybe I should head back.

Stopping, I strain my ears to hear it again.

Once again, the sound of leaves or bushes being agitated reaches my ears. But this time, it comes from somewhere in front of me.

Looking around into the darkness, it strikes me as to just how stupid an idea this little evening (nighttime?) excursion has been. At least half a dozen people have been killed in this forest since people first set foot on Northeim, and most of the circumstances that led to those deaths were strikingly similar to mine right now.

With that in mind, very carefully, I turn back and start walking toward the town.

A few minutes of uneventful travel and I start breathing properly again. Whatever it was back there must have been content to let us part ways. I am grateful.

As if on cue, the moment I start to feel safe again, the sound returns.

Pegging the sound as coming from behind, I know exactly which way to go.

Continuing forward, I begin to run.

I get about fifteen feet before I stack it, landing face-first in the thick snow.

I don’t waste any time fucking around. Without a moment’s hesitation, I pull my foot out of the snow that swallowed it, and continue on.

A brief flash of lightning lights the area up as if it were daytime, but, in that moment, I see nothing.

The rustling sounds are getting worse now. I can hear them even over my panting and the thunderous sound of air rushing by my ears.

Eventually, the snow foils my efforts to escape again, and I’m sent hurtling to the ground.

I push myself up once more, but, this time, I don’t continue on.

The rustling has stopped.

I give it a minute, trying to censor my heavy breathing all the while, and listen.

Nothing.

After almost a full minute of silence, something comes along to break it.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, I hear the sound of a baby crying.

Again, it sounds pained - hurt, even - and again it does nothing but fill me with dread.

I’m not fooled for a second. Whatever the hell this is has already had one victim; I’m not gonna stick around for it to claim another.

When I spin around, the sound’s volume doubles.

A moment later, it doubles again.

This thing is getting closer.

Launching myself forward, I bolt toward the town.

Just as the orange speck that is Heron’s Bluff from this distance comes into view once more, an incredible pain explodes in my chest. That pain is accompanied by a burst of kinetic energy, strong enough to send me flying far back in the direction I came.

Yelling like a madwoman now, I spring back up, but, once again, I am sent flying backward into the snow.

The crying comes from all around me now. Even if I could get up, I wouldn’t have a clue which way to go.

My ears are screaming by this point, I realize that getting up is only going to result in me getting thrown down again.

As such, I do the only thing I can: curl up into a ball, and wait for death.

They’d better have bacon in Heaven, or I’m gonna be pissed.

11

My eyes open.

An immense expanse of white fills my vision, bright enough to hurt my eyes.

Pushing through the grogginess, I turn my eyes downward to get a better look at my surroundings.

Four dark, wooden walls hold up the white ceiling above me, and I lie underneath it, in a comfortable (albeit narrow) bed.

This place looks exactly like my bedroom.

Heaven looks like my bedroom.

Shit.

A voice sounds from my right.

“Morgan?”

“God?”

“Close,” the voice says, coming through the door to my right. “It’s me, Mom - Thalia.”

My eyes are able to focus on the figure now hovering over me to verify that she is telling me the truth.

“Thalia? How did you get here?”

“I walked in. It was particularly easy to do this morning - have you seen the door?”

I heave myself up into a sitting position. “What? What door?”

“The front door.”

“I’m not dead?”

“No, but it seems that it wasn’t for lack of trying. What were you doing out there last night? And what the hell happened to your arm?”

Reality comes crashing down on me. So this isn’t Heaven, and I’m not dead. My feelings on this matter are decidedly mixed.

For some reason, when the revelation of my continued existence hits me, I become extremely self-conscious. It’s at that moment that I realize I’m completely naked underneath the blankets.

I pull the top blanket over my partially exposed breasts. “Where are my clothes?”

“In the wash.”

“Why?”

“Your jumper and shirt were soaked with water. Your pants, on the other hand, were soaked with…”

I raise an eyebrow.

“…something else.”

Sounds about right. “Who took them off?”

“That would be me.”

Isabella Aeterno appears in the doorway, leaning against its frame.

“My eyes were closed the entire time,” she explains.

I motion for Thalia to fetch me some clothes. She obeys without hesitation. As she does, I fix a pair of narrowed eyes on Isa.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard about what happened to you this morning, and I rushed right over.”

“How considerate of you,” I drawl, taking the proffered clothing from Thalia’s hands. “What the hell did happen to me? How did I end up here?”

“Someone heard screams coming from the forest and rushed in to see what was going on. They found you lying, on your back, in the snow, unconscious, and carried you back here.”

Concern paints both their expressions. It makes me sick. “Who was it?”

“Angus O’Sullivan.”

“I’ll thank him on my way out.” I disappear under the blankets then, and reemerge with my bra and underwear on. After that, I throw off the covers.

When I attempt to heave myself off the mattress, Thalia pushes me gently back down. “You’re not going anywhere, missy. I’ll handle the fishing today. You need to get some rest.”

“Forget the fishing,” I say to her waving her off. I rise and pull on a pair of gray jeans, boots, and a black skivvy. “Do what you like today.”

Thalia’s face grows serious, and she shakes her head. “You shouldn’t be working today, Morgan, especially not alone.”

I make for the door. “Who said anything about working?”

“What?” Thalia asks, following me out into the living room on my way to the front door. “What about the contract? Karellius?”

“Not my problem.”

Thalia cuts in front of me just as I reach the door, and blocks my exit. “Morgan, what the hell’s going on with you? What happened to you out there last night?”

I train my eyes directly on hers. “Move, Thalia. Right now.”

Thalia holds firm. “No way. Start talking, Morgs.”

I turn to head out the back door, but Isa now blocks my way.

“Morgan…” she warns.

I extend my arm and index finger toward Thalia behind me. “I can’t touch her, Isa. But you…”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Get out of my way, Isabella.”

She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and looks at me through them with soft eyes. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you last night, Morgan. Really, I am. But you can’t just expect me to drop everything and…”

“You’re right, Isa, I can’t expect you to drop everything to be there for me. I can’t expect anything from you, and that’s fine.”

She takes a step nearer to me. “Tell me a way I can make it up to you.”

I do the same. “You can get the hell out of my way.”

She thinks on that for a moment.

Then, she obeys.

Storming down the hill toward the dock, I reach the Neridia, and climb into the shell.

Toward the back of the ship, in the cabin, I locate the toolbox, and extract a small screwdriver from it.

Then, I pull up a corner of the carpet on the floor near the wheel box.

It takes me a few moments to feel the faint, rectangular outline in the floor, and even longer to locate the screws.

Pushing the screwdriver through the white paint disguising it, I make short work of the first screw and its three companions. Once they’re out, a large section of the floor is free to lift out.

Underneath that section of floor is money. Stacks and stacks of money. Neat piles of cash in the same place I left them all those years ago. I shudder to see it all, but the scraps we get from the ETC contract isn’t gonna be enough to pay for what I need today.

Shoving a large wad of bills into my pocket, I replace the cover and carpet over the compartment.

Then, I head back toward the town.

“I’d like to buy a gun.”

The short, stocky proprietor of Heron’s Bluff’s pawn shop smiles at me with capitalistic delight. “I have many different types available. What kind of gun were you after?”

“The kind that shoots things.”

His smile broadens. “Close-ranges? Long-ranges?”

“No, bullets.”

He laughs.

I don’t.

Rolling my eyes, I point to the small, silver revolver on the wall. “How much for that one?”

The man’s face twists into a scowl. He looks over my rather tatty clothing, sizing me up. “More than you could afford.”

I deposit my roll of money onto the counter.

The man’s smile returns.

The pawn shop’s door shuts behind me, and I start heading up toward the mine.

One of the faces in the morning crowds I weave through sticks out to me. Well, not just the face; everything, really.

“Ms. Acacia.”

“Mr. Karellius.”

The ETC’s quartermaster waddles into my path, forcing me to stop. He crosses his arms over his immense chest, and stares down at me.

“Did you want something?”

He flashes his eyes over to the dock and then back to me. “Didn’t go out this morning, I see. Are you sure you’ll be able to make your quota this evening?”

My eyes flash past the man and toward the mine, impatiently. “Not unless the fish decide to jump into the kitchen’s storage containers themselves, no.”

Karellius’ jowls sag. “Pardon me?”

“Consider yourself pardoned.” I attempt to step around the man to continue on my way.

He puts a meaty hand up in front of me before I get too far.

I look down at the hand blocking my way, and then into the eyes of its owner.

“What are you going to do, Morgan?” he asks, a rather proud look on his face. “From what I hear, you’re living thin as it is. Are you sure you can afford to go without yet another day’s pay?”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Karellius’ expression morphs into one of outrage. “It would not be in your best interests to treat the terms of your contract so lightly, Acacia. Your job as one of our contractors is to supply the men in that mine with an appropriate level of sustenance. If you decide you cannot provide that on a consistent basis, then perhaps it’s time you reconsider working with the Eastern Territories Company.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

I step around him again, and start again toward the mine.

“What are you going to do, Morgan?” Karellius bellows to my receding back. “Rob a bank?”

“Maybe I already have, fat-ass.”

12

“Falco!”

The mining boss drops his notepad in fright. Then, he turns away from the mine’s noticeboard and to me. “What the hell, Morgan?”

“What?”

He picks up the pad. “A little bit of warning would have helped.”

“What did you want me to do? Send a letter via carrier pigeon before I came over?”

Falco dusts off his notebook with several furious swipes.

“And walking up behind someone and announcing their name seems to be your preferred method of greeting lately, so don’t get up me for doing it.”

He pockets the book and pen. “Fine. What can I do for you?”

“Let’s talk in your office.”

“So what do you wan–”

“Shut the door.”

Falco obeys, closing his office’s heavy wooden door. Then, he takes up position on the chair on the other side of his desk.

“You can sit.”

“I’m aware.”

“Alright…” He looks at me expectantly.

“Did you hear about what I got up to after our little chat last night?”

“No. I’ve been here since 4am. Haven’t seen a soul. What happened?”

“I was attacked in the forest.”

He straightens up. “Are you alright?”

“As alright as one can be under the circumstances.”

“Huh?”

“My attacker was invisible, Falco.”

The man stands. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, yeah. And have a guess what else?”

He gulps. “Mmm?”

“I heard the same thing those guys in the mine heard before Ignatius O’Reilly was killed while it all happened.”

Falco grips the edge of his desk, presumably to steady himself. “Babies crying?”

“Well, one baby crying. And it’s not the first time I’ve heard that under weird circumstances, either.”

“What?”

“Thalia and I got lost up near Threkald during a blizzard a few days ago. Heard the same thing out there, in the middle of the night.”

“The night Ignatius was murdered?”

“Nope. Bit later.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because I was an idiot. Didn’t take any of it seriously.”

“You didn’t take it seriously? I show you a man with a knife in his neck and you don’t take it seriously??”

“People die all the time, Falco. If I can’t change it, I don’t care. If I forced myself to care about every single person who died, I’d be dangling by the neck from a tree right now. I realize that makes me scum, but there it is.”

Falco sighs. “But now you do take it seriously?”

“I was almost killed by a fucking ghost last night! What do you reckon?”

Falco plants himself back down in his leather chair. “Alright, so why are you here?”

“I’m here because I want answers.”

An ironic chuckle escapes his lips. “And you think coming to me is the best way to get them? I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what’s going on. That’s why the Inquisitor’s coming, remember?”

“Are you really gonna turn that guy onto her, Falco?”

He looks about the room, almost as if he thinks he’ll find the answer on one of the walls. “I wasn’t intending on it, no.”

I shake my head. “That’s just what I thought.”

“But what happened to you last night changes things. I can’t see this mine go under, Morgan. I’m also not going to sit idly by, watching people get attacked and murdered; not while there’s someone who might be able to tell us something about how to stop it.”

I plan my next sentences carefully, and well in advance. “When’s the Inquisitor getting here?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“I say we don’t wait.”

Falco stands again, this time slowly. “Would you mind repeating that, please?”

“You heard me.”

Falco walks over to the door, opens it, and checks the tunnels outside. When he’s confirmed that there’s no one in earshot, he comes back in. He stands close to me. Looks into my eyes, gauging my sincerity. “What do you have in mind?”

I burst out of the mine entrance and make straight for Aeterno’s. Pushing my way through the miners on their way to work and through a particularly thick layer of snow on the ground, I reach the house in under a minute.

There, I beat on its door until it opens.

Isa’s face appears inside it when it does. Her expression is soft, caring. I ignore it and proceed as planned. “May I come in?”

Just as I expected, she throws a nervous glance over her shoulder, and then shakes her head. “May we talk elsewhere? How about we go back to your house?”

“We can’t go to my house.”

“Why not?”

“It’s broken.”

“Is that a metaphor? Or are you just being an idiot?”

“Probably both. You gonna let me inside?”

Isa steps outside and closes the door behind her. “What do you want?”

“I want to come into your house, Isa, and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. It’s up to you whether you want to make that hard or easy, but, either way, I’m going in.”

She grabs hold of my wrist when I reach for the door handle, and looks me in the eyes. “Morgan.” She swallows. “Please.”

I twist out of her grasp and proceed inside.

It’s a bright, sunny day in Northeim, but you’d never know it in here. The curtains are drawn, the lights are off, and everything’s one big wash of black. “You been having some photosensitivity issues lately?”

“I’ve always been sensitive about having my picture taken.”

I restrain the urge to smash something; this is so not the time for jokes. “Get some light in here. Now.”

The woman doesn’t put up a fight. When the curtains are drawn and candles are lit, visibility increases considerably.

Following a hunch, I walk over to the fireplace, and lean down to get a look inside. A pile of gray powder - ash - is inside. I poke around in that pile, and I find something that, to my surprise, makes my heart sink.

It’s a corner of one of the posters of the dead guy.

That’s pretty much all I need.

I hold up the filthy corner in front of her. “What the hell is this?”

“A piece of paper,” she answers.

I advance upon her. “Don’t play cute with me, Isa. Why did you rip those posters down? Who the fuck was that man out there in the ice?”

As she weighs up her options, I move my hand around to the back of my jeans, and to the weapon I have stashed in the band. I honestly have no idea what this woman’s role is in any of this. She could be a victim, or she very well could be behind it all. Hell, she might have been the one responsible for the death of the man I found up near Whiterock. As such, I’m not taking any chances.

“Morgan, I…”

“TELL ME!” I snap.

She looks at me, just in time for me to witness a tear sailing down over her cheek from her eye.

“Who is that guy, Isa?”

She takes a deep breath and exhales. Then, she looks at me, with the darkest look I’ve ever seen a human being give another. “You wanna know who that guy is, Morgan?”

“Yes.”

“Do you really wanna know?”

“I just said ‘yes’, didn’t I?”

“He’s the man who raped me.”

13

Well, I’m an asshole.

Big one.

Big asshole.

She’s crying now.

She’s been at it for an hour so far.

You’d think there’d be a hard limit on how much salt water tear ducts can store.

Nope.

Jesus Christ.

“Isa?”

No response. Just more sobs coming from the woman to my left.

I try placing my arm, gently, over her shoulder again. If anything, it ends up making her cry harder.

Stifling a sigh, I try to decide on my next move.

I could go (don’t look at me that way; maybe she needs some alone time?). Or, I could stick it out and try to get some answers to the myriad of questions I’ve got after Isa’s earlier revelation.

I decide to opt for the latter.

“Isa.” I would describe my voice as ‘neutral but forceful’, if that makes any sense (I apologize profusely if it doesn’t).

Her sobbing eases. Who knew it’d be that easy? This neutral but forceful thing has legs! I decide to pick-up and run with it. “Please stop crying, Isabella!”

Isa obeys, and casts a set of wet, blood-shot eyes in my direction. Then, she promptly returns those eyes to her hands, and resumes her weeping.

Fuck.

As the next few minutes crawl by, I begin to make a mental list of all the things I could have done between the time she started crying and now. I could have started that book I’ve always wanted to write, given myself a manicure, made serious headway on a trip back to Ashenweir, heckled a stranger, or even…

“Sorry, Morgan.”

Isa sits up and makes an extremely inadequate attempt to dry her eyes with hands. Looking around, I try to locate a box of tissues. There is one, but it’s all the way over on the other side of the room. I was hoping it’d be closer. Still, I go and grab a few sheets and hand them to her.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sniffles, puts her hands in her lap, and stares absently at the far wall. “I’m guessing you have a lot of questions.”

“Just a few.”

“Go on, then.”

Huh. I’ve been thinking about the best way into this conversation for a while now. I had a great idea about how to do it but it’s gone now. Should’ve written it down.

“So… uhh… you were…”

“Raped?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

She looks at me with a raised brow. “Do you want me to draw you a diagram??”

“Sorry. I mean, when? When did that happen? Before we…?”

“A while, yeah. Before I came here. Back when I was living in Ashenweir.”

“Oh. I’d assumed it happened more recently.”

“Why?”

“Well, you haven’t exactly been yourself lately. I thought that might have been the reason.”

She scrunches up her face, and I brace for more crying. Thankfully, it does not come.

“I haven’t been myself for a long time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it tends to change you, Morgan… I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You seemed to be okay when you and I were together.”

She scoffs at that. “I was a nutcase. Do you remember that time I got so angry I kicked down that door?”

I cast my gaze downward, and fidget with my hands. “I have a vague recollection.”

She chokes back another sob.

“But you seemed so happy,” I tell her, recalling the fun Isa I broke up with so long ago.

“I was,” Isa, to my surprise, responds. “Despite everything, I was happy.”

“Why?”

She doesn’t say anything for a long time. Almost a full minute passes before she responds. “Because I chose to look at what happened not as the worst thing that had ever happened to me, but one of the best.”

Just when you think it couldn’t get any weirder. “And how did you manage that?”

She indicates down the hall with her chin. “By focusing on the fact that that was the night I was given him.”

“Come again?”

She opens her mouth to respond, and then I realize to what she was indicating. The nursery. “You mean…??”

“The man who raped me gave me my child, yes. Aaron was conceived that night.”

My jaw falls open.

“He also happened to give me a great deal of money, too, before he took off, never to be seen again. That kind of helped.”

“Money?”

“Yep. Left a giant sack of cash on the floor of the alley next to me, and then just ran away. Forty grand in hundred dollar bills.”

The temperature of my blood suddenly plummets. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know. But, at least I didn’t have to feel cheap.”

“Isa…” I’m about to take the smaller woman in my arms, but I resist the urge, opting instead to take advantage of the woman’s loose lips for as long as I can. “Okay, I suppose I can understand that, but, if you found a way to be happy then, why aren’t you happy now?”

“Well, having pictures of my fucking rapist plastered up all around town and finding out that he must have followed me up here from Ashenweir before getting a knife in the neck doesn’t exactly make me sing with joy!”

“No, I’m talking about before that.”

“Who said I wasn’t happy before that?”

“You’ve been very angry lately, Isa. Particularly angry.”

“At you, yes, I’ve been angry. I’ve course I’ve been angry, you stupid fool! You do recall that you broke up with me, right? What sort of reception were you expecting when you came up to me in the bar? In my office?”

The woman has a point. “Fair enough.”

She looks toward me, then, staring at me with an intensity that makes me think that she’s trying to decide whether or not she should say more.

Isa abruptly takes her eyes from me, then, and shakes her head.

“Isa,” I say, taking the woman’s wrist gently inside my own.

She looks at me, staring right into my eyes.

“What is it you want to say?”

She extracts her wrist from my grasp. “I can’t.”

“You probably could, if you gave it a good try.”

She swivels away from me, but I’m not taking no for an answer.

Sidling up closer to her, I place my hand on her shoulder. The warmth of her skin reaches my own through the cotton of her black jumper. “You can talk to me, you know.” I speak my words tenderly, and not just to extract more information about what the hell’s going on out of her. I want her to know that, even though I’m not the most useful person in the world to have around when it comes to emotional stuff, I am here for her.

Silence follows. Just as I’m about to say something to break it, she stands. Then, she extends her hand to me. I take it, and she helps me to my feet. She doesn’t let it go when I’m on them.

Crooking her finger at me, she guides me through the living room, and deeper into the house.

Toward the hallway.

Toward the nursery.

Now, don’t get me wrong, Aaron’s a great kid, or at least he was when I knew him. While that didn’t mean I wanted him as my kid, he had a certain appeal. With this new information, however, I’m not sure what to make of him. I would really prefer not to see him right now, at least until I can digest all of this.

Despite my wishes, Isa leads me straight to the nursery, and then rotates to face me just outside its door. She looks at me for a moment, before shaking her head, and opening the door.

When it swings open, I see Aaron, peeking out of the covers of his bed on the far side of the room, underneath an open window. It is when my eyes adjust to the sunlight streaming in through that window that I see it.

The kid is sick.

Really, really sick.

His skin is pale and peeling off him like after a particularly bad sunburn. His eyes are surrounded by deep, black rings, and large, cracked, bleeding lesions cover almost every inch of his face.

Isa walks over to him, but I stay where I am. When Isa arrives beside the bed and sits down upon it, she notices that I’m not there with her.

“Morgan?”

I wince, and scan the room for anything that could pass for a hazmat suit. Unsurprisingly, I come up with nothing.

“He’s not contagious.”

“You know this how?”

“Because if he were, I’d look like he does.”

This doesn’t comfort me at all. Still, I suck it up, and walk over there.

Isa stares lovingly down at the sleeping four-year-old below her, and runs a gentle finger over his puffy, mottled cheeks and through his red hair.

I come up beside her. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you taken him to a doctor?”

“I’ve taken him to three.”

“And?”

“And they can’t find anything wrong with him.”

“You managed to find three separate doctors who were all legally blind??”

She produces a mirthless chuckle. “You were right, Morgan.”

“Huh?”

“I haven’t been very happy of late.” She turns to me. “Can you see why?”

I nod.

She stands, and motions to me to follow her out of the room. Ripping my eyes from the disquieting sight on the bed, I obey.

Taking great pains not to make any noise, Isa closes the door to the nursery (or, I guess, the kid’s bedroom, nowadays). Then, we move back out into the living room.

Isa returns to the lounge on which were sitting previously, and I join her, by her side.

She sighs. “He’s been like that for three months now.”

“Oh.”

“Add onto that the stress of work, almost being killed by a poltergeist, and being threatened with torture, it’s not hard to see why I might be having a bit of trouble dealing with life lately.”

My eyes widen. “Almost killed by a poltergeist??” I figured that’s what it was that attacked her, but, somehow, it still comes as a bit of a shock to hear it said.

“That’s right.” The woman’s voice is grave. “You and Falco were right - there was no man who attacked me.”

“No surprises there,” I remark. “But why did you lie about it? Sure, I guess it’d be a bit embarrassing to admit, but I’m guessing that avoiding being possibly tortured would take precedence.”

“I lied because people might start asking questions.”

“About what, specifically?”

“About what I know about the poltergeist.”

“Something to which you would answer…”

“That it’s been following me since the day Aaron was born.”

“It has?”

“Yeah. But it was never like this before. A chair used to move around in the night; a cup of coffee might suddenly get knocked over; all simple, harmless stuff that even you never noticed. Now, things are different. Now, whatever this thing is, it’s not content to just play around anymore - it’s getting angry.”

“Okay, but I still don’t understand why it would be so bad if people knew about this.”

“It would be bad because then I’d have to tell them that Aaron started getting sick at the exact same time that this thing started getting violent. And then I might have to tell them about where Aaron came from. And then everyone would know about what happened to me. And everyone would know that I was raped.”

“Why would that bother you? People get raped all the time, Isa.”

The woman regards me as one might someone who insists that rain falls upward. “Are you fucking serious, Morgan?”

“Uhh…”

“If you were raped - if you were ripped off the street and essentially used by some random man as…” She swallows. “Would you really want that to be common knowledge? Would you??”

“I guess not.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” She brings her knees up to her chin, and wraps her arms around her knees. “And now the only good thing that came out of that is being slowly taken away.”

“What are you going to do about that, Isa? The kid, I mean. Surely there are other doctors you could try.”

“I have a doctor coming up from Ashenweir the day after tomorrow. He deals specifically with strange diseases.”

“Strange diseases?”

“That’s what he said in his letters. I was referred to him by the last doctor I took Aaron to.”

“Okay,” I say. “But what about this ghost thing? You’re going to need to do something about that, too, and not just to get Falco off your back. If this thing is violent, then you and everyone in the village could be in serious danger.”

“I know that.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“The priest gets here tomorrow.”

“Seriously?”

“That’s right. He’s arriving from Frostridge first thing in the morning.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long while.”

I stand, then, and try to think of a way to excuse myself that doesn’t involve the phrase ‘run like hell’. “What are you going to do for the rest of the day?”

“Wait. Hope. I should probably go to work at some point.”

“That you should.”

“Have a good day, Morgan.”

“You, too, Isa,” I respond absently, after which I begin to make my way over to the front door.

Before I reach it, I stop.

“Isa,” I begin, turning back to the woman, still seated on the couch.

“Mmm?”

“These poltergeist attacks - are they accompanied by the sounds of a baby crying?”

“They are. How did you know?”

“Because I was attacked by your poltergeist, last night in the forest.”

Isa stands and comes to me. “That’s what happened to you?”

“That right. I also heard the same sound, three days ago, up near Threkald Peak, in the middle of the night, and in the middle of a blizzard. Would you know anything about that?”

Isa’s face visibly pales. “No.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. I don’t know what kind of range this thing has… I suppose it’s possible it followed you up there.”

“It followed me up there?”

Isa averts her gaze. “Yes.”

I suddenly become very aware of the gun in the back of my pants, as well as of how useless it would be against this thing. I need some silver bullets. The bullets I have now are silver colored; does that count? “Why would it do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you’re alive? Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything about ghosts.”

“Are you in any danger now?” I ask her.

“Probably. But what can you do?”

Likely, not much. But still, I’m hesitant to leave her.

“I’ll be okay, Morgan,” she says knowingly. “Let’s not panic yet - let’s just wait to hear what the priest has to say.”

“Okay.”

I head back toward the door.

Yet again, I prevented from reaching it.

“Morgan?” Isa’s voice calls.

Just in front of the door, I turn back to her.

“Are you going to tell Falco about all of this?”

I scratch my head. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead. Would you mind if I did?”

“I would prefer you didn’t. But, if you must, then I have a favor to ask.”

“And that would be?”

“Leave Aaron out of your explanation.”

“Very well.”

“And do not even think about telling him what you now know about that man in the ice.”

I turn her words over in my head a couple of times. I’ll have to give it some thought, but, at the moment, I can’t see why that would be a problem. Even just a basic explanation would serve to get the Inquisitor off Isa’s back.

“No worries,” I tell her. Then, I tip an imaginary hat to her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

14

“Don’t you dare.”

The raven continues to rock back and forth, threateningly, on the branch directly above me.

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

Feeling at my side for one of those pinecones I accidentally sat on when I first came down here, I locate one, and fling it at the bird. I miss it by a mile, but it’s enough to get the thing to piss-off before it did what I suspected it was going to do.

Tragedy now averted, I relax my back onto the rocks, and return my gaze to the seemingly infinite ocean spread out before me. The sun is beginning its descent into that ocean, soon to be extinguished and its light along with it. That’ll happen in approximately half an hour, and I’m determined to enjoy the show before it does. It’s better than sitting up there. In that house. Thinking. Worrying about everything I’ve been told and what’s going on. But, I suppose it’s not like I’m not doing that here.

I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened with Isa this morning. What happened last night. What happened with Falco this afternoon.

After I left Isa’s house this morning, I dawdled up to Falco’s office, trying to think of a way of telling him what was going on without telling him too much about what was going on. I think I was fairly successful in the end.

Falco now has a basic understanding of events. He thinks that Isa’s house is haunted and that it was indeed a ghost that attacked her, but he doesn’t know much about it beyond that. He knows that a priest is arriving tomorrow, and that Isa was the one who called him. When I left Falco’s office, it was my understanding that, as Isa not only ‘cooperated’ with us by telling us what really happened, but also took steps to remedy the problem, she is no longer in any danger from the Inquisitor. That makes me feel way happier than I expected it to. Maybe I’ve gone soft. Regardless, it all turned out well. Falco even seemed to buy my explanation of why Isa lied about the attack. I told him that she felt responsible for Ignatius O’Reilly’s death because the ghost has been in her house for months and she is only now doing something about it. As such, when the ghost attacked, she tried to keep it quiet lest the blame for the man’s death be put on her. I thought that was pretty good. In my version of events, Isa is wracked with guilt over what happened to the miner, and that seemed to earn her a few points with Falco. He even said he’d talk to her after the priest comes and this was all over. My poster explanation was a bit shakier, but I think I sold it: I said that it wasn’t Isa that ripped all the pictures of the dead guy down after all. He’s drawing up new posters now. I’m not sure how Isa will feel about that one.

A gentle but frozen breeze begins to hit me from my left, forcing me to shift back a bit to use a nearby boulder as a windbreaker. It’s been a surprisingly warm day in Northeim today, but if that northerly breeze turns into a northerly wind, that’ll quickly change. Thank God I fixed that front door when I did. Oh wait.

Maybe I’ll sleep in the ship tonight. It’s better than facing Thalia. She’s probably back now. Since the Neridia wasn’t in the marina this morning, I figured she’d gone out herself to get the fishing done. Whether she’s managed it or not, I really don’t care; I seriously doubt our contract will stand after what happened with Karellius this morning. The man has a fat ass - me pointing it out is like saying that the sky’s blue or that rocks are hard. But, he’s probably up there now, still fuming about it. You can’t deal with people like that.

“Morgan?”

I roll my eyes.

It’s Thalia.

Her small, blonde form emerges from behind the rocks to my left. She spots me immediately, and comes over. “What are you doing there?”

“Thinking,” I answer.

“You can think? When did that start??”

Another eye-roll.

She invites herself to sit down, taking up position behind me on the sand. Several moments of awkward silence drift by.

“I did the fishing,” Thalia informs.

“I noticed.”

“Didn’t make quota, though.”

“Damn.” My response is half-hearted at best.

“Do you think Karellius’ll mind?”

“Not unless it affects his dinner.”

“Do you think it will?”

“I hope it will.”

“So we can lose our contract, descend into poverty, lose our house, and die slowly out in the elements?”

“We’ll light a fire. It’ll be fine.”

“MOM!” Thalia snaps at me. It’s quite unlike her. It actually makes me jump a bit.

I meet her gaze. “What?”

Her eyes soften, and she places her hand on my forearm. “This is my life you’re dealing with, too, you know. Please tell me what’s going on.”

“We’re going to be fine, Thalia. If the worst comes, we’ll just sell the ship and get other jobs. There are other things to do in life besides fishing; you should know that better than anyone.”

Creases form between the girl’s eyebrows. “What do you mean by that?”

I shake my head. “Who cares.”

“I care! In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you like this. Tell me what’s going on!”

Silence.

“It’s Laura, isn’t it?” Thalia says, and my stomach drops.

My lips remain firmly closed.

“Come on, Morgan. I know you don’t like her.”

“And so what if I don’t? It’s none of my business who you do or do not date. Not unless they’re an axe-murder or something.” I look at her. “She’s not, is she?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Damn.”

“See! Right there! You do have a problem with her!”

“Oh, of course I’ve got a problem with her, Thalia,” I say, sitting up straighter. “The woman never shuts up about herself and where she’s been and how much better she is than everyone because she’s “been places”. It makes me sick. And, moreover, from what I’ve seen, the woman doesn’t seem to respect you at all. Your relationship is all about what she needs and what she wants, and you don’t seem to get a say at all.”

Thalia looks at me, her face neutral. “You done?”

“Yeah, I’m done.”

Thalia crosses her legs over one another and sidles up closer to me. “Have you ever been in love, Morgan? Like, really, truly in love?”

I wave a dismissive hand in the air. “You’re seventeen, Thalia.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Yes, I’ve been in love. Several times.”

“And, in all of those times, there was nothing whatsoever wrong with your partner? They were perfect in every way, and didn’t have any shortcomings at all?”

I scoff. “No, some of my partners have had some pretty big shortcomings.” There’s the understatement of the millennium. “I take your point.”

“Have dinner with us.”

My mouth twists into a smile. “What?”

“I was thinking of inviting Laura over to our house to have dinner. I was going to ask if, rather than make yourself scarce that night, you wanted to join us.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“So you can have an informed opinion of her, rather than the one you’ve got now.”

“That’s harsh.”

Thalia narrows her eyes at me.

“Do I get any time to think about it?”

“No.”

I take some anyway.

Thalia tightens her grip on my arm. “Come on, Morgan. It’s just for an evening. I think if you just get to know her - maybe know where she’s coming from a little - maybe you might see a little of what I do in her.”

If anything, Thalia’s just stoking the fire; the anger I felt earlier is flooding back into my system.

“Fine,” I say, through clenched teeth. “When do you want to do it?”

“Tomorrow night.”

God help us all.

Thalia nods. “Now, are you gonna tell me what happened to the door?”

I watch the sun meet its shimmering counterpart in the ocean, heralding the start of what’s like gonna be a very long evening. “Nope.”

“Well, what about what happened in the forest last night?”

“That I can do.” I stand, brush the wet sand off my ass, and rotate to face the town. “Buckle-up - you’re not gonna believe this.”

15

“Where’d you hear about this guy, anyway?”

Isa’s leaning her back onto the wall next to her front door. Her hands are stuffed into the pockets of her jeans, and the arch in her back is accentuated by her red, figuring hugging tank-top. “From the paper.”

“Was he advertising?”

She runs a hand slowly back through her hair. “Yep. I saw his ad for discount exorcisms and jumped on it immediately. He was running a two-for-the-price-of-one deal, actually, but I couldn’t find anyone else with a ghost problem. You know anyone?”

I squint as the morning sun begins to peek over the top of the hill to the east. “No. But, if your ghost has a friend, at least won’t cost you extra.”

She places the flat of one of her red sneakers on the wall behind her and nods. “That was my thinking.”

I see Falco coming over to us from the direction of the mines. I give him a quick wave, which he returns. “How did you actually find this guy?”

“I did find him in the newspaper, but he wasn’t advertising explicitly. He was in the list of services at the back. I sent a letter out and got one back telling me that he might be able to do something about my problem.”

“Might?”

“Yeah, might.”

“Comforting.”

When Falco nears the house, he nods to both myself and Isa. “Morgan. Isabella.” He practically hisses Isa’s name.

I return Falco’s greeting with a ‘good morning’; Isa returns it with a grunt.

Falco rubs his hands together (don’t ask me why, it’s not cold this morning) and looks around. “Any sign of our visitor yet?”

I snort. “What kind of sign are you expecting? A signal flare?”

Falco rolls his eyes. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’.” He rotates to face east. “What about our friend the ghost? Any sign of him?”

“Why are you here, Falco?” Isa asks abruptly, causing Falco to spin back around.

“I just want to make sure that everything goes smoothly.”

Isa shoots daggers at him. “Cut the shit, Falco. You’re here to make sure that things go at all.”

Falco crosses his arms. “Fine, Isabella. If you want it straight, that’s exactly why I’m here. I want to make sure that whatever this thing is is gone for good before it ends up killing someone else.”

Isa looks down at her shoes guiltily. I filled her in on what I told Falco, about her feeling responsible for what happened to Ignatius. I’m not sure if she really feels guilty about it, or if she’s putting it on for Falco’s benefit. A part of me sincerely hopes it’s the former; I know it’s not her fault, but she is kind of to blame for that thing being here. I’m not about to go mouthing off about it, but, if she weren’t here, that miner still would be.

Falco nears her, and looks down at her. “I am sorry, Isabella. I should not have said that.”

Isa raises her eyes to meet his gaze, but something behind him catches her attention. She levels her hand above her eyes to form a visor and squints into the sun-drenched distance. “I think he’s here.”

I look to the east myself, and, sure enough, I see a figure in brown robes descending the hill and approaching the town. Even from here, I am able to discern the black cross around his neck, and the Bible in his hand. Maybe he’s going to read it to the ghost until it can’t take it anymore and flees the village. That’s not a bad strategy, actually; I’ll file it away in case this doesn’t work.

Falco turns back to Isa. “Your child, Aaron: where is he?”

“He’s with his sitter,” Isa answers, looking uncomfortable. She brought the kid to my house very early this morning while it was still dark. She wanted him out of the house specifically to avoid any questions from Falco, and I couldn’t really say no when she asked me if it was alright (because I’m nice; not because of the tank-top).

Falco nods and turns his attention back to the approaching figure. The priest looks a little lost when he enters the perimeter of the town, so I catch his attention by waving exaggeratedly in the air until he spots us.

“Isabella Aeterno?” the priest asks when he comes into range.

“That’s me,” Isa replies.

The priest stops before her, and takes a deep bow. When he straightens, he removes the hood from his head. With his hood removed, I get a better a look at the guy’s face. He looks as though he couldn’t be more than twenty years old, and his unkempt blonde hair makes him look like he’d be more at home on a surfboard than behind a pulpit.

The man closes his eyelids, hiding his vibrant, blue eyes, and opens his arms wide. Then, he inhales, loudly and dramatically. “Yes,” he says, his words slow and indistinct. “I sense a presence.”

Falco and I exchange glances. The guy sounds like he’s stoned. If he were a stranger I’d happened across in the street, I wouldn’t for a moment assume otherwise.

If Isa’s has noticed the priest’s distinct unpriestliness(?), she doesn’t seem to care. She approaches the guy, staring hopefully up toward him. “What kind of presence?”

The man slowly opens his eyes. “A tormented soul,” he answers, that slur still apparent in his words. “A fractured spirit, clinging to the threads of a fabric unknown.”

I have no idea what that means. Neither do Isa and Falco, if their expressions are anything to go by.

The priest closes his eyes again, and inhales once more. “Yes…” he goes on. “Yes…”

The priest goes quiet for a few moments, then abruptly opens his eyes. He looks straight at Isa. “$500, correct?”

Isa nods.

The priest smiles, then, and motions toward Isa’s door. “Please, let us proceed.”

Isa lets her door swing open and she stands aside so the priest can enter. Arms outstretched in front of him, he does. Isa, Falco, and I follow him, closing the door behind us.

Isa lights a candle in the corner of the dark space that is her living room. The windows in here don’t let in nearly enough light on their own; whoever designed this place was either a vampire or a total moron.

The priest sets his Bible (yes, it was a Bible) down on Isa’s coffee table. Then, he starts wandering about the room. His arms are still open wide, almost as though he wants him and the ghost to hug out their differences.

We watch him walk about the living room, silently, for about two minutes. Then, all of a sudden, a shriek fills the room.

“No!” the priest yells, and he fumbles for his cross and holds it out in front of him. “No! Get back!”

All three of us jump.

Isa sidles up beside me as we watch this guy then proceed to struggle against an unseen attacker.

Wrapping my arms around the woman now pressed firmly up against me, we watch on as the priest drops to his knees. He holds his cross out in front of him as he does, his hand shaking all the while. “No!” he shouts. “You cannot win against me!”

It’s all very dramatic, but, for whatever reason, I’m not really feeling it like Isa seems to be. Maybe it’s the gun I’m still carrying. I know the thing’d be useless, but it does tend to reinforce one’s spine.

“I shall not relent!” the priest yells toward his unseen foe, and Isa’s grip on my waist starts to become uncomfortably tight. “I shall NOT relent!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Falco slide up closer to me. He doesn’t come right up against me like Isa does (thank God), but, to my amusement, he seems like he wants to.

“Go!” the priest continues. “Go from this place! Conduct your evil business elsewhere! Flee, I tell you! Flee!!”

His cross still high above him, the priest begins to convulse. He begins to lurch to and fro with increasing speed until, finally, he stops.

Silence fills the room.

I’m pretty sure it’s over.

At that moment, the priest keels over. He lands on one of the tables, taking all of the ornaments on that table along with him.

Isa, Falco, and I stay where we are. Sure, we want to go help the guy, but, we also want to stay here. Given the fact that Isa is now shaking, I’m guessing that she really wants to stay here.

I look to Falco, and motion with my chin to go to the priest’s aid. His eyes widen, and he shakes his head. Then, he backs away and mouths ‘you go’.

I roll my eyes, and then cast them down to Isa.

“Hey.” I speak gently down to her, and she moves her eyes to mine. “Isa, I need to see what’s going on, sweetheart. Can you let me go now?”

Her head tilts slightly upon hearing my use of the term ‘sweetheart’, whereas my stomach lurches.

“Sorry,” I say gruffly. “Get off me.”

She does, and goes to stand near Falco.

I look back at them. “A great help yous two are.”

They both shrug.

Turning away from them, I walk over to the priest. He’s lying on the floor, either unconscious or dead. Checking for a pulse, I confirm that it’s just the former. “Hey!” I tap his cheek a few times. “Hey, wake up!”

His eyes open, and he looks up at me.

Then, he smiles.

“It is done.”

16

When I take a sip of the coffee Isa so kindly decided to make Falco, the priest, and I, I suddenly remember why I always insisted on doing the cooking during our relationship. Jesus Christ, that’s nasty. It’s just coffee, milk, water and sugar - how does she make those things taste so awful? That’s a skill all by itself.

“How is it?” Isa asks, looking at me with a pair of hopeful eyes from the chair across from me in her living room.

I reluctantly move the cup to my mouth again and force down another sip. “It’s great,” I wheeze.

She nods and returns her attention back to the priest, seated across from us, alongside Falco. “Thank you,” she tells him, sincerity in her voice. “I don’t know what I would have done had you not come here today.”

The priest puts his steaming ‘coffee’ down onto the coffee table and, to my eyes, leans as far away from it as he can from it. He brushes the wavy, blonde fringe away from his eyes. “It was a pleasure to assist you, my child.”

I stifle a laugh; if Isa was really this kid’s child, I’d have to start asking some questions. “How do we know this thing’s really gone?”

He casts his eyes toward me; I notice that those eyes ever so slightly narrow when he does. “Did you not see? Did you not witness the cleansing happen before your very eyes?” He strokes the cross on his chest as he speaks.

“I suppose I did.”

He smiles stiffly at me then, and stands up. “I’m afraid I must take my leave of you now.” He takes a wary look at his still full coffee cup. “I have a long journey ahead of me back to Frostridge, and I must begin now if I am to return before nightfall.”

It’s barely a half hour walk between here and Frostridge, the only other settlement on the island. His excuse is ridiculous, but I can’t blame him given the circumstances. I manage to down another sip of the brown liquid in my cup.

Isa stands as well, and removes a roll of money from her pocket.

The priest takes it gently from her hands and bows deeply to her. “Thank you, child.”

Isa escorts him to the door. There, he bows to her once more, and leaves.

When he does, Isa rejoins Falco and I. She picks up her own coffee and takes a sip, looking at me strangely as she does so. When she lowers the cup, I see the makings of a tiny smile tugging at the right corner of her mouth.

The moment goes unacknowledged when Falco decides to cut-in. He breathes an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Well, I’m glad that’s over with.”

“Yeah,” Isa says. “Me, too.”

They both look at me.

“What?”

“You’re not convinced?” Falco asks me.

“A week or two of zero paranormal activity, and I’ll be convinced. Until then, I reserve judgment.”

Isa gets up and moves around to survey the damage done to her table and the ornaments that were once neatly arranged on it. “Shit,” she says, looking at the chaos on her floor. “What a mess.”

While Isa’s turned away from us, Falco waves in my direction to silently get my attention. Then, he points to his coffee cup and mouths something. I can’t tell what it is he’s trying to say, but the incredulous look on his face tells me that he feels the same way I do about the coffee. I mouth him a hearty ‘I know, right?’

Isa turns back to us, and we both put on neutral expressions.

“I wonder what it was?” Falco wonders aloud.

“What what was?”

“The ghost. I wonder where it came from? What was it doing in this house?”

I wave a hand in the air. “Who knows what these crazy ghosts get up to these days.”

Isa lets out a nervous laugh, and, I’ve gotta admit, I’d prefer Falco didn’t think about it all too much.

Thankfully, Falco seems to be in a light mood. He laughs at my comment.

I start talking the moment he settles down, interrupting any potentially problematic trains of thought. “Did any of you guys think that that priest was a bit odd?”

Falco raises an eyebrow. “Odd?”

After righting her table, Isa disappears behind the couch to deal with the mess. I’d get up and go help her, but that would entail me getting up. I’ll see how I feel in a minute. “Yeah, Morgan,” her voice comes from behind the couch. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you think he seemed, I don’t know, somewhat unpriestlike?”

“I’ll admit he was a bit unusual,” Falco allows, “but aren’t they all?”

“Not like that they’re not.”

Isa’s head pokes up from behind the back of the couch. “He did seem a bit young.”

“He also seemed a bit stoned.”

Falco nods. “You picked up on that, too, huh? That’s exactly what I thought!”

There’s Isa’s head again. “Some people can have that kind of voice naturally, you know? Not everyone who slurs their words is stoned.”

“Yeah,” I say, “some of them are drunk.”

Isa shakes her head and disappears again. The sound of broken glass being raked into a pan can be heard back there.

Falco raises his cup to his mouth, hesitates, and then puts it back on the table. Then, he stands. “Regardless, I’m just glad it’s done. Isabella?”

Isa’s bobbing up and down is starting to become comical. I stand myself; I just might make the pilgrimage over to her after all.

“Good call getting the priest,” Falco goes on. “Even if this didn’t work and we have to bring in someone else, I feel much better about this whole thing now, and that is all because of you.”

Isa nods.

“I don’t think this needs to become common knowledge,” he continues. “And I see no need for the, uhh, Inquisitor’s services anymore.”

Yet again, Isa shakes her head, and disappears.

Falco straightens his jacket unnecessarily, then, and makes for the door. I follow him there. Once we arrive, I hear Isa’s voice come from behind me.

“Morgan?”

“Mmmm?”

“Where are you going?”

“Just seeing Mr. Accoleius off, my dear,” I respond in a ridiculous, posh accent (i.e. Laura’s). “I’ll be back with you in a moment.”

“Good, good.”

Falco extends his hand to me. “Excellent work, Morgan.”

“Excellent work? What the hell did I do?”

Falco lower’s his voice. “For dealing with all of this. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be stuck trying to figure out what the hell was going on from Dragon Lady over there. Even if what the priest did doesn’t pan-out, at least we know what we’re dealing with now.”

I still have no idea what to make of the priest and what he did here, but I suppose that’s true. Nodding, I shake Falco’s hand.

It is just after we say goodbye, and just before Falco turns to leave, that we both hear the scream.

17

“Holy fuck!” are the next two words that come out of my mouth.

Scared shitless, I draw the gun from my waistband and raise it into the air.

When Isa’s scream subsides, I search the room for the trouble. All I see is Isa, looking at me from the couch with an astonished expression. Then, I see Falco come up alongside me, looking similarly surprised.

“What the hell’s going on?” I demand, waving the gun slightly for effect. “Why were you screaming?”

Isa grips the back of the couch with both hands to pull herself up. “I wasn’t screaming, I screamed.” She eyes the gun pointed at her. “You gonna put that down?

I have no idea what’s going on, but there doesn’t seem to be any immediate danger. I lower the gun, and clutch my heart. “Fine. But why did you scream? Did you catch a glimpse of your fucking reflection in something shiny?”

She moves around the couch and toward us. “Ha ha, Morgan. No, it’s gone. My necklace is gone!” She stops in front of me.

“Do you mean the diamond one?” I stuff the gun back into my jeans. “The one your grandmother gave you?”

Isa looks even more shocked than when I pulled the gun. “You still remember that?”

I know instantly who the culprit was. It was that fucking priest; there isn’t a shred of doubt in my mind. He must have grabbed it when he fell over! “Are you sure it’s missing?”

“Well, it’s not in its display case, and it’s not on the floor!”

I figure it might be best to have a look for it, but, then again, we’ll be fucked if he has a hiding place nearby and he gets there before we catch him.

I take the gun back out and hand it to Isa. She takes it by the barrel and examines it as if she’d never seen anything like it before.

“Fire two shots in the air if you find it.”

Pivoting quickly, I head out the front door.

“What are you thinking, Morgan?” Falco’s receding voice calls after me.

“I’m thinking that priest wasn’t a priest.”

I decide to head east, past the mine, and out of the village. I figure that, since this guy came from the east, it’s a decent bet to assume that he’s going back that way. Of course, it’s also a decent bet that he’s going to go the complete opposite of that way to throw me off his trail, so I don’t fucking know.

Once I pass the last house on the perimeter of town, I cease sprinting and have a look at the ground. I can see a single pair of footprints in the thin layer of snow. The tracks look fresh. I follow them, traversing the uneven terrain at a dead run.

Soon, the distance between the footprints begins to grow. By the time I reach the hill, it’s obvious that whoever made these fresh prints was in one hell of a hurry. I can only hope it was the ‘priest’.

Orienting myself in the direction the prints are going, I prepare myself for a chase. I’m full of gusto, but my body isn’t. As such, I take a few moments to catch my breath, and come up with some rough ideas for a fitness plan that works into my schedule going forward. I’m only in my early 30s - I should be able to do better than this.

“Morgan!”

I wheel around to see who calls me. It’s Isa, running like the Devil’s chasing her, directly at me. She must have found the necklace, which means I won’t have to run anymore. Thank God.

Isa continues to run at me full-speed. She’s coming at me so fast that I’m starting to think she’s not going to stop.

Almost upon me, I raise my hands in the air to protect my face, and brace for impact.

The impact never comes.

I drop my hands, to reveal Isa, panting in front of me. She’s not panting nearly as hard as me even after the rest, and I hate her for it.

“Did you find it?” I ask her.

She bends over, supporting herself with her hands on her knees, and pants even harder. I feel better now.

“Nope,” she replies. “I just came to give you a hand.” She raises the gun up to me. “And this.”

I take the weapon from her, feeling a confidence surge through me.

“You’ll just slow me down,” I tell her.

She straightens up and takes a look at the tracks I’m following. The woman’s line of sight travels east to where those tracks are heading.  Then, she looks at me. “Or, maybe you’ll slow me down.”

To my surprise, Isa then begins to sprint in the direction of the footprints.

Stupid bitch. She’s gonna get herself killed. But, let’s face it, that was probably my plan-A once I caught up with that guy anyway. The gun, however, changes things; I was a fool to leave it behind.

“Wait up!” I shout after her, willing my feet to propel me forward.

She doesn’t even look back at me, as her figure shrinks into the distance.

“Isa!”

We race in the direction of the prints for twenty minutes. It takes seventeen of them for me to catch up to Isa. Despite everything that’s been going on and the fact that she’s got an office job, the girl is in perfect form. She must work out.

The woman doesn’t slow her pace to allow me to catch up. I manage to get closer to her by sheer force of will. Seeing that taut little body moving around in all sorts of ways up ahead of me definitely helps; half of the reason I’m so adamant to run is to get a better view.

We swing around the hill and keep following the footprints. We’re heading more southeast than east now. As such, it’s starting to warm up. This means that, as the snow recedes and the grass begins to take its place, our ability to track this guy is diminished. The prints are getting way harder to see now. The guy seemed to be hugging the coast all the way down.

Once we lose sight of the tracks altogether, Isa stops and leans on a nearby rock to catch her breath. I take up position next to her, and do the same.

“I need to sit down,” she says.

“You need to what?” I ask, incredulous. I knew this would happen.

She goes and makes herself comfortable on the sand of a beach nearby, and continues to pant.

I push off the rock and stomp over to her. “We can’t stop, Isa! This is a chase scene. Stopping for a leisurely break on the beach is not a chase-appropriate activity. What will our readers think??”

The woman leans back on her hands, looking nonplussed. “I’m sure they’ll get over it.”

Shaking my head, I join her as well. To be quite honest, I could use the break, too; and by ‘I’ I mean every, single muscle in my body. Even my face is sore now.

A cool wind passes through the trees, agitating their leaves and their dark, two-dimensional counterparts sprawled out on the ground beneath them. For a few seconds, the breeze is welcome, cooling my steaming hot body under my jumper and jeans. Then, the presence of that wind becomes decidedly unwelcome. It hits the sweat pouring off me, chilling me to the bone.

“This sucks,” I say, flopping back and laying on the sand.

Isa raises an eyebrow at me. “What sucks?”

“Life. There’s way too much movement involved.”

Isa chuckles and then goes quiet.

A minute passes.

“You good to go yet?” I ask her.

Isa sighs. “Maybe we shouldn’t worry about it, Morgan.”

I sit up. “What? This asshole scammed you, made off with five hundred friggin dollars and a valuable necklace, and you think we shouldn’t worry about it??”

“There’s more to life than money.”

“Yeah. There’s also revenge, and the pleasant feeling of contentment that comes after it. That’s what we’re chasing here, Isa. Don’t lose sight of that.”

She smiles. “And here I was thinking you’re doing this all for me.”

I feign a scoff and look down at the sand. “I’m not doing this for you.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Because there’s no one else on this godforsaken island who will and I want justice.”

“But why do you care? This affects me, not you.”

Isa shakes her head and looks away. More minutes pass, before she looks back at me. “Can I ask you a question?”

I have to keep my eyes from rolling. “I can’t see what could possibly stop you.”

More moments of silence. “Why did you bring a gun to my house this morning?”

I search my mind for a reasonable explanation. “I thought I’d try a new fishing technique right after the priest did his thing, so I thought I’d bring my equipment along with me.” I wasn’t successful.

“Morgan…”

I sigh. “There’s a killer ghost on the loose, Isa. It’s apparently been following me for a while, and it’s already attacked me once. You can’t see why I might want to carry some protection under those circumstances?”

“You’re telling me you brought a gun to defend against a ghost?”

I lie back down and close my eyes.

“I think you’re lying, Morgan.”

“When don’t you think I’m lying, Isa?”

“When your mouth isn’t moving.”

“And where did you get the impression that I’m one to lie? Ever since this ghost crap started happening, it’s been you who’s been bending the truth left, right and center. So tell me, how am I the liar here?”

Isa says nothing.

“Well?”

“Why the gun, Morgan?” she reiterates, rather loudly. “Don’t tell me it was to defend yourself against a ghost. Anyone who’s ever sat around a campfire knows that wouldn’t work. Tell me what’s really bothering you enough to want to carry that thing around.”

I open my eyes. She’s sitting very close to me now and staring down at me. “Isa?” I say to her.

“Yes, Morgan?”

“Please fuck off.”

She throws her hands in the air and lets them drop. Then, she eyes me intently. “I’m not letting this go, you know.”

I huff, exasperated. “I bought the gun yesterday, because I wanted answers about what was going on. I’d just been attacked in the forest by the same thing that killed that miner, and I was going to find out what you knew about it. I knew you wouldn’t make it easy, so I brought help.”

“You were going to find out what I knew?”

I nod.

“At gunpoint?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So why did you bring it this morning?”

Shit. I close my eyes again. If you’re intending on sending an earthquake this way anytime soon, God, now’d be a great time.

“Morgan??”

“Oh for crying out loud!” I exclaim. I sit up, and look at her. “You know why I brought a gun, Isa? It’s because I don’t feel safe anymore. That’s why. I feel vulnerable. I feel powerless. And this…” I motion behind my back. “Carrying this makes me feel normal again.”

She breaks eye contact, and dwells for a bit on what I just said. “You don’t feel safe?”

“No.” I say the word through clenched teeth. I really don’t want to have this conversation. Anytime you’re ready, God!

Suddenly, I feel something on my left hand. Something soft and warm. The feeling is so unexpected that I look at it on reflex. When I do, I see that it’s Isa’s hand, closed gently over my own. “Why don’t you feel safe?”

“There are too many reasons to list.”

“Then pick one and start yapping.”

Withdrawing my hand from hers, I stand and brush the wet sand off myself. Isa then does the same, and nears me. She crosses her arms, and looks at me with a cross expression. “You’re really not gonna tell me?”

“Nope.” I adjust the gun in my pants. “We’ve stuffed around long enough. Let’s keep moving.”

I start to move off, but a firm hand stops me. Actually, ‘firm’ is an understatement: Isa grabbed my arm so roughly that I yelp in pain. I look at her, anger simmering in my eyes. “What?”

“Talk to me, Morgan.”

“And why would I talk you about anything, Isa?”

The woman lets go of my arm. Then, she puts both of hers behind her back, and feigns a shy smile. “Because I’m a sweetheart.”

18

Half an hour’s gone by. Half a silent hour.

It was naïve to think that my moronic ‘sweetheart’ line from earlier would go unnoticed.

We’ve slowed our pace to a walk, following a tenuous trail of broken branches and compacted grass. I have no idea if we’re on the right track, and, at the moment, I’m finding it difficult to care. I’m distracted. Distracted by the smug smile on the face of the woman to my left.

I don’t know what she thinks she knows, but, I’m betting she’s figured out that I still have feelings for her. I don’t know why, but having her know that makes me want to shoot something. And, since I currently have the ability to do that, I’m trying to reel it in. I’m not 100% sure why I don’t like her knowing that I still like her, but I don’t all the same.

Focus, Morgan.

Isa stops in front of me and is looking at something on the ground just up ahead. I close the distance between us and have a look at what’s she found.

It’s a footprint!

It’s been made in the sand of yet another small beach to our right. He made one hell of a mistake with that footfall. While there aren’t any other footprints, based on the direction of this one, we know now that we’re on the right track.

I indicate to the south. “Come on.”

We continue to walk.

I pick-up the pace a bit, but Isa matches it with ease.

She keeps looking sidelong at me. It’s annoying as fuck, but I’d rather not say anything lest it trigger another conversation. This, to my mind, for God only knows what reason, would be the worst thing in the entire world, so I’d rather avoid it.

We pass through the pines at a fairly quick clip, scaring the shit out of ducks, penguins, and moose as we do. I can’t blame the animals for being terrified of us; we’re walking nowhere near them and show no interest in them whatsoever, so I can understand their terror.

After a while, the sky starts to turn white, and the world of greens and browns around us starts to turn to gray. A few minutes after that, and the snow begins to fall in earnest.

Isa hugs herself as we walk. “I’m cold,” she tells me.

“I’ve often thought that of you.”

She sidesteps and plows into me on purpose. It’s not enough to knock me over, but she doesn’t really hold back.

Isa regains her balance and continues walking. “Bitch.”

A short while later, I see something through the sea of falling snowflakes.

I hold my hand up in front of Isa to get her to stop.

“HEY!”

It takes me a few seconds to realize what I’ve done. Looking to my left, I see it: I’ve just touched one of Isa’s breasts. While my mind begins to slowly process this revelation, my hand stays where it is.

We both stop walking, and I quickly withdraw my palm from its position, spread out over the woman’s left boob.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly.

She crosses her arms over her generous chest. I sincerely hope she hasn’t done that to prevent further access.

“I’m sorry,” I say again.

“It’s fine,” Isa says. “But next time you wanna cop a feel, Morgan, ask first, kay?”

“I wasn’t— !”

She raises her hand up to silence me. “Hey, shut up.” Her voice is a whisper. She points at the same thing I saw: a strange-looking white spot against a small cliff that looks very much like a seated human.

“That’s what I was going to—!”

“Shut up!” She uses a stage-whisper to hush me. “Let’s go check it out.”

I shake my head, and we do.

We gingerly approach the white spot.

Once we’ve gotten a fair distance closer, I motion for Isa to follow me behind a now entirely white fir tree so we can get a look at what we’re dealing with.

It’s definitely a human. A man, to be precise. A man, sitting in the snow, with his back against the rocky side of the hill, entirely naked.

Isa and I exchange glances.

“What the hell?” Isa breathes.

“I was gonna go with ‘what the fuck,’ but I agree with the basic sentiment.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“What am I gonna do?”

She shrugs. “You’re the one with the gun.”

She has a point.

Shit.

I fish around in my pocket, and, from it, I produce two bank notes. I motion to the man in the snow and hold the money up to her. “I’ll give you forty bucks.”

“To go over there?”

“Yeah.”

“Make it fifty and we have a deal.”

“I don’t have another ten on me.”

“Then off you go.”

I stand and re-pocket the money, while Isa remains safely behind the bushes. As I make my way out over the newly created field of snow between here and the hill, I take the gun out of my pocket.

I survey the area to my left and right as I walk, holding the gun out before me as I do. When I get to about fifty feet away from the man in the snow, he lifts his head and looks at me.

“Hey!” he shouts. “Hey! Over here!” He flails a bit to emphasize his point. I can see now that his hands are behind his back. To my relief, I can also see that he’s not entirely naked, and is wearing a pair of underpants.

He doesn’t seem to be dangerous, but still, I don’t want to take any chances. I stay where I am, and crouch down.

“Who are you?” I yell. My voice echoes off the hill he sits in front of, and reverberates through the snow-covered forest.

“I am a priest from Frostridge,” he says, his voice old, weak, and unsteady. This guy definitely sounds the part of a priest. “I was on my way to Heron’s Bluff on an important assignment, when a horrible young man grabbed me and tried to rob me!”

I stand. “Hang on,” I yell to him. Then, I do a 180.

I wave my arms in the air to get Isa’s attention. She stands and spreads her arms in question. I motion for her to come forward.

She sprints over, arriving by my side in less than a quarter of the time it took me to get over here.

“Who is it?” she asks.

“The real priest.”

“Huh.”

We both walk over to him.

“Thank God you found me,” he says to us as we approach. His teeth are chattering. “I thought I was going to die out here!”

That’s a bit overdramatic; the path from Frostridge to Heron’s Bluff is fairly well-travelled. Someone would have found him. Regardless, I nod.

He leans over so that we can see his bound hands. “Please, you must untie me!”

I give the gun to Isa and kneel down beside him. The knot is actually fairly complicated, and the random approach doesn’t work. As such, I pause for a moment to decide on the best way to attack it. I eventually find the end of the knot and start there.

“Wanna tell us what happened?” I say, more to keep attention off the fact that I’m failing miserably to untie a simple knot than out of a burning desire to know what happened; I can basically infer it all already.

“When that man - kid! - who attacked me tried to rob me, he could find nothing,” the priest explains. “When he figured that he wasn’t going to get anything from me, he asked me what I was on my way to do. I told him I was on my way to perform a cleansing in Heron’s Bluff. I dabble in exorcisms, you see.”

“Uh-huh.” I’m still trying to deal with this fucking knot. If I had a knife, I’d be done in a second. I’m about two minutes away from shooting it.

“I had no idea of the mistake I was making when I revealed to him my plans. After I told him what I was on my way to do, he stole my clothes along with my beloved cross, and left me tied up here.”

“We know,” Isa says, stepping closer. “I’m the woman who required your services. The man you’re talking about came to us pretending he was you, and put on a bit of a show so we’d believe he’d performed the cleansing.”

I’m finally making some headway with this knot, but there’s still a ways to go.

“He made off with your $500 fee, as well as some of my jewelry,” Isa goes on. “We were out here looking for him.”

“I see.” The priest looks over his shoulder. “Are you quite right there?”

“I’m getting it! I’m getting it!”

The priest looks at the ground in front of him, and continues. “This has been an ordeal right from word go. I should never have stepped a foot outside the town.”

“Calm down,” I say. “Things like this happen all the time.”

Isa raises an eyebrow. “You mean priests getting kidnapped and left naked out in the snow? Is that really something that often comes up?”

I don’t respond to Isa’s comment. I think I’ve managed to tangle the knot even more now, and I’m starting to get pissed.

“He left me. Naked. Exposed to the elements!” the priest goes on. “I can only thank God that my initial suspicions weren’t true, and that he wasn’t trying to rape me! That he wasn’t one of those deviant homosexuals you read about all the time now in the paper!”

My efforts to untie the knot cease.

I look at the priest, dead-pan. Then, I motion between Isa and me. “We’re lesbians.”

The priest’s eyes widen. Then, I watch his Adam’s apple fall and rise behind his weathered skin as he gulps. “Sorry. I misspoke. I was in the sun for a very long time before the snow began to fall, and I fear it has left me slightly unhinged!”

I continue to stare at him. “And so what you really wanted to say was…?”

The priest knows that I hold the keys to his salvation, and begins to panic. “I, uhh, meant to say that I hoped he in fact was a homosexual! They’re always so kind and willing to help others. I sincerely hoped that he was one because I knew that, if he was, he would never truly hurt me, and that I would be okay!”

My gaze doesn’t waver. “So, you don’t have a problem with gay people?”

“Nope. No, Sir! I mean, Ma’am!”

“And you think that they are the same as everyone else, and should be treated the same as everyone?”

“Yes! That is indeed what I think!” He’s starting to look pained now.

“Will you marry us in your chapel?”

Even in the freezing cold, beads of sweat begin to appear on his forehead. I can practically see the war playing out in his head right now; one side fighting for faith, the other for freedom.

I laugh out loud before he answers. “It’s alright, buddy,” I say, clapping his shoulder. “Don’t have an aneurysm. I’m just screwing with ya.”

He laughs nervously, as I return to the knot.

Two minutes later, the guy’s free.

He breathes a sigh of relief as his hands part. He massages his lacerated wrists. “Ah, freedom!” he says, and breathes in dramatically. Then, he hugs himself to try and calm a particularly bad bout of shivering.

I stand and turn to Isa. “Well, this has done nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“We still haven’t recovered your money, or the necklace.”

The priests stands too and brushes the snow off his mercifully covered behind. He looks ridiculous, standing mostly naked in the snow. “You must capture this scoundrel!” he says to me. “You must retrieve my sacred cross!”

“And why would I do that?”

“If you do, I’ll give your, uhh, ‘friend’ here 50% off the agreed upon introductory price for her exorcism.” He indicates Isa with a wrinkled hand.

Suddenly, the two-for-one deal Isa and I joked about just before Surfer Priest came doesn’t sound too far off the truth.

Both Isa and the priest look at me, waiting for me to decide on what I’m going to do. I’m not sure why it’s all fallen to me, but, I suppose I was the one who originally decided to come out here.

I roll my eyes. “Fine. But how am I supposed to find this guy? He could be anywhere. I wouldn’t even have a clue where to start anymore!”

A sudden cry from the north cuts me off.

The priest points in the direction of the sound. “If I were you, I’d start there.”

I give him a stiff smile.

19

I tighten my grip on the gun as I follow the direction of the sound. I make my way through the snow slowly and carefully, while my mind shows me a selection of clips depicting all the different ways I could be brutally murdered when I find its source.

“HELP!”

I hide behind a fir tree. That was definitely a male voice. Came from just up ahead, over the ridge. Could be Surfer Priest.

Moving out from behind the tree, I continue through the sheets of snow and up a shallow incline. When I reach the top of that incline, I see it.

Peering down to the bottom of the hill I currently stand atop, I see the fake priest. He’s surrounded on all sides by a pack of wolves. There must at least eight of them, growling and baring their fangs at him for dramatic effect.

It’s definitely the fake priest. He looks terrified. He pivots around, looking on all sides for a break in the lines and a way out. To my delight, however, all he finds is disappointment.

One of the wolves - slightly bigger than the rest of them - then lunges for him, but doesn’t actually connect. Is there a practical reason it’s doing that? Or is it just playing with him?

Either way, I lie chest-down on the snowy ridge, get comfortable, and lament my lack of popcorn as I watch events unfold.

The largest wolf (the alpha male?) lunges again, causing the fake priest to begin yelling in terror.

“HELP! HELP!”

He casts his eyes in all directions, craning his neck to see anything that could be a means to his salvation. A few moments later, he spots me looking down on him from above, and he begins waving manically in my direction.

I smile broadly back at him, and wave enthusiastically in response.

His arms drop.

He knows he’s fucked.

The large wolf goes for him a third time, this time taking with it one of the sleeves of his robe. It is at that moment that my conscience starts to get the better of me.

Aiming my gun at the trunk of the aspen just behind the lead wolf, I fire.

The wolves freeze. They take their eyes off Surfer Priest and look for the source of the sound. I duck my head, close enough to feel the cold radiating from the snow, and they don’t see me.

When their search ends, they return their attention back to the fake priest.

Looks like I’m gonna have to do it after all.

Looking down the metal barrel, I take aim at the lead wolf, and consider my options.

I could fire off another round at the tree, but they don’t seem to care. I could yell something to get their attention, but then I’d be fucked. No, there’s only one way to save Surfer Priest, and this is it.

I squeeze the trigger.

Life leaves its body, and it crumples to the ground.

It takes only ten seconds for its mates to clear off.

I hang my head.

When I lift it, I look toward the spot I expect the fake priest to be, but he’s not there.

It’s only when I lift my eyes that I see him. He’s running as fast as his legs will go to the south. He’s already a fair distance away.

A smile tugs at my lips as I raise the gun once more.

It takes a bit of work, but eventually the guy’s left leg aligns with the sight at the end of the barrel.

When it does, I fire.

He drops.

I stand.

And then I run.

Dashing down the incline, I round the hill and advance toward him. Several moments later, I’m at his side, standing over him.

I place my hands on my hips, and take in the sight of him screaming in agony whilst trying to crawl away.

“Hi!” My voice is chipper.

He spits at me.

Obviously, he isn’t.

“Hey,” I say, leaning down to him. “That’s not very priestlike.”

He winces. “You know very well I’m not a priest.”

“Then you know very well that I’m not happy.”

He mutters and continues to try and escape me by dragging his body along the ground with his arms.

I hold my gun up to the side of my face and stroke it suggestively.

“What do you want?!” he cries.

“What do you reckon, asshole? The money, the necklace, and the cross.”

He’s still trying to crawl away. He’s going like 0.2 miles an hour. How far does he think he’s gonna get? He doesn’t answer me.

“Are you trying to perform The Tortoise and the Hare?”

He gives up. He stops crawling and looks at me, hatred burning in his eyes.

“The money, asshole. Where’s the money and the other stuff?”

“It’s in my robe,” he answers through clenched teeth. “It’s in a compartment in my goddamned robe.”

I reach down and grab the hem of the garment. I start to lift, but then I hesitate. “What are you wearing under there?”

He gives me a smug smile. “Not much.”

I let the fabric go, then motion at him with the gun. “Get ‘em.”

He does, producing a roll of notes, Isa’s diamond necklace, and the priest’s cross. He tosses them at the ground before me.

I grin at him, then ruffle his ridiculous hair. “Thanks, buddy.”

He spits at me again, but I manage to dodge it before it strikes.

I stand then, and turn away.

“Hey!”

I stop and rotate to face him.

“Where are you going?”

“Home. To take a hot shower.”

“You can’t just leave me here!”

I think for a few moments. “No, I think I can.”

He winces as pain flares him from his leg. It’s bleeding profusely. “I screwed up, alright! I needed money, saw the priest leaving the town, and thought I’d go after an easy target.”

“What did you need the money for?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Drugs?”

He breaks eye contact. “Yes.”

Glee breaks out over my countenance. “I knew it!”

“What?”

I will my face to be serious again. “Well, you should know that that ‘easy target’ you’re talking about was found dead five minutes ago.”

The guy looks mortified.

Excitement swells in my stomach, and the realization hits me that I can no longer deny being a bit of a sadist. I cross my arms. “And have a guess who found him that way?”

His eyes dart from side to side. “You?”

“Yep. And have a guess who else?”

He gulps. “Who?”

“The people in the lynch mob from Heron’s Bluff - thirty armed men strong.”

His entire body tenses with fear. “Wha… What??”

“I broke off from the group to check out what was going on when we heard your screams. I’ve been a while. They’ll likely be here at any minute to see what’s going on.”

“Please!” he says, his attempts to crawl away now reaching manic intensity. “Please!”

“Please what?”

“Don’t let them take me away! I didn’t mean to kill anyone!”

“And yet you did.” This is amazing.

“Please!”

The howl of a wolf then comes from the distance. I think it’s time I get outta here.

“Goodbye, Surfer Priest,” I tell him.

He doesn’t answer. He just continues his attempts to struggle away.

Turning away from the pathetic sight beneath me, I orient myself back in the direction from which I came, and begin to walk.

20

Déjà vu.

Isa and I are waiting outside her house for a priest.

The only difference between the last time this happened and now is that Falco’s not here, and the priest already is. Well, that and it was sunny this morning, and now it’s snowing like it’s trying to bury the town.

Isa and I lean with our backs to the wall, looking out over the rest of the village and the dark, gray bay behind it. Every so often, she’ll take a glance behind her at her house. I do something similar, but, whereas she’s doing it out of trepidation, I’m doing it out of impatience. It’s been an hour already - where the fuck is this guy?

As I think that last line, Isa looks at me and smiles. “You don’t have to stay, you know.”

“Really? Are you saying that I’ve got… free will??”

She chuckles. “Uh-huh. And you can exercise that will anytime.”

My mind flashes back to all the running I had to do this morning, PTSD-style. “Please don’t talk about exercise, Isa.”

Isa’s front door opens. A moment later, the (real) priest emerges from it. He’s wearing a set of robes we purchased for him, during an incredibly embarrassing visit to the local clothier.

He clutches the cross on his chest, and bows to us. “It is done.” The whole thing is frighteningly similar to Surfer Priest’s final performance, but I don’t have the same misgivings with this guy.

“Thank you,” Isa says, and hands him the money.

The priest takes it. I notice that he’s trying to remain stoic, but there’s definitely a smile trying to form on his lips as he does.

“$250, right?” I ask Isa, arms crossed.

She nods. So does the priest, when he’s counted every, single bill.

He bows again, showing the same reverence I would imagine he usually reserves for God to a paying customer.

He turns to me. “Thank you for retrieving my cross, Miss…?

“Acacia.”

He nods. “Despite your predilections, you aren’t an entirely despicable human being.”

“You flatter me.”

We shake hands.

“Did you have any trouble?” Isa asks him. “Was it an easy job?”

The priest hesitates for a moment, before answering. “It was… unusual,” he says.

“In what way?” I ask.

“I’ve never felt a presence like that before.”

Isa inches closer to me; I’m not sure she even notices she’s doing it. “What do you mean?

He thinks for a moment. “It seemed… It was almost like.” He huffs, irritated by his inability to express his point. “It felt to me like the ghost was trying to do something. Like it had some task it needed to complete.”

I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “You ‘felt’ that?”

He ignores me, his focus remaining inward. “It was as if the ghost had somewhere it needed to go, but, for whatever reason, couldn’t get there.”

“Heaven?” Isa theorizes.

“Or Hell,” I put in.

“No,” the priest says. “Somewhere here. Somewhere in that house.”

Well, that cinches it: I’m never going in there again. “Anything else you can tell us about it?”

“Just that… I’ve never quite felt such anger and confusion from a soul before.” He turns to Isa. “You were very lucky you called me when you did. Such spirits are exceedingly dangerous.”

“We know,” I say. “Thank you again.”

He bows once more. Doesn’t he get dizzy doing that so much?

Then, he turns to leave.

As he moves away, he looks over his shoulder, and leaves us with his parting words:

“Tell your friends!”

I roll my eyes, and soon, he is nothing but a speck in the eastern distance.

Isa steps in front of me, a wide smile on her face. She looks happy. I sincerely hope she looks like that for a while.

“I should thank you, too,” she says.

“For giving your kid a place to stay, lying to Falco, and risking my life to go get your money and necklace from some mental case running around in the wilderness? Yeah, you’re damn right you do!”

“Well, thank you.”

“No problem.” I cross my arms and look up at her house. “That all took way longer than I expected.”

“Yeah,” Isa says. “But, at least it’s all taken care of. No more ghost.”

“Poor ghost,” I drawl.

Isa waves my words away. “Ah. Don’t feel sorry for him. It serves him right. He was a terrible housemate.”

I laugh at that one.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a passenger ship coming into port. It cuts through the water and slides up slowly, paralleling Heron’s Bluff’s main dock. Barely moments after the boardwalk has been extended, the passengers begin to filter off, eager to experience freedom after the long trip from Ashenweir.

One of the members of the group alighting from the ship is wearing a distinctive, golden armor, that covers him from head to toe. Once the man of metal sets foot on land, he looks around, and then proceeds up to the mine.

Isa comes forward, coming to a stop just next to me. The man has caught her attention as well.

“He’s gonna be pissed,” I say, watching the now jobless Inquisitor march up the white hill.

“Yeah,” Isa responds quietly.

Taking my eyes off him, I return them to the ship. Despite its diminutive size and remote location, Heron’s Bluff sees many visitors. Despite their diversity in skills and talents, they all come all here up for one reason: to somehow service the mine.

As I look curiously over the new arrivals, yet another individual catches my eye. That individual is wearing a dark, black hood which obscures their face entirely, and they are looking straight at me.

When I see that individual, my stomach drops. Instantly, my body starts shaking. I close my eyes and take a few breaths, knowing that I’m being ridiculous and allowing my imagination to run away with me, but doing that never really helps.

“Morgan?” Isa’s voice comes from my side.

I look at her.

She looks at me.

“What’s wrong? Why are you shivering?”

I open my mouth and mutter something, just before returning my eyes to the dock. When I do, I discover that the person that caught my attention is now gone.

“Nothing,” I respond to Isa. “I’m just cold.”

After a quick detour up to Falco’s to tell him about Surfer Priest and the fact that he could probably use some help and a doctor, Isa and I go back to my house.

We’re currently in my living room. Aaron is sleeping on the couch. Isa’s sitter’s just gone home.

“Tea or coffee?” I ask her, as the water comes to a boil (I insisted I be the one who make it).

“Tea,” Isa responds. She’s sitting over Aaron, who looks even worse than he did yesterday. His entire face is ashen and wrinkled, as if he were decaying before our eyes. To be frank, I have no idea how Isa’s holding it together. That kid doesn’t look like he’ll last the week.

I walk over to her and extend the scalding hot tea to her with the handle facing to her. After she takes it, I sit down beside her.

“What time’s the doctor getting here tomorrow?” I ask her.

“9am.”

“Good.”

Her smile from earlier is gone now, I notice. Rolling my eyes, I give into my instinct.

When I wrap my arm around the woman, she nestles her face into my neck. The feeling of warm skin on mine is a startlingly alien feeling; I didn’t realize it’d been so long since I’d felt that.

We stay there for a while, the only sounds us breathing (and Aaron wheezing).

After a few minutes, she pulls away, but her right knee still touches my left, I notice.

Her eyes meet mine. When she speaks, her voice is soft. “Hey, umm, I was wondering if…” Her voice trails off. “Well, I was going to make a stir fry tonight, and I’ll probably have way more than I could ever eat cos I always do when I make that. I’d hate to see all that food go to waste so, I was wondering, maybe you’d like to come over? To help me eat it. You wouldn’t have to do anything. I’d handle everything, and you could just relax for the evening.”

She looks hopefully into my eyes, and, as she does, I realize I feel even happier than when I did convincing Surfer Priest that a mob was after him. I am so screwed.

“That sounds great,” I say, “and I’d be happy to help you prevent food wastage since it’s a terrible problem in our modern world, but I have other plans tonight.”

“Do you really expect me to believe you have things to do in your life, Morgan?”

“Hey!” I protest. “I have a life.” At least for the moment.

She shakes her head, smiling again. “My mistake. What is it you’re doing?”

“I have been coerced into going to dinner with my daughter and her girlfriend.”

“And you’re saying this like it’s the worst thing on earth, why?”

Suddenly, a thought strikes me. “Why don’t you come over tonight and find out?”

“Huh?”

I turn to her, then, and look pleadingly into her eyes. If I can scam Isa into accompanying me to this stupid dinner thing, the likelihood of me not hanging myself during it will increase significantly.

“Why don’t you come have dinner with us?” I go on. “You could meet my daughter, properly this time. She’s cooking, so you know the food’ll be great.” That may or may not actually be true. “What do you say?” Doe-eyes engaged.

She looks at me, wary, trying to find the ulterior motive in my offer.

She mustn’t find one because, after a time, she nods.

Fuck yeah.

21

Fuck this dress.

I shift in my seat for the thousandth time since I sat down, trying to get comfortable inside the black dress I pulled from the depths of my closet and put on ahead of Laura and Isa’s arrival tonight.

The dress is short, black, and I look pretty damned good in it, but it’s also tight. Very, very tight. My legs are locked together inside the constrictive skirt bit, and, for some reason, that’s annoying the hell outta me. Refilling my glass of wine, I raise it into the air, and silently thank God for giving us pants. Then, I take a gigantic swig.

The smell of frying chicken wafts over to where I sit in my living room from the kitchenette, and the sound of sizzling oil along with it. Thalia’s responsible for that sound and aroma. She’s really thrown herself into the task of making us all a good dinner, and it does, admittedly, smell amazing. She didn’t even complain when I told her there’d be an extra guest tonight that she’d have to cook for. She appears so competent as she goes about her tasks that I’m only mildly terrified about salmonella poisoning now. Or maybe it’s just the wine that’s making me that way. There’s an (apparently) reputable doctor arriving tomorrow, so I guess I’ll be fine either way.

I lay back on my lounge chair and try yet again to get my book and body into a comfortable reading position. On a whim, I cross my legs over one another, and the relief is instantaneous. I have officially mastered the art of dress wearing!

It’s still snowing out there. I can see it through my front windows - snowflakes just barely illuminated by the candles inside as they fall into darkness and out of frame.

I check my watch. It’s almost 7pm. Isa should be here any moment, as well as Laura. Have a guess which one I’m most excited about? Please tell me you didn’t guess Laura.

“Mom.”

I put down my book and rotate to face Thalia.

She’s standing in the kitchenette, looking here and there in the cupboards and on the counters. “Have you seen the cardamom?”

“Right-most drawers, second one from the top.”

I turn back to face my book and I hear the drawer slide open and close.

“Got it!” Thalia announces. “Thanks, Mom!”

She’s been doing that all evening; calling me ‘Mom’. That started around the same time she suggested I have a glass of wine to ‘relax’ and her putting a pillow behind me when I sat down on the couch. She’s making one hell of an effort to get me to play nice with Laura tonight. We’ll see how we go.

I try to read for five minutes, but I can’t concentrate. I always hate waiting for people; even the wine won’t help me relax.

Finally, a series of knocks come on the front door.

I check my watch again. It’s 7:10pm. It’s not like Isa to be late. I wonder what held her up? Assuming it’s her, that is; I think I’m becoming an optimist.

I remove the pot plant from in front of the door, and it swings open, letting a chilling breeze rush in.

Isa and Laura stand just beyond the threshold outside.

Isa’s looking at me, her eyes wide, while Laura talks at her. The mystery of Isa’s late arrival has been solved; Laura probably launched into a speech the moment she realized she and Isa crossed paths and discovered they were heading to the same house.

The younger woman crosses her arms. “I just think the situation in Elben could have been easily avoided had they regulated the use of the substance rather than ban it altogether. It is hubris, and it will come back to bite them in the end.”

Laura realizes the door’s been opened then. “Ms. Acacia!” She waddles up to me in her ridiculously high heels, pulls me closer to her, and kisses both of my cheeks.

“Hi, Laura,” I say, wishing I’d brought my wine glass along with me.

I’d ask the girl how she is, but fuck that. Instead, I cast my eyes to Isa.

Her red hair is up in a ponytail, and she wears a simple pair of black jeans and tank-top. Compared to Laura (who’s wearing yet another extravagant, white dress), Thalia, and I, she looks decidedly underdressed, and she knows it.

When she comes closer to me, I feel that her warm body is stiff as I give her a hug. She looks at me, her eyes still wide, and whispers at me. “You didn’t tell me this was meant to be a formal thing.”

I scoff and motion generally behind me. “Look at my house. You’re the only one here who doesn’t look like they’re trying to be ironic.”

She laughs and relaxes.

I hear Laura’s heels click off deeper into the house, toward Thalia. Isa and I watch her proceed directly over to the kitchenette, walking like a model on a runway. When she arrives, she wraps her arms around Thalia, and plants a kiss on her cheek. Then, Thalia turns to her, and the two girls essentially start to make-out. I stifle a vomit.

I turn back to Isa, whose smiling at me. “How’s Aaron?”

“He was up and around the last time I saw him.”

“Oh yeah?”

She shakes her head, now grinning like an idiot.

“What?”

“You look ridiculous.”

I bat my eyes at her, and make a gesture with my pinky extended that I can’t really describe in a concise, easy-to-read sentence.

Isa giggles loudly.

She puts her face close to mine, and has a closer look at my eyes. “Who did your makeup?”

“I did.”

“It shows.”

“Thanks.”

She stands back from me, then, and places her hands on my upper arms. “You look weird,” she concludes.

I raise an eyebrow.

“But, you look beautiful.”

I feel heat rise in my cheeks. I’m blushing. I don’t blush! This damned dress must be affecting me; turning me into the woman my father wanted me to be.

I look away from her and mumble a brief ‘you too’.

Taking Isa’s hand, I lead her inside. It takes me a few moments for that action to really register in my mind: out of instinct, I’ve just taken Isa’s hand.

I let it drop immediately, and, to my chagrin, Isa giggles again. I need more wine. I don’t think it’ll make me less awkward; I think it’ll just make me care less that I am.

Isa follows me to the kitchenette, where I clear my throat loudly enough to give me a sore throat.

Thalia and Laura separate. Physically, I mean, not emotionally; we can’t have everything.

Thalia points between her girlfriend and Isa. “Laura, this is Isa, my mother’s…” Her brow furrows, as it dawns on her that she’s talked herself into a spot.

“Friend,” I clarify.

Thalia’s face sags, and then she smiles. “Yes. Friend.” She sounds skeptical as all get out that Isa’s really just my friend; I’ll have to set her straight later.

“Isa,” Thalia continues, “this is Laura, my girlfriend.”

Jesus, I hate hearing that. I cast my gaze up to my ceiling, searching for a beam I could get a rope over that would support my weight. There’s a couple up there that could work.

“I figured that,” Isa says. “The kissing was a dead giveaway.”

Everyone laughs, while I try to work out the length of rope I’ll need to get over the beam and down to my neck.

We sit around my dining table.

Laura regales Thalia and Isa with tales from distant lands, while I sit there wishing I was in one.

Eventually, the girl stops to take a bite of her meal, and a much-needed breath.

I seize the opportunity to talk about something else.

Anything else.

I open my mouth to start a sentence, but Isa gets in before me. It’s probably a good thing she does, because I didn’t have a clue what I was going to say.

“So, Laura,” she says, and my face falls at the fact that her question’s not directed toward me or Thalia. “Where’s your accent from? I don’t think I’ve heard one quite like it before.”

I’m not quite drunk enough to relate my theory that it’s a fake accent to the table, but, I’m getting there. I celebrate my progress with a hearty sip of gin.

“It is from here and there,” Laura answers, the use of contractions apparently beneath her. “Since I was very young, my home has been the world. So, I guess you could consider my accent a kind of ‘world’ accent.”

I turn my head to hide my snigger. That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard come out of another human’s mouth.

When I turn back, everyone’s staring at me.

“What?”

Thalia removes her narrowed eyes from me and returns them to Laura. “How’s your dinner, sweetheart?”

“It is fine,” Laura says, her face expressionless. “It’s hardly gourmet, but I’ve come to lower my expectations since coming to Northeim.”

By the look on Thalia’s face, she doesn’t know if she should take that as a compliment or insult.

The table falls silent, as we all return our attention back to our plates.

“How did you come to be in Northeim?” Isa asks Laura, breaking the silence. “How did you end up in Heron’s Bluff?”

I’m actually so grateful that she’s making an effort to break the silence that I place my hand on her thigh and give it a little rub. As bad as Laura talking is, the tension that fills the room when she doesn’t is intolerable.

Isa doesn’t acknowledge my action. I’m rather disappointed that she doesn’t, actually, and I take my hand away. After a few moments, however, Isa’s hand returns mine to where it was. My stomach flutters, both with excitement and anxiety.

“Our stay is only temporary,” Laura responds. “My parents have invested heavily in Heron’s Bluff mine, and they are here, in person, to determine whether or not they should invest further.” She takes a swig of her wine while Thalia looks on, longingly.

“Oh,” Isa says, and I see her eyes flick momentarily to me. “So, where are you off to next?”

Laura’s answer comes without hesitation. “The Jade City. For the first time in a century, the Black Tower has been opened to the public. My parents and I are taking a tour. I am very excited to leave this rather depressing place and return to civilization.” Laura looks at me. “No offense, Ms. Acacia.”

Thalia watches me for a response.

“No offense taken,” I say. “I’m sorry our little village has not been to your taste.”

“Do not misunderstand me,” Laura says. “It is a quaint little place, but I cannot imagine anyone would want to live here.” Her voice takes on a faraway sound. “I need culture, history, luxury.” She leans back and looks around my house. “But, I can see how that would not be to everyone’s liking.”

My hands are shaking. That’s not the best of signs. “So, if you need culture, history, and luxury, you’re saying that there’s none here, right?”

“That is not what I was trying to say.”

“But that was the inference,” I go on, ignoring Thalia’s eyes. “Are you saying we’re not cultured, up here on Northeim?”

A chill fills the room. A storm’s brewing, and everyone except Laura knows it. The only reason I care is that it’s making Isa uncomfortable. Her is attention is now solely occupied by her plate.

“There is a culture here, Ms. Acacia,” Laura goes on. “But I am talking about a different kind of culture. The kind you read about in stories; the kind that is ancient and alien, and different from with what you are familiar.”

I spike a piece of chicken with my fork. “Uh-huh. Well, let me tell you something, Laura. We’ve got culture. Bucketfuls of it. We’ve got culture coming out everywhere.” I shove the chicken into my mouth and chew loudly. I’m probably not presenting the strongest of arguments.

The room goes quiet again, until Thalia speaks up.

“Mom,” she says, “are you and Isa going to check out that new—”

Laura, who has been regarding me until now through curious eyes, cuts my daughter off with a wave of her hand. “I have upset you, haven’t I, Ms. Acacia?”

Laura’s demonstration of self-awareness is so utterly unlike her that I laugh reflexively.

Laura’s eyes narrow. Then, they soften. “I did not mean to suggest that this is a bad place. But, surely you cannot disagree with the notion that Northeim isn’t the most exciting area in the world.”

“Well, you know what, Laura? I think there’s something to be said for the quiet life.”

Laura laughs.

I really wish she hadn’t done that.

Isa lets go of my hand, which is shaking even harder now, and looks at me.

I do not look at her.

My attention is taken up fully by Laura, and by my efforts to keep my big trap shut.

But, I cannot.

I drop my fork.

It bounces a few times, the metal clanging loudly on the wood.

Then, anger takes me.

“Do you know what there is around the fucking world, Laura?” I say, forcing everyone’s eyes to me. “Trees, dirt, water, rocks, and sky, in varying configurations.”

Laura scoffs. “Surely that is not how you really see the world, Ms. Acacia. There is so much out there to see. New cultures, new people, new—”

I wave my hand to cut her off, in the same manner as she did to my daughter a short time ago. I don’t take my eyes off her.

“New cultures?” I scoff. I unleash the parody of Laura’s accent that I’ve been working on for weeks into the room. “Oh look, Vuhon and his tribe like to pray for three weeks in front of a small stone statue rather than do something useful with their time. How wonderful!”

To everyone’s surprise (including my own), I stand and continue my parody upright.

“And look! Rohik likes to put a fucking pineapple on his head while performing a dance that is proven to make rain fall within two years! How quaint!”

Laura’s face hardens.

“And, oh my! Neldram over there - the guy with a bone through his nose - he’s avoiding having his picture taken because he believes that it will steal his soul, and not because he’s fucking mental case! Good show, old boy!”

Everyone around the table looks mortified - even Laura now. Any rational person would stop. I keep going.

I lean down to Laura’s eye-level, from across the table. “Well, you know what, Laura? That’s great for Vuhon, Rohik, and Neldram! But me, on the other hand? I don’t really give a fuck. We have culture here. We have our culture here, and I have no idea how you came to equate arbitrarily observing other ones with the meaning of life.”

Laura opens her mouth and closes it. She’s completely lost for words. I’m not, though. I’ve still got a bunch of ‘em.

Still leaning down at Laura, I go on. “I was lying, actually,” I say, more quietly now. “I do know why you seem to think that traveling the world and ‘seeing new things’ is the be-all and end-all of existence.”

Laura looks at me.

“It’s because it costs money to do. And by mouthing off about it ad nauseum while you’re wearing those clothes and that jewelry and talking in that ridiculous fake accent, your goal isn’t to share what you love to do: it’s to mouth off about how fucking rich you are. You’re rich. Rich, rich, rich, rich, rich. Filthy rich. We get it. You and your parents, you’ve all got more money than us. And that’s great. You happy now, Laura? Are you fucking happy now?”

Laura shakes her head, mortified.

“You’re rich, Laura. But you know what you really are? You’re selfish. When you get attached to people knowing that you’re going to move away and going to leave them grieving in your absence, you’re essentially committing suicide. You are committing geographic suicide. You leave people behind and you don’t give a damn. And that - that makes you selfish.”

Thalia stands and drives her fist into the table so hard it leaves a dent in the wood. Then, she turns her eyes up at me, and I brace myself, waiting for the tsunami of rage to strike.

It is just as she begins to yell that we all hear the explosion.

PART II

22

The village is in a frenzy.

Isa and I stand outside my door, dumbstruck, as what looks to be the entire population of Heron’s Bluff runs to-and-fro, illuminated by the light from the gigantic fireball from the north. That fireball comes from the remains of what was once the silo.

Isa and I exchange glances. What the hell’s going on?

Most of the men are running back and forth from the towering inferno, attempting to put it out with buckets of water. They don’t have a hope in hell of actually doing anything to put out the blaze, but they seem to be under the impression that they do. The best thing to do, in my mind, would be to try to contain it until it burns itself out. I should probably go and tell them that, but, as usual, I’m having trouble motivating.

The entire scene seems to play out before my eyes like a movie. I watch it with a detached curiosity, noting how surreal it is to watch the light dancing off the gigantic trees lining the edge of the forest nearby, seemingly in slow-motion.

I watch on as a branch of the tree that stands over the ex-silo catches alight, just before I feel something warm on the sides of my head.

Isa has my head in both her hands.

I vaguely hear her tell me that we have to do something, but it’s hollow, as though she and I were talking from opposite ends of an enormous tunnel.

Isa’s face blocks my view of the fireball. She looks quite animated, but I can’t hear what the hell she’s saying. It’s probably for the best; I’m in no mood for chit-chat.

Several other faces then come into view.

One of those faces is Falco’s.

He looks annoyed.

I can’t blame him; they kept all the gold in that silo.

Beside Falco stands what initially looks to be two other men, standing very near each other.

When I squint, however, I realize those two men are just one.

A fat one.

It’s Karellius.

In contrast to Falco, he looks delighted by the proceedings.

The last face isn’t really a face, though it looks like one.

It’s a golden helmet, obscuring its wearer’s face entirely.

It’s the Inquisitor.

They’re all looking at me.

I watch my hand rise up before me, and wave at them.

Falco looks even more annoyed then, and motions to the Inquisitor.

The armor-clad man approaches Isa, and draws both her hands behind her back.

Then, he pulls out a pair of handcuffs, and locks her wrists into them.

Son of a bitch!

I launch at him, and drive my fist into his skull.

As you might imagine, that wasn’t the best of ideas.

The pain in my fist is instantaneous.

It’s also so great that it makes my eyes begin to water.

In my new position on my knees, I feel the Inquisitor’s metal hands wrap around my wrists.

The click of the handcuffs repeats in echo, as I’m raised up onto my feet, and carted away.

Well, this doesn’t look good.

Isa and I are in a small, ill-lit room in the mine, surrounded by Falco, Karellius’, the Inquisitor, and some tall guy with a gun who I assume is a guard. We’re not cuffed anymore, but we’re bound to our chairs with very thick, very tight, ropes.

None of them look happy.

Neither do we.

“What the fuck is going on here?” I shift uncomfortably in my dress, before remembering the leg-crossing trick.

“You are both under arrest,” Falco informs me.

“Okay…” I drawl. “So, you’re a sheriff now, huh?

“Not exactly.”

“Sheriff Falco.” I test his new moniker out loud. “It has a ring.”

The Inquisitor crosses his arms, making lots of metal on metal sounds that I would imagine must get annoying as fuck while wearing that thing all day.

“What’s he doing here?” I toss my chin toward Karellius, still wearing that ugly sneer on his ugly face.

“He’s here to help.”

“With what? I’m not aware of a nearby volcano that needs capping.”

Falco, Karellius, and the guard look confused.

“Cause he’s fat, you could use his ass to…” I shake my head. “Never mind.”

“What’s going on here, Falco?” Isa asks from the chair to my left. “What the hell do you mean we’re under arrest?”

I cast my gaze downward. “A rest. Yes. That sounds wonderful.”

The Inquisitor’s body stiffens; I don’t think he enjoys having people not take him seriously. He probably should have thought of that before he put on that ridiculous get-up he’s wearing.

Falco claps his hand down on the table between us, producing a sound that reverberates around the room. “Shut up, Morgan. This is serious.”

I sigh. I should probably be taking all this more seriously, but I’m just too tired. “Whatever, Falco.” I close my eyes.

“What happened to the silo?” Isa asks. The slight break in her voice opens my eyes once more.

“There was an explosion…”

“We noticed that,” I cut in.

“Three of the men who were working on transporting today’s yield from the mine to the silo said that they were attacked by an unseen force that was accompanied by the sounds of a baby crying.”

“$250…” I roll my eyes and look at Isa. “Money well spent.”

“That unseen force knocked a candle off the wall inside the silo,” Falco goes on. “That candle then fell onto a hay bale, sparking a fire. That fire spread, all the way over to the quarter-ton of gelignite that we’ve been using to blast new tunnels down in the mine, and boom.”

Falco makes a gesture reminiscent of an explosion with both hands, and then begins to pace around. “All of it was destroyed! All the gold! Every last nugget! Over $200,000 worth of product - all gone in an instant! - along with the lives of two more good men.”

I love how he adds the bit about the men who were killed almost like an afterthought at the end.

Isa glances nervously at me. “I’m sorry to hear that, Falco.”

Falco pounds on the desk as hard as he possibly can, as if its wooden surface had just insulted his mother. “You are not sorry!” he bellows, loud enough to reach the ears of God. “You are the one who caused it!”

That wakes me up. “Excuse me?”

“And you,” Falco says, pointing at me. “I’m betting it was you who put her up to it.”

“I did?” I shrug, yawn, and relax into my seat. “How did I manage that?”

“Why don’t you tell me, Ms. O’Conner?”

Even an unexpected shotgun blast wouldn’t have made me jump as high as I do then.

Upon witnessing my reaction, Falco nods to Karellius, who returns the gesture, smiling broadly.

I can feel Isa’s gaze on me, but I don’t look at her.

Falco goes and takes a seat on the other side of the desk. Karellius hands Falco a manila folder, which Falco promptly opens. He empties the papers inside it onto his desk and looks them over.

“While terminating your contract with the ETC, Mr. Karellius found something very strange,” Falco explains. He turns to the fat man. “Vincent, why don’t you fill her in?”

“I discovered that ‘Morgana Acacia’, the owner of your tax identification number, died seven years ago.”

Falco places the death certificate on the desk before me.

Reality cuts through my apathy like a knife.

My heart is now racing, and my hands are as slick as a frog.

Karellius smiles in light of my obvious discomfort. “Then, I started to do some digging.”

I gulp.

“As it turns out, Morgana Acacia was murdered in her bed by a woman named Chloe O’Conner.”

Falco chucks another paper in front of me. This one’s got my face on it, along with my real name.

“That woman escaped from custody six hours before she was to be hung in the town square. She was never seen again.”

Well, never seen again by those assholes, anyway.

I finally look at Isa, who looks like a lightning bolt just missed her by inches.

“Alright, fine. You caught me.” I hear a melodramatic gasp from my left. “What’s this got to do with the silo?”

“People are being murdered in my town. I don’t know why. Then, I find out that a murderer’s been hiding in my town - a murderer who’s been following the case closely - and who’s the ex-lover of the only suspect we have. Need I say more?”

“Yeah,” I respond. “Much more. Specifically, about how you think I somehow manage to become invisible while doing the deeds, why I waited until now to resume my dastardly occupation after being here for five years, and why I cry like a three-month-old while I’m doing it.”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” Falco says. “I don’t suppose we can expect a confession from you?”

“Nope.”

Falco looks to each of the men around him. Not a muscle twitches. No one says a word.

Finally, Falco speaks. “Very well.” He motions to the Inquisitor.

As the Inquisitor moves around the table, he looks directly at me.

He doesn’t come to me as I’d expected. Instead, he goes to Isa.

She struggles in her chair in a futile attempt to get away, and I’m suddenly overcome by the desire to break free of my bonds and help her.

I don’t make a show of struggling though: there’s absolutely no point.

“Tell us what you know of this ‘ghost’ that is attacking our town!” Falco demands.

Isa shakes her head quickly, and mumbles something in response.

The Inquisitor grabs her by the arm and holds her still. Then, he raises his free hand. In that hand, he holds a small, simple piece of bamboo.

He holds it up so I can see it.

“Anything you want to say, Chloe?” Falco asks me.

I don’t respond.

The Inquisitor turns to Falco.

Falco nods.

The Inquisitor brings the bamboo to the index finger on Isa’s left hand. Then, he pushes its sharp end into the skin underneath Isa’s fingernail.

Isa howls like a banshee, and flails wildly against her restraints. I want to help her but the bonds holding me are too strong.

My ears are ringing by the time the Inquisitor stops.

Isa’s bawling her eyes out.

Karellius looks delighted by the proceedings.

“Chloe?” Falco looks at me expectantly. “Who or what is responsible for these attacks?”

I’m about to tell him everything I know. About how Isa was raped. About how the ghost has been following her since she had the baby that was conceived during that rape. About how the ghost started getting angry around about the same time as Aaron started getting sick. But, something stops me.

That something is an empty coffee cup on a set of drawers behind Falco’s head.

That empty cup moves about six inches to the left, all on its own.

When I hear the sound of a baby crying, I smile.

Then, it comes.

The first thing that happens is that the Inquisitor goes flying. The second thing is him hitting the back wall of the room, causing a racket loud enough to give me a headache.

Karellius goes down next, taken out by the desk when it flips over and hits him square in the face. He careens into the guard behind him, knocking him off his feet, and the gun out of his hand.

The desk now out of his way, Falco dashes for the exit, but the desk comes flying over our heads and explodes in his path. He trips on the debris and falls flat on the ground.

Isa’s screaming again. I wish she’d stop doing that; my head is splitting.

I sit back into my chair, indulge in the fact that I got to see Falco and Karellius cop a table to the head before I take my leave of this world, and wait for the end to come.

I’m next in the ghost’s sights, but it ends up doing me a favor instead of doing me in.

It raises me off the ground about three feet, and then thrusts me violently earthward.

When the legs of the chair make contact with the floor, the chair shatters around me.

I’m free.

Without even a moment’s hesitation, I rush to Isa’s side and untie her.

Then, I pick up the guard’s gun, and we get the hell out of there.

23

We throw open the mine’s doors and emerge out into the night.

The silo is nothing but embers now, their red glow piercing the black of night.

No one has any idea what happened to us down in the mine, and nobody seems to care.

We’re safe for the moment.

Isa looks at me, mindfucked.

I reach out to her.

She pulls away.

I sigh. “I’m not a murderer, Isa.”

“Oh, no, Chloe?”

“No. I don’t expect you to believe me, since no one ever has or will. But, right now, we need to get out of here.”

Isa crooks her neck slowly. It’s obvious she’s lost in her head.

I go up to her.

She doesn’t back away this time.

I place my hand on her chin, and bring her eyes to mine.

“Isa, we need to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

I glance toward the mine. “Would you prefer to stay here?”

She winces.

I take her hand. “Come on.”

She stands rooted in place. “Where are we going?”

“Far away from here,” I tell her. “But first, I have something I need to do.”

I raise my gun to the salesclerk’s head. “Give me all your clothing!”

The clerk looks at me like I just told him the rain was falling upward. “What?”

“Well, not all of it,” I clarify. “Just the stuff that’ll fit me. Get a bag, and start stuffing jeans, shirts, and ladies underwear into it. I’m a size 12.”

The salesclerk starts looting the store for the relevant items.

I turn toward Isa. She’s still in fairyland to my right. “You want anything?”

She shakes her head.

“Jumper? Jeans?”

She shakes it again.

“Bra? Panties?”

And again.

“Camisole? Teddy?”

She glares at me.

“Oh alright, alright.”

24

Well, that was unexpected.

I’ve been thinking, since we left Heron’s Bluff aboard the Neridia, about how everything’s fallen to pieces. About how the little life that I’d made for myself in Northeim is over. About how there’ll be no more lazy fishing expeditions with Thalia. No more poker games in the bar with Will and the boys. No more early morning walks on the beach. About how everything’s gone to hell.

But, strangely, I don’t feel bad about it.

To my surprise, I feel great.

Or, at least, less terrible than usual.

Threkald Peak looms high above us now, silhouetted against a clear sky awash with moonlight.

I spotted the mountain at around midnight, just after we swung around the Whiterock Glacier and started heading south again.

We’ve almost circumnavigated the entire island now. I’m hoping that, if Falco decides to follow us, he’ll assume that we’ve headed south, to hide from him somewhere on the southern or eastern side of the island, rather than where we are now on the west.

More likely, however, he’ll just circumnavigate the island himself when the men he’s cobbled together don’t find anything on those sides and find us then. I’m not too concerned, though; we won’t be hanging around here long anyway.

The ocean is choppy tonight. The current beneath us rocks the ship fairly violently, threatening to wake Aaron, sleeping behind me in the ship’s cabin. Twenty minutes of experience has shown me, however, that I’m probably worried over nothing; I’m not sure even a gunshot could wake that kid up at the moment. He didn’t even stir when we picked him up from my (empty) house just before we bugged out of Heron’s Bluff.

A cool breeze hits my face as we approach the small cove I figure we’ll make camp in tonight. It’s not a particularly cold one tonight; we should be able to make do without a fire.

Just in front of the cove growing larger and larger in my vision is Isa. She’s sitting on the nose of the ship, cross-legged, just staring out into the ocean.

She hasn’t said anything since we left my house. Since then, our infrequent communications have been conducted using a series of head gestures and sighs.

I don’t really know what she makes of all this. About what happened with Falco. About what she found out about me. About where she now stands in the world. I’m hoping to find out once we’re out of the open, safely tucked away in that cove.

The pines are closing in around us.

The ship travels slowly, quietly, into the small cove. I move it as close to the rocky shore as I dare and then drop the anchor.

After that, I head over to where Isa sits, to bore myself senseless telling a story I’ve told over and over again.

I sit down beside the woman, and cross my legs.

“I’m not a murderer,” I tell her.

“So you’ve said.”

“Would you like me to explain why people think I’m a murderer when I’m not?”

“Sure, if it doesn’t put you out.”

I nod. “I was framed.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“By who?”

“I think it’s ‘whom’.”

“Chloe…”

“Please don’t call me that, Isa.”

“Sorry, Chloe.”

I sigh. “I was passing through Bas Memphala on my way up to Inverness back in Ashenweir. It was late and there was no way in hell I was walking through the lava lands at night so I decided to get a hotel room.”

“Okay…”

“I had dinner and a few drinks at the local tavern that evening. I met a woman there.”

“Morgan Acacia?”

“Correct. She and I went back to my hotel room and…”

“Played Scrabble?”

“If that’s the term you want to use for it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She stayed the night. In the morning, I woke up to find her beside me and a knife in my hand, both covered in blood. The tavern’s owner never quite got on board with the idea that I’d just woken up with the knife there. Neither did the local sheriff.”

“Huh.” She shifts in her cross-legged position. “So they decided to hang you.”

“Yep.”

“Without ever trying to verify your story? Trying to find the real killer?”

“No, they did try. But the real killer was long gone.”

Isa’s face is unreadable; I have no idea if she believes me or not. She just sits there, staring past the surface of the roiling black water below us. “Do you have any idea who the real killer was?”

“I know exactly who it was.”

She looks at me. “Who?”

“My ex-partner.”

“Ex-partner??”

“Business partner.”

“You owned a business?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Care to elaborate on that?”

“Nope.”

“Fair enough. Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s not properly medicated.”

“Seriously?”

“I tend to think that the right combination of mood stabilizers and antipsychotics would set her straight.”

“But she’s not actually insane.”

“She wasn’t when I was with her. But after the partnership dissolved–”

“I see. So why did you take her name, then?”

“Morgan’s?”

“No, the freakin’ Queen mother’s!”

I shoot her a stiff smile. “I needed an identity, and she wasn’t using hers anymore, so…”

Isa shakes her head.

I look closer at her, trying to get a clue as to her current thought processes. When I can’t, I sit back. “I don’t expect you to believe me.”

“I don’t know what to believe.”

I look up at the starry sky, and listen to the waves striking the rocks on either side of the cove’s mouth. There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach; I don’t understand why I still react so badly to having people not believe me after all this time.

Silence falls between us.

Isa’s the one to break it.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know about you,” I say, “but, when the heat cools off, I’m heading back to Ashenweir.”

“What about Thalia? Your daughter??”

I shrug. “We had a good run.”

She looks at me again, searching my expression. “Are you freaking kidding me??”

I wave her off.

Her eyes are wide, and it’s only now that I see that they’re moist and red. “Okay, fine. And then what? How will you know when Falco’s stopped looking for us?”

“It’s not Falco I’m worried about.”

“Then who?”

“Falco’s not just gonna sit on the fact that he knows where an escaped murderer is. Soon, Northeim’s gonna be crawling with search teams from Ashenweir looking for me.”

“So when you say you’re waiting for when the ‘heat cools off’…?”

I think on that for a sec. Now that I do, I guess the heat won’t be off for a while. Right now, I’m starting to think that the best bet would actually probably be just to head straight for Ashenweir, but it’s late and I haven’t had coffee so I’m not gonna commit to anything just yet.

“Chloe?” She’s looking into my eyes. It feels surreal to hear someone address me by my own name, after such a long time going by the other one.

I shake my head. “Forget what I said. I’ll come up with a game plan in the morning.”

Isa pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She does that a lot; it must annoy the shit out of her. She then casts her glance down to the deck of the ship.

I reach out, and place a gentle hand on her knee. “What are you thinking about?”

“About the fact that I’m trapped on a ship with a convicted murderer.”

“There wasn’t actually a trial,” I point out. “I wouldn’t call the sheriff insisting in a loud voice over and over that I did it a real ‘conviction’.”

Isa looks confused. “You didn’t get a trial?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“The sheriff was far too angry at me to waste time with formalities like that.”

“Angry at you? You mean personally?

“Yep.”

“Because…?”

“Because Morgana Acacia was the sheriff’s wife.”

Realization spreads across Isa’s face. “Oh.”

I hold my hand up. “I didn’t know that at the time, I want to clarify.”

Isa nods, and resumes her detailed analysis of the Neridia’s wooden flooring.

She glances over at the cabin. “Aaron’s gonna miss his doctor’s appointment.”

I wince. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

She looks around the dark deck of the ship. “Do we have any supplies?”

“No, but fear not, Ms. Aeterno - you happen to be sitting before one of the greatest professional fisherman in all of Northeim!”

“Wouldn’t it be ‘fisherwoman‘? Isn’t the term ‘fisherman’ exclusionary?”

“Aren’t they both exclusionary?”

“I can’t figure these things out anymore.”

“Me neither.”

I scooch over and lean my back onto the ship’s guardrail. I look at Isa, who isn’t looking back. “How are you doing?” I ask her. “With all this, I mean.”

“I was just accused of being in league with a murderer and conspiring to help that murderer continue to kill people. Because of that, I was tortured and forced to flee my home, and I don’t see a way of going back to that home now without being apprehended as a criminal. And this is all on top of my other problems, the main one being that my son is extremely sick and will now likely miss his best chance of getting well. How do you think I’m doing?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”

She sighs. “I’m tired.”

“Then go to bed.”

“Where?”

“Sleep in the cabin with Aaron. There should be room for one more.”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

“In the tent.”

A smile tugs at her cheek. “Tent?”

I motion toward the long, rectangular box on starboard. “I keep a bunch of camping gear onboard in case Thalia and I ever needed to overnight somewhere in an emergency. Or, ‘kept’, rather.”

“I don’t suppose you’d have a sleeping bag in there?” She hugs herself; the temperature has fallen considerably since our conversation began.

“There’s two. Aaron already has one.”

Isa looks over to him, apparently just noticing the sleeping bag he’s nestled in.

She turns back to me. “So, what will you sleep in?”

“One of the hundred flannelette shirts that clothier gave me, I suppose.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not enough.”

“Alternatives?”

She just looks at me after that. She looks like she wants to say something, but it never ends up coming out.

She stands and attempts a smile but it doesn’t really work out that way. “Goodnight, Chloe.”

I wince. Then, I nod. “Goodnight, Isa.”

“Sleep well,” she tells me.

I laugh at her in response.

25

All is quiet.

All is peaceful.

And yet, I’m still not fucking asleep.

While I may not be a murderer, killing Isa for that sleeping bag is an idea that’s starting to look better and better as each minute passes.

It’s cold up here. Ridiculously, bone-chillingly cold.

Chivalry’s great and all, but, I’d take being viewed as a complete jerk over my current predicament any day of the week.

I look to my right, and wait until my internal sense of balance catches up to the movement. I found a bottle of vodka in the box of camping supplies that I put there a year ago (you know, for emergencies) and I’m starting to think I’ve had a bit too much. The moonlit ocean outside the tent spins around an imaginary mid-point, but not enough to prevent me from verifying that there are no ships out there closing in on our position.

I return my eyes to the roof of the tent and continue my futile wait for sleep.

Time passes - could be as much as five minutes or three hours - before I decide to give into the fact that I won’t be getting any rest tonight.

I feel around the dark tent for those crackers I found in the supply box. When I hear the crinkling of the paper packaging, I greedily extract a couple and shove them into my mouth. They taste amazing, despite being over a year old.

When I’m done with that, I grab yet another shirt and pull it on over the three I’m currently wearing. It’s quite a struggle, but I eventually manage it.

Then, I just sorta sit there.

I don’t want to risk turning on a candle to read, and I should probably lay off the alcohol since I’d prefer to remain alert. There’s nothing else to really do aside from sit there and wait for dawn, so that’s what I do.

The first five minutes fly by. The next five drag by. Ten minutes after that, time seems to slow to a crawl, as everything that’s happened tonight begins to truly register in my brain, and the loneliness starts to set-in. And, wow, does it ever.

I almost drowned once. When I was a kid, my father decided to live up to his title for once in his life and take my mother, brother, and I to the beach. I went swimming, and it didn’t end well. I stepped into some shifting sands and got dragged under. I ran out of breath twenty seconds before reaching the surface. I still remember that feeling as vividly as I remember yesterday.

Even that can’t compete with the loneliness that I’m feeling right now.

Holy shit, do I need a drink.

Just as I reach for the half-empty vodka bottle, I hear a knocking sound just outside the tent’s entrance.

“Come in?”

The tent flap is pulled back, revealing Isa’s face, illuminated by the moonlight. She retracts her fist from the wooden floor. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You asleep?”

“I don’t know. Am I?”

She chuckles. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“I was having a severe depressive episode, but I can do that anytime. Why do you ask?”

Her left eyebrow arches. Or should I be saying the right, from my perspective? “A depressive episode?”

“Yeah. Whatever. What are you doing here?”

She recoils slightly. “I can go if you want.”

“That’s not what I was trying to say. What brings you here, Isa?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she answers. “I wanted to see if you’d managed it.”

“Nope.”

She hugs herself and rapidly massages her arms. “Jesus, it’s cold out here.”

“It’s not much better in here, either.” My body shivers violently to emphasize the point.

“Hang on.”

Isa disappears. I hear her footsteps move off toward the back of the ship.

They then grow louder until she’s back in the tent, with her sleeping bag.

Fuck yeah!

She spreads it out over me and then joins me underneath it, taking great pains not to touch me.

She rests her head on the other side of my pillow. Isa then pulls the blanket up to her chin and snuggles under. “Hi,” she says, smiling broadly, with her head turned to look at me.

“Hi.”

She looks around at the tent that I decided, rather creatively, to pitch on the ship. “This is pretty cool.”

“Yeah. Beats sleeping on shore with the bears.”

“True.”

She turns over onto her side then, looking at me with her head propped up on her palm. In that position, she regards me with a curious stare.

“What?” She shifts again, and, as she does, a wave of heat from her body radiates over to me. I have to resist the urge to grab her and use her as a hot water bottle.

Moments pass before she speaks. “It’s quiet here,” she says in a small, throaty voice.

“How do you feel about that?”

“There are pros and cons.”

“The pros being?”

“It’s peaceful.”

“And the cons?”

“It’s eerie.”

“Simultaneously?”

“Yeah, strangely enough.”

“I know what you mean.”

I shift a few inches toward her, just enough to catch the last of the heat radiating from her body before it peters out. She doesn’t seem to notice.

It’s silent again.

“What’s keeping you up?” I ask her.

“Apart from the fact that I’m freezing my tits off, you mean?”

I smile at that. “Yeah.”

She tilts onto her back again and looks at the ceiling. “I can’t stop thinking.”

“About?”

“What’s happened. What will happen. All sorts of stuff.”

“What do you think you’ll do?” I ask her. The hope that she’ll say she’ll come with me grows like a balloon attached to an air compressor; I attempt to pop it before it gets too large.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Okay.”

She looks at me, and stares at me for a moment before speaking. “I don’t buy it, you know.”

“My explanation for the whole murder thing?”

“No. I do buy that.”

“Oh… Then what don’t you buy?”

“Your whole ‘we had a good run’ act about your daughter.”

I don’t respond.

“You’re not running from Falco, are you?”

Again, I say nothing.

“You’re running from her.”

I look away.

“Thalia’s in love with Laura, isn’t she?” Isa goes on. “Laura’s stay on this island is only temporary, and, when her time here is up, Thalia’s going to have to make a choice.”

Anxiety wells in the pit of my stomach.

“You don’t think she’ll choose you.”

I exhale a breath. “We’re really going with ‘Chloe’, are we?”

“Well, I’m sure as hell not calling you by the name of some dead girl!”

“Fair enough.”

“What have you got to say?”

“About?”

“About what I just said.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Call me whatever you like.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about…”

I go quiet. Soon, however, that quiet becomes unbearable, and my mouth starts moving. “Thalia got a letter the other day.”

“Who from?”

“From the Imperial University in Corinth.”

“Oh. What did it say?”

“Why do you assume I read it??”

“Did you?”

I bring my blanket up to just below my eyes. “Yes.”

Isa chuckles and, I notice, shuffles slightly closer to me. “Again, what did it say?”

“It said that they’d accepted her application to enroll. Her course starts next year.”

Crickets.

The silence goes on for ages this time.

“So, she applied for university and got in,” Isa says. “So what? It’s not like she bought a ticket or anything.”

“Why else would she do that if her intention wasn’t to go?”

“Maybe she wanted to see if she could get accepted.” She rolls over onto her side again. “Could you even afford to send her there?”

“No, but Laura could.”

“Is their relationship really that serious?”

“I don’t know.”

It actually feels so good to talk to someone about this that tears begin to form in my eyes. Thank God it’s dark.

Unfortunately, however, a sniffle gives me away.

“Oh, baby…” Isa breathes, taking my head in her arms.

I’m not 100% on board with her comforting me, but I…

I…

Ah, fuck it.

I cry.

I cry my fucking eyes out.

I soak Isa’s shirt with tears until I’ve literally got nothing left in the tank, and then I cry some more.

When I’m finally done, we just lay there, my body against hers, my face in the crook of her neck.

My brain wants nothing more than to remove myself from her grasp and tell her to go away, but my body isn’t having a bar of it. After about five minutes, my brain finally gives up the fight and lets me just enjoy it.

“Chloe?”

Her use of my real name previously made me feel anxious and exposed. Now, for the first time in a very long time, it feels comforting. It feels like someone’s talking to me. Right now, Isa is seeing me (or, at least more of me than I’ve really ever shown anyone, even before what happened in Bas Memphala), and she’s not recoiling in horror from that. There is no possible way I can describe how good that makes me feel, so I’m not even gonna try.

I pull my face back slightly.

Our faces are close - close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on my nose - and every instinct I have tells me to kiss the living daylights out of her.

I don’t, though.

I look into her eyes. “Yes?”

“Tell me about her.”

“Who?”

“Thalia.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Why does she call you by your first name?”

I smile. “We tried ‘Mom’ for a while. It always felt weird. We then trialed ‘Morgana’ for a bit, but she hated that. So, I became Morgan.”

The palm of Isa’s warm hand begins moving in circles over my back, first over the fabric of my shirt, and then, to my delight, under. “So, she doesn’t know about what happened? About you being accused of murder?”

“It never came up.”

Isa smells like strawberries tonight. I didn’t notice that until now.

Isa’s hand abandons my back, and I feel slighted, until its fingers begin running soft strokes through my hair.

“What made you choose to adopt her?” Her voice is soft and I can hear the smile in it.

A laugh sounds from deep in my throat. “I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I was gearing up to go fishing one morning. I came down to the ship like usual, and, when I did, I noticed that the cabin doors were open. That wasn’t usual.”

Isa’s hand travels around to the back of my neck, where she begins to exult my nape with gentle scratches from her fingernails. “And what happened then?”

“Then I found some random girl rummaging around in that cabin, stuffing a backpack full with my equipment.”

Isa’s hand freezes. “Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Thalia was trying to steal your stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because her alternative was starvation and death. She’d just been kicked out of her parent’s house, needed food, and didn’t have money to buy any. So, she came after my fishing gear.”

Isa’s hand resumes its motions, returning to my back, each soft stroke settling a ripple on the surface of my proverbial pond. “Why did her parents kick her out?”

“You’ve met her. Wouldn’t you??”

Isa smacks me gently on the back, then resumes rubbing. “Why did they actually do it?”

“Because Thalia’s gay. And they really didn’t like that.”

“Oh.”

“Her parents left Northeim three weeks after locking her out of their house. She was living and fishing with me by the end of week one. I didn’t choose to adopt her; it just kind of happened on its own.”

“You love her, don’t you?” Isa asks me.

I don’t answer.

“Chloe…”

“Yeah, yeah. I love her. More than anything in the entire friggin world.”

“And is potentially losing her and not being able to do anything about it the reason you said you feel vulnerable and powerless?”

“Yes.”

“So why don’t you talk to her about all this?”

“Do you think that would really do any good, Isa?”

“It’s sure as hell better than saying nothing and acting like a complete lunatic.”

“That’s a fair point.”

She tilts my head so that our eyes meet. “What are you going to do?”

“About what?”

“About Thalia, you fool!”

“I don’t know. There’s so much… I just can’t think right now.”

“It’s like 3am. I don’t blame you.”

I feel Isa’s head shifting this way and that above me.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to check on Aaron.”

My body goes rigid. “Uhh. Are you, umm…”

She strokes my hair. “What?”

“Are you coming back?”

I feel it, then: Isa’s lips meeting the top of my head momentarily before pulling away. “Of course I’m coming back.”

She shuffles out from under the sleeping bag and walks on her knees to the door.

“Just give me one minute.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“You’d better be.”

26

Isa snores.

She snores even worse than Thalia.

I forgot that Isa snores.

As bad as listening to her involuntarily mimic the sounds of a sawmill all night is, though, it’s better than freezing to death.

Isa’s body is warm, in contrast to pretty much everything within a ten mile radius, and I’m thankful that it’s on top of me.

I’ve pretty much given up on sleep by this point. Now, I’m just lying around waiting for the sun to come up. I wish it would at some stage; this night seems to want to go on forever.

I’m hoping that, when the sun does rise, my mind’ll give it a rest. It just won’t shut up about everything that’s happened, and it’s not like you can really do anything about it. You can’t duct tape its mouth shut or tell it its grandmother died to distract it from the conversation like you can with humans. You’ve just gotta listen to it.

Right now, it’s going on and on about this shit with Thalia, and showing me a range of possible ways me ‘talking to her’ could go down. Around half of those ways end in her giving me the finger and walking away, and I don’t blame her in any of them.

It’s also treating me to a selection of clips showing me all the different ways I could have handled things when that letter came. Getting angry enough to throw myself through my front door was admittedly not the best course of action. But, now that I think about it, I don’t think talking to her would have really helped matters.

Thalia’s leaving. I’m as certain of that as I am the sun rising tomorrow (or today, as those ‘people’ who tell you that days start at midnight would say).

How do I know that Thalia’s leaving, you might ask?

I know it because that’s what people do.

They leave.

You get attached to them.

And then they fucking leave.

Thalia’s a person.

And people leave.

Ergo, Thalia will leave.

Just like my mother did.

Just like my brother did.

And just like my fucking father did.

I know what Isa was trying to say earlier, but I can’t change what’s going to happen.

My daughter will leave me.

Corinth’s far.

It’s so far that the sole postage service that operates between here and there can only manage deliveries once every six months.

If Thalia goes to the Imperial University, it won’t be like she’s moving.

It’ll be like she’s dying.

Thalia will be functionally dead from my perspective, and I’m not dealing.

But still, I don’t want her to leave with what happened at our dining table to be her last memory of us.

And, more importantly, if she is going to leave, I want to make sure she’ll be okay after she does.

I have to do it.

I have to do it right now, before Isa wakes up.

It’ll be fucking freezing, but I have to do it.

Ever so gently, I slide the relatively tiny body off from on top of me. I set Isa down beside me, and cover her with the sleeping bag up to the neck.

Then, I move out of the tent.

I thought the cold was bad enough in inside, but the slight breeze outside makes it almost intolerable.

Banishing thoughts of returning to Isa and the comfort of the sleeping bag, I move to the nose of the ship.

There, I retrieve a pair of jeans out of my bag of new clothing, and pull them up over the ludicrous pair of white, lace panties that idiot clerk gave me.

I pull on my socks and boots after that, and empty the clothing from the bag out onto the deck.

Navigating around the various obstacles on the deck by the moonlight, I move over to the cabin, empty bag in hand.

I step lightly into that cabin so as not to wake Aaron, and go for the toolbox.

Screwdriver in hand, I make short work of the four screws securing the lid to the secret compartment in the floor.

I lift the lid out and set it down on the floor.

Then, I start stuffing money into the bag.

Soon, it’s all in there.

A thousand fifty dollar bills - fifty thousand dollars in total - inside my flimsy shopping bag.

I put the cover back on the compartment but I can’t be fucked with the screws.

My eyes are firmly on Aaron (or, at least, the lump that is Aaron underneath the sleeping bag) as I rise, watching the kid to make sure he’s not seeing any of this.

The lump doesn’t even stir.

Perfect.

My clandestine escape from the ship has taken forty minutes.

The small, inflatable raft I keep in the supply box was a bitch to inflate with the foot-pump it came with. Not only did inflating each of the compartments take a millennium, but I had to do most of them twice because I couldn’t seal the valves quick enough to prevent the air from escaping. I got angry enough to start a forest fire about ten minutes into the job, and, if anyone from the Zodiat company is reading this: fuck you.

I’m on the shore right now. Well, I suppose it’s not really a shore. It’s a huge shelf of volcanic rock that curves inward, covering a beach hidden a thousand years ago when Threkald last exploded.

I almost break an ankle twice before I get to the grassy area behind that shelf, the rocky terrain incredibly difficult to navigate in the dark.

Grabbing the bag of money, I leave the cove behind and start heading inland.

Twenty minutes of walking through dense forest brings me out into an open area that looks rather familiar. The small river that runs through the white, frozen fields before me gives my location away immediately.

This is, as Thalia would describe it, the ‘inlet’.

I’m back at the place where all this began; the place where I first heard Isa’s baby-ghost crying in the night.

Unlike last time, there’s no blizzard. But that also means there’s no sound. It’s creepy as fuck. I’m not sure which I prefer.

Still, I trudge onward.

Eventually, I spot a rather unique looking rocky outcropping that looks like a hunched, severely arthritic snowman. There’s a tree right next to it.

That should do nicely.

I dump the bag of money next to the tree, and then break ground with the small shovel I brought with me.

When the hole’s roughly three-foot deep, I toss the money in, and start shoveling the dirt back in.

A light snowfall starts just as I’m compacting the dirt over the hole.

It’s obvious that someone’s been digging here at the moment, but, a few hours of snow like this, and it’ll be like no one was ever here.

I bring the shovel up over my shoulder and then start heading back to the ship.

Between the walking and the digging, I’m much warmer now than I’ve been since we hit Whiterock a few hours ago. But, I’m also sticky with sweat. I could have a quick bath in the ocean when I get back, but I’m pretty sure I’ll smell worse after that (being dead and all). We might move a bit further south tomorrow, on foot if we have to.

The moon disappears behind a cloud two minutes into the return trip, turning the world around me into a formless wall of black. It takes a good two minutes before my eyes start making out the line of trees I’m heading toward.

When I reach that line of trees, I stop and turn around. I want to make sure I remember everything about this place: where I am, how I got here, where that rocky outcropping is in relation to the inlet and the peak.

Once I’ve confirmed I’ve committed enough data to memory, I move to turn around.

Before I do, however, I notice something in the distance.

Something that makes my heart sink.

It’s a tiny pin-prick of yellow light.

About half a mile away.

It’s moving in a straight line in relation to me, but I’m not sure if it’s moving toward me or away.

A few tense minutes go by, during which the light shrinks slightly.

I exhale a sigh of relief.

Then I wait, in the silence, until that pin-prick of light disappears.

Until I’m sure that whoever it is out there isn’t going to find us.

Until I’m sure we’re safe.

Five minutes later, and that light’s still there.

I don’t think it’s moving anymore.

Its size hasn’t changed for a while now.

I take a seat on a conveniently sized and shaped boulder and continue my vigil, my eyes unblinking.

Finally, after about two more tense minutes, the light disappears.

But then, another one appears.

This one’s different from the last.

It’s a strange, dull shade of blue.

First, that blue light starts as a tiny dot in the distance, just like the last one.

But then it starts to grow.

It gets brighter and brighter.

It grows in intensity enough to illuminate the sparse grove of trees around it.

Then the field.

Then the inlet.

Then the entire field.

Then myself and the trees behind me.

After about a minute, the entire southern side of Threkald is covered in that strange, blue light. The shadow of a dead tree in the grove front of the light’s source is emblazoned on the mountainside, blown up to titanic proportions.

Then, suddenly, it’s dark again, except for that original blue dot of light in the distance.

A moment later, even that’s gone.

Dead.

Like it was never there.

I sit quietly.

Frozen.

And this time, the cold’s got nothing to do with it.

I watch the spot from where the light came, the only sound my heart thudding in my ear.

And then I hear the screaming.

Man, I wish I had that gun right about now.

The screaming’s stopped.

Its last echo bounced off the mountain and died away moments ago.

And that pin-prick of light is coming to me.

It’s heading right for my position in a straight line.

I watch the approaching light from behind a collection of boulders. It’d be a pretty good hiding spot if that thing out there didn’t already know exactly where I was.

I don’t know how it spotted me in the dark, but it’s moving on too exact a path to be coincidental.

It’s coming.

I am so fucked.

Still, I’d rather not be in plain sight when it gets here.

As such, I keep in behind those boulders.

The light stops on the opposite shore of the inlet, and I can just make out the silhouette of the person holding the lantern from which the light emanates.

To my surprise, the person is fairly small. Maybe a woman?

More tense seconds pass, and whoever it is wades across the inlet, holding the lantern above the water as they do.

I reckon that water is only an hour away from developing a thin lid of ice. I can’t believe someone would actually swim in it in these conditions, but that’s literally what I’m seeing.

When the person reaches my side of the river (or whatever), they start heading up the shallow incline, still heading straight toward me.

I can hear their footsteps now, growing louder and louder with each movement.

Thirty seconds later, they’ve reached my position.

My breathing stops.

My body tenses.

Prepares for a fight.

But the footsteps just keep going.

The lantern’s golden light slides past on the ground beside me.

The person continues on.

Toward the ship.

Toward Aaron and Isa.

My legs are unsteady as I rise.

Not bringing that gun was a huge mistake.

Still, I have to do something.

I can’t let them reach that ship.

As I begin to step out, a twig snaps beneath my feet.

The sound echoes into the silence.

I duck.

The person stops.

Turns around.

Holds the lantern out in front of them, searching for the source of the noise.

From my position behind the rocks, I squint.

Attempt to focus on the face behind that light.

It’s then that I realize that it’s not a woman heading toward my ship and its occupants.

It’s a boy.

A young boy.

It’s Aaron.

27

My face hurts.

Feigning a smile for the last half an hour has started to take its toll on my facial muscles.

Isa’s awake now, making breakfast, while humming a happy tune.

She’s in a good mood after what happened this morning, when she discovered Aaron happy, smiling, and completely well.

He’s sitting over there with his mother, helping her cook the fish I caught this morning to clear my head after watching Aaron swim back to the ship across the frozen water, extract the pillow from his sleeping bag, and go back to sleep.

His skin is no longer ashen, and no longer peeling. The lesions - every single one of them - are gone; not even the slightest blemish left in their place. He was covered in the fucking things last night. Now, it’s like they were never there.

And Isa seems to be just fine with that. She thinks the disease healed overnight itself, or that a miracle happened or something, and she’s leaving her analysis at that.

But she didn’t see what I saw last night.

And, because of that, I’m not so willing to drop the issue.

He’s smiling now; passing his mother a packet of sauce from the camping supplies.

He turns to look at me and waves enthusiastically.

I look away, and shift my awareness to the cold metal of the gun in the band of my jeans.

I can’t get that light - that blue, alien light - out of my mind. I need to find out what it was and what it did. And I need to find out now.

“Chloe?” Isa’s standing beside me. I jump involuntarily when she announces her presence; I hadn’t noticed her walk over.

The woman sits on the rail of the ship next to me, and takes my left hand in hers. “What’s wrong?”

My eyes are wide, and I have no ability at all to make them go neutral. “Nothing,” I lie. I feel I should elaborate, but I don’t.

“Well, something must be,” she tells me softly, brushing a strand of dark hair from my eyes. “You haven’t said much of anything all morning.”

My eyes are firmly on Aaron. He’s sitting on the supply box now, reading a week-old newspaper he found in the cabin.

“Chloe?”

“Huh?”

“What’s the matter with you??”

“Nothing. I’m just tired. Got a lot on my mind.”

There’s a broad smile on Isa’s face. Seeing that smile is like hearing carnival music played over war footage; it’s totally misplaced and wrong.

I need to find a way to get out of here.

I stand and look down at Isa. “I’m gonna go for a walk.”

Her smile fades. She rises and takes a step toward me. “Where are you going?”

“Out. To have a look around. See if anyone’s hanging around before we take off. To see if I can find some food and a place top-up our supply of fresh water.”

“I’ve decided to come with you,” Isa says.

I barely hear her, and I’m starting to get annoyed that she won’t just let me leave without a fuss. “Sorry?”

“I’m coming with you. To Ashenweir.”

“Okay.”

I shoulder my pack and head for the raft.

A firm grip on my arm stops me. “Hey,” she says, looking into my eyes. “What’s wrong??”

For fuck’s sake! “I’m just having trouble dealing with all this, Isa. I’ll be back in five hours, six tops. Here…” I remove the gun from my back and give it to her, watching Aaron - still absorbed in his reading - the whole time. “Keep this close in case of trouble.”

She takes the gun by the barrel, utterly confused. “You’re really gonna leave me alone for six hours?”

Aaron looks up then and smiles in my direction, unprompted, revealing the enormous gap between his front teeth. It makes the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on their ends.

“You’re gonna leave me alone for that long?” She repeats her question with a huff.

I toss the raft into the water and then drop into it.

“I am.”

I leave the boat on the shore and head into the forest, taking great pains not to look back at Isa staring at me from the ship.

I pass through that forest out into the field.

Out from under the shadow of Threkald.

Past the arthritic snowman.

Through the frozen water of the inlet, frostbite be damned.

And over to that grove of trees I saw hours ago.

I cast my eyes this way and that but I all I can see are snow, birds, trees, and a clear blue sky. Nothing else unusual, as far as I can see.

I spend ten minutes there, poking around.

It’s only when I’m about to give up that I see something out of the ordinary.

It’s a curved piece of metal, sticking only half an inch or so out of the snow that fell this morning.

I fall to my knees before it and start clearing that snow away.

Eventually, I discover that that curved piece of metal is actually a hook sticking out of a large, metal trapdoor in the ground, half-shrouded by a fir tree.

The trapdoor has no lock but I still struggle to lift it up (because of the heavy layer of snow on top of it, and not because the last time I went to the gym was eight years ago).

Underneath that trapdoor is a chamber, and a ladder leading down to it.

I’m apprehensive as fuck about going down there, but my desire to find out what the hell this chamber is and what Aaron was doing down here last night wins out over my fear.

The chamber is small - a tiny bit smaller than Falco’s office - and with four pillars in each corner. Those pillars reach up from the floor toward the ceiling, each terminating in an impressive, intricate carving of a bird with its wings spread, mid-take-off.

I approach the pillar closest to me, walking over the stone slabs that make up the chamber’s floor. When I get closer, I realize that every inch of its stone surface is covered with writing in a language I’ve never before seen.

I take a closer look at that writing, tracing a few of the letters with the tip of my finger on the cold, rough stone.

They’re hieroglyphs, I realize. Used thousands of years ago by civilizations long dead. I haven’t even the slightest idea what any of them mean.

I cast my eyes upward, then, toward the head of the pillar, and the carving of the bird. From this distance, I can see that the birds on each of these pillars are actually on fire. Or, at least their wings are. I haven’t a clue what that means, either. Could Aaron be in a sick, twisted cult of bird burners? Is that how four-year-old kids get their kicks these days??

Turning my attention to the rest of the chamber, I notice that there’s a small, raised section at the far end.

I go over there and take a closer look.

It’s a square, raised about two inches off the stone floor.

Carved into the middle of that stone square is an image of a snake eating its own tail, and curved into a figure-eight. Could the number eight be significant somehow? Could that be the snake’s favorite number?

I step onto the platform to get a better look.

When I do, the stone sinks beneath my feet suddenly, coming flush with the rest of the floor. The sudden, unexpected movement scares the hell out of me.

A few seconds later, it starts.

Blue light fills the chamber, emanating from the birds atop the pillars around the chamber, and the carving of the snake beneath my feet.

The blue light grows in intensity, along with a high-pitched hum that seems to be coming from inside the wall behind me.

I step off the platform, and the lights go out.

The noise stops.

The chamber once again succumbs to darkness.

I have no idea what the fuck that was about.

I stay in the chamber for a few minutes longer, but I find nothing further of interest.

At the top of the ladder, I close the trapdoor over the entrance and stare, dumbfounded, into the distance.

As I do, I notice something.

My skin is tingling.

When I look down, I realize that my hands and arms are ridiculously red, as though my skin were in the early stages of the worst sunburn I’ve ever had.

I turn back to the trapdoor and wonder what the hell I just did to myself in there.

None of the theories I come up with comfort me in any way.

Holy shit.

28

Back when I was living in Ashenweir, there used to be a man who came to my town about once every six months to show off his latest, crazy inventions.

He came up with all sorts of interesting stuff, such as a device that could transmit someone’s voice on a wire over long distances, a carriage that somehow propelled itself using steam of all things, and this ridiculously tasty cream dressing he called ‘mayonnaise’.

The last of that guy’s inventions was a small box in which one could put food, only to have it come out cooked several minutes later. He called it a ‘wave oven’.

As it turns out, while one these wave oven things was an easy way to cook food, it was also an easy way to cook yourself. That guy died of radiation poisoning three months after his first demonstration.

His body looked exactly like my arms and hands do now, two days before he found out he was going to die.

I’m taking this as a bad sign.

And that’s not the only bad sign that has presented itself to me during this pleasant, two-degree morning in northern Northeim.

Falco’s here. Along with ten men armed with guns, picks and axes.

They’re just up ahead, assembling themselves on the island’s shore, near where the inlet meets the ocean.

I spotted them five minutes ago, as I was making my way back to the Neridia.

None of these guys look happy.

All they need are a couple of torches and pitchforks and they’d have the cliché angry mob act I think they’re going for down pat.

I watch them from behind a snowbank about two hundred yards south of their position.

From what I can tell, I’ve got two options:

Number one: run east.

Number two: run south.

While six to eight hours of continuous jogging will probably do wonders for my cardiovascular system, the overall long-term health benefits of choosing one of those directions and bolting are questionable. Neither of those directions will take me back to my ship, which is basically my only ticket off this island. They also won’t take me back to my fishing gear or gun, which are the only two ways I know to get a feed in this wasteland.

I’m pretty much cut off now that those men are here.

I can see the line of trees that forms of the perimeter of the small forest that lies between the open field before me and the Neridia. There’s no way I can see to cross this field without being spotted by Falco and his men. Not even heading inland for a bit and curving back in and around Threkald is an option; I’d be way too exposed, and I’ve never been particularly fond of exposing myself.

I need another plan.

I’m betting that those men will start fanning out in all directions, to canvas as much area as they possibly can in the shortest amount of time. I seriously doubt that the mob will stick together. They’re after two, relatively tiny women; not the yeti. They don’t need manpower; all they really need to do is find us.

What this means is that, if my assumption is correct, in a matter of minutes, there will only be two or three men left to guard that ship they’ve got anchored just off shore there.

I have no particular attachment to the Neridia, and I’ve already been accused and found guilty of murder. Stealing that ship isn’t really gonna make my situation with the law any worse.

Just as I expected, the men are dispersing in teams of two, heading in all directions. One team is heading straight for me.

Falco’s staying behind with his ship, along with another guy who looks like he’s trying to compete with the pines for the tallest thing in the area.

I slip my pack off my shoulder and rummage around inside. It takes no time at all to locate the gigantic Bowie knife I keep in there.

Shouldering my pack, I stand.

I wrap my reddened hand firmly around the hilt of the blade as I begin to move toward the shore.

It’s time to live up to my dastardly reputation.

This should be fun.

I have successfully evaded the team that was heading toward my position. I accomplished this goal using a great deal of skill and cunning (I moved about twenty feet to the right and hid behind a bush). They just walked right past me.

When they’d gotten a decent distance away, I advanced about fifteen feet closer to Falco and his guard’s position and then quickly decided I needed to change tactics.

My original plan was to charge toward the two men, while waving my knife at them in a threatening manner. Given the fact that they have guns and I’d need to run for at least thirty seconds on open ground before getting to them, I realized that that wasn’t the best of ideas.

That realization led me to my current position, laying down, face up, with my entire body covered in about three inches of snow, in the shade of an enormous fir tree.

No, I’m not taking a nap. Digging a small ditch and burying myself underneath the snow is actually a part of what might become a classic Chloe O’Conner attack plan. Or, I might’ve just saved Falco and his boys the trouble of digging my grave. We’ll have to see how things play out.

Between the snow and the icy wind that’s blasting my exposed face, I really want to hurry this along. But, I want to give it just a minute longer so that those other teams will be well out of earshot when this all goes down.

That minute passes.

So it begins.

“Help!”

I yell the word into the air, and wait.

Seconds pass.

“Help!” I yell once more. I daren’t risk doing it again, and I don’t need to; I know Falco and his guard have heard me.

Sure enough, I hear two sets of feet trudging toward me, and notice the movement of shadows on the ground to my right.

Soon, I’m looking at Falco’s back.

He’s standing above me, looking this way and that for the source of the sound.

“I heard it come right from here, boss.” Falco’s guard sounds like a goon from one of those black and white noir films. I thought these guys were going with the angry mob routine? I hate when people mix clichés.

Regardless, Falco’s close, and he’s looking away from me.

My heart pounds in my chest as I work up the gumption to do this.

It’s taking a while.

I give myself a 50% chance of pulling this maneuver off without a hitch. That means that there’s a good chance that, in the next few seconds, I’ll take a bullet and/or get captured. You can understand my reticence.

Finally, I decide to just rip the band-aid off.

I leap up out of the snow, grab Falco from behind with one hand, and place the edge of my knife on the rough skin of his throat.

Falco’s goon - a gigantic, square-jawed guy wearing a black trench coat and hat - pivots around and flinches as he realizes what’s just happened; how the balance of power has just shifted.

“Good morning, asshole,” I say into Falco’s ear. I open my free hand wide. “Give me the gun.”

Falco wordlessly complies.

I take the gun from him, and aim it at Falco’s guard. “What’s your name?”

“Dylan,” he replies, confused.

“You don’t look at all like a Dylan. I shall call you Larry.”

“Okay…” The newly-christened Larry looks even more confused than before. I don’t blame him; even I don’t know what I’m going for.

“Larry, I want you to unload every bullet from your weapon’s chambers.”

He looks dumbly at Falco, who nods.

Larry ejects six bullets from his revolver. They fall harmlessly into the snow.

“Now throw that thing as far as you can that way.” I point behind him.

He sends another glassy look toward Falco.

“Just turn around and do it!”

He does. The gun spirals into the distance as Larry turns back to me.

“Good boy.”

I turn my attention to Falco and edge the knife just a little further into his skin. “Now, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you don’t obey my next instructions to the letter. Sound good?”

He nods.

I bring the knife closer still, causing Falco and Larry to tense. “Don’t mess with me, Falco. I haven’t had a drink in over fifteen hours and, as such, I’m in no mood to be trifled with. Will you do exactly as I ask without complaint??”

“Yes, yes!” Falco replies.

“Excellent,” I say. “Now, walk with me. Larry, you get in front of us.”

Larry moves around Falco and I, tracked by the barrel of my new gun.

Then, still holding Falco at knife point, we begin to move toward the ship.

As we walk, Falco notices the redness consuming the skin on my arms. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing good,” I explain. “Keep walking.”

Soon, we’re at Falco’s ship.

When we get there, I instruct Falco and Larry to lay down with their arms behind their backs while I climb the rope ladder onto the deck of my new ship.

Safely on board, I call down to Falco, my gun still pointed firmly in their direction. “Falco!”

He doesn’t get off the ground. He just rotates his head to face me.

“Come on.”

His brow crinkles. “Huh?”

“Get on board, and let’s go.”

“You got what you wanted,” Falco says. “Why do you want me?”

“I work in mysterious ways. Start climbing and let’s go.”

A minute later, Falco has ascended the ladder, and is standing in front of my revolver’s barrel.

“Sorry about this, Falco,” I say to him, as I turn the gun around, grasping it by the barrel.

He looks apprehensively at the gun, then turns his eyes back up to mine. “Sorry about what?”

“This.”

The handle of the gun strikes Falco’s skull, and, a moment later, he’s sprawled out on the ground beneath me, out cold.

“Larry!”

On the snow below, Larry turns his head to look at me.

“Start walking.”

He gets up and starts heading inland, as per my instructions.

When he’s a safe distance away, I head to the wheel of the ship, and start working on getting the hell out of here.

29

Have you ever tried to draw an arthritic snowman?

I have.

I’ve tried it five fucking times now and still haven’t gotten it right.

The paper in my hands molds into a ball, just before it goes flying into the ocean.

Tearing yet another page from a notebook I found inside Falco’s ship, I sigh and have another crack.

“Hello?”

My eyes are drawn to the mast, and the man tied to it. That man’s head is moving.

Falco’s awake.

I strut over there and move in front of him, my arms crossed. “Greetings.”

He ignores my greeting and looks around. The pines moving a couple of miles away past port catch his attention. “Where are we?”

“Thirty minutes out of Heron’s Bluff.”

He looks at me. “Do you intend on dropping me off?”

“Yep. But I need to do something first.”

His entire body sags with relief. “What?”

“I need to make a quick delivery, before I make my great escape.”

“Delivery to who?”

“It’s whom. Why does everyone have so much trouble with that??”

“‘To whom’, then.”

“Karellius. I want to give him a letter thanking him for being so kind and forgiving over the years.”

“Uh-huh.” Falco looks again at the shore drifting past the left side of the ship. He looks more disoriented than angry. “Where are you going after that?”

I look up into the sky, feel the warm sun on my face. “I’m picturing a little shack somewhere, close to the beach.”

“On Northeim?”

“Of course not on Northeim.”

“Then where?”

“If you must know: Ashenweir.”

“What about your daughter?”

“What about her?”

“You’re not taking her with you?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“She’s loud and sometimes wears too much perfume for my liking.”

“You really are a sociopath, aren’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“And Isabella Aeterno? Where is she?”

“She’s around somewhere.”

“She’s not going with you?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“If I bring her, I’d be bringing all her problems along with me. I’m not sure I’m up for that. I’m still thinking about what I’m gonna do about that one.”

Falco’s left eyebrow arches. “Her ‘problems’?”

“Yeah.”

“What problems?”

Even though Isa has sworn me to secrecy, I consider telling Falco everything I know. I decide to take a different tack first. “Have there been any more ghost attacks in Heron’s Bluff?”

“Of course not, and there won’t be, either, now that you have been expelled.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Falco. How drunk were you when you made that accusation against us last night?”

“I wasn’t drunk!”

“Then what was all that about? I’m a convicted murderer. Fine. You got me. But that doesn’t mean that I’m responsible for every, single murder that happens to occur in my general vicinity. As if I’m in control of this ghost thing!”

Falco breaks eye contact. “Alright. What do you think is responsible for these attacks then?”

“Something hanging around Isa,” I tell him, taking a seat on a crate in front of the mast. “More specifically, something hanging around her kid.”

“You think the ghost is hanging around her kid?”

“Might be.”

“What makes you say that?”

I tell him about what I saw last night with Aaron and the blue light. Then I tell him about that chamber I found, as well as the fact that I managed to turn the light on.

“So that’s what that was…” Falco mutters.

“What what was?”

“The light. We saw it last night. That’s what drew us up here in the first place. We thought you’d headed east, but when we saw that, we doubled back.”

“So, what, you thought that, after my daring escape, I’d decided to head up north to play with fireworks or something?”

“No. We had no idea what the light was. I thought it was important enough to check out.”

“More important than catching little, old me? You insult me, Falco.”

“We intended to resume our search immediately after identifying the light’s source.”

“To catch Chloe O’Conner, the devious, escaped murderer from Ashenweir, huh?”

Falco’s eyes narrow. “Yes.”

“Don’t suppose I could convince you I’m innocent?”

“How would you do that?”

“By citing our five years of friendship, as well as the fact that I was framed and didn’t actually kill anybody.”

Falco shakes his head and looks away. When he returns his eyes to me, they fall upon my arms. “Why’s your skin like that?”

I examine my hands and forearms. The skin there is still red as the setting sun, but it’s a fraction less intense than it was before. “I think the light in that chamber tried to cook me.”

“It tried to what?”

“The blue light did something to me. Whatever that something was was probably bad. But, I presume the light is responsible for Aaron’s miraculous recovery, so I don’t know. If it can do that for him, who knows what could become of me. You never know, I could turn into a superhero!”

“Or the chamber might not have been tuned for your body specifically, and you could turn into a lifeless husk.”

“I prefer the superhero theory.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

“Neither would I. Well, at least not recreationally.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Falco shifts inside the ropes that hold him to the pole. “So, your thinking now is that this kid is involved with these attacks?”

“Maybe.”

“And the reason you think this is because you saw him go somewhere, make something glow, and then come back healed?”

“Yeah. What, you don’t think that’s strange??”

“No, I just don’t know how that equates to being related to this ghost.”

I look out into the distance, towards the two-tone-blue horizon. Then, I sigh. “You know that guy I found in the ice, Falco?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s Aaron’s father.”

Surprise overtakes Falco’s expression. “Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

“Well, you rarely are.”

I shrug.

“Did Isabella kill him?”

“No. He raped her, got her pregnant, and then disappeared until I found him.”

“Okay, but, again, what’s that got to do with the ghost?”

“Isa told me that the ghost has been following her around since her son was born.”

Falco’s expression becomes grave. “I see. Anything else?”

“Yeah, apparently, this sickness of Aaron’s started around the same time this ghost started getting angry.”

Falco shivers. I don’t, but I probably should.

“Do you see why I’m starting to think this ghost and the kid might be related?”

“Indeed,” Falco responds. “But how do you know any of this is true? How can you be sure of what Isabella has told you?”

“I don’t know anything for sure.” And I don’t, I now realize.

“So what are we going to do?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, we’re onto something now.”

“What do you mean ‘we’?”

He leans his torso toward me. “We can save Heron’s Bluff, Chloe.”

Hearing these people use my real name will likely never stop being weird. “The only thing I’m interested in saving, Falco, is my ass and everything it’s attached to.”

“What if I told you there was a way of saving both?”

“What if I told you I was too tired to give a damn?”

“The ETC reps are coming up here from Ashenweir, just as I’d expected. I have it on good authority that they’ll be here the day after tomorrow.”

“And I’m supposed to care why?”

“The Eastern Territories Company is law here and in Ashenweir. I was going to tell them about the fact that I’d discovered an escaped killer in my midst. But, I might be persuaded to keep that part of the story out of my report.”

“And how might one persuade you to do something like that?”

“Help me find out what this ghost is and where it came from, so we can get rid of it and prove to the ETC that Heron’s Bluff isn’t an enormous liability to the company.”

I assume a cross-legged position atop the crate, and think, feeling the wind rush through my hair. “I could help you and hope that this isn’t all a trick to get me back into custody,” I say. “Or, I could just get the hell out of here now and never look back. Give me one good reason why I should even consider the former option.”

“Your nails are falling out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You wanted a reason you should help me find out what’s going on with this ghost, Isa, and her kid,” Falco says. “I just gave you one.”

I have no idea what Falco’s on about.

That is until I look down.

At my hands.

At my left hand.

And the now nailless fingers extended from it.

I look back up to Falco, as my heart rate begins to skyrocket.

So much for turning into a superhero.

30

Frostridge is growing in the distance, and not Heron’s Bluff as I had intended.

Yep, Falco did it. He managed to con me into helping him.

Now, I’m about to walk back into civilization. A civilization that knows exactly who I am and what I’ve supposedly done.

This’ll be interesting.

Falco’s not tied up anymore, but I’ve still got a gun in my hand, just in case he tries something.

Speaking of hands, my left one seems to be on the up. It’s nowhere near as red as it was before, its pigment fading rapidly back to its original olive color. Often things have to get worse before they get better; just ask my brother about his toe. Maybe my nails falling out was an indication that the problem was turning a corner. Now, I suppose I’ll just have to wait until the nails on the other hand drop off. It’s nice to have something to look forward to.

“Didn’t you leave in a dress?” Falco asks, looking sidelong at me as I guide the ship into a parallel course with the block of stone that passes for Frostridge’s dock.

“Huh?”

“You were wearing a black dress when you left town last night. How is it you’re wearing jeans?”

“Didn’t the clothier tell you about my little heist?”

“Heist?”

I hold the wheel steady; the current beneath us is quite insistent about having us drive into the monumentally tall cliff wall off port. “I stole some clothes before I left. I was in a hurry, I’d figured that I was already in trouble with the law, and I really wanted out of that dress, so I did some looting.”

Falco’s turning that information over in his mind.

“You gonna keep that off your report to the ETC, too?”

He watches the tiny dock grow larger over the nose of the ship, beneath the thunderhead looming in the sky above us, blocking out the sun. “If this works, I will ask that you pay for what you took.”

“No problem.”

I don’t think Falco thinks I’m a killer. I think he’d be a lot more frightened about being alone on this ship with me if he did. He would have definitely read the report on the murder of Morgan Acacia. I’ve seen it. Anyone with half a brain could see that there was nowhere near enough evidence to justify a conviction, and certainly not enough to justify a hanging. I think Falco was just angry. If I was going to be held responsible for losing $200,000 worth of the ETC’s gold, it’s not like I would have just sat down and smiled about it. I’d be ordering tortures left, right and center, too. Still, I’m wary of him now, and I don’t think anyone can blame me for that.

“Falco,” I say, concentrating on bringing the ship alongside the large, square block of stone jutting out from the cliff face.

“Yeah?”

“The Inquisitors are with the ETC.”

“And?”

“Isn’t that guy just gonna tell the investigators the truth anyway?”

“I’m sure Ferdinand and I can come to some arrangement.”

My eyebrow lifts. “Ferdinand?”

“Yeah.”

“The Inquisitor’s name is Ferdinand?”

Still concentrating on the dock, now just a few feet away from the ship, Falco nods.

“Ferdinand?”

Falco shoots me an annoyed look. “Yes.”

Just before I drop the anchor, I take a few moments to laugh my fucking ass off.

Then, we disembark.

That just made my entire day.

“Do you think that’s why he became a torturer?”

Falco rolls his eyes, and continues to pant furiously as we ascend the curved path up the side of the cliff.

“Kids at school call little Ferdy mean names all day and are relentless in giving him wedgies, so he decides to overcompensate by becoming a big, scary torturer.”

“Stuff this.” Falco plants his butt on the stone steps and pitches forward, exhausted.

I’m not doing too badly, to my surprise; walking doesn’t seem to disagree with me as much as running.

Looking down, I can see the tiny white speck that is the Neridia, rocking in the dark, turbulent ocean at the bottom of the cliff. We’ve come a long way; I don’t blame Falco for being tired.

That clear blue sky from this morning is gone, replaced by an angry-looking slab of nimbus. A storm’s definitely on the way. Or a typhoon.

I cast my gaze downward. Falco’s still bent over, wheezing like an asthmatic in a dust storm. “Should I go get a stretcher?”

“Definitely,” Falco breathes. He looks around at the cliff walls on either side of us. “Who the fuck builds a dock on the bottom of a cliff for a town that’s on top of it?”

“The ETC, Falco. They’re not the sharpest scalpels in the O.R., are they?”

Falco nods profusely in agreement.

In actuality, the ETC didn’t really have a choice when they decided to build Frostridge’s dock down there. The first gold that was discovered on Northeim was discovered above us, in the location that eventually became the settlement of Frostridge. The incredible cliffs that make up the island’s southern coast go on for miles in every direction. The first miners on Northeim would have had to make a pilgrimage every time they needed to make a shipment back to Ashenweir if they’d decided to build the dock in a sensible location, so they put it down there and blasted this path up the cliff face. I’m pretty sure the dock was a lot more impressive twenty years ago, but since the gold ran out, and people stopped caring, most of it’s eroded into the ocean.

“Come on, Falco,” I say, looking down at him again. “Let’s hurry this along. I’ve got things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Sit in a dark room and laugh maniacally, or whatever it is murderers do in their downtime. It’s time-consuming stuff.”

“Oh, fine.” He struggles to his feet, and looks at the steep stone steps before us as if they were his mortal enemies.

I pat the man on the back. “Don’t look so glum, buddy. I reckon we’ve only got a mile and a half to go.”

I watch the blood drain out of Falco’s face, just before I resume my journey up the steps.

Frostridge is surprisingly busy this morning. I don’t come down this way much, and I think I tend to exaggerate its emptiness the longer I’m away.

This place is, in fact, populated by more than tumbleweed, but I’m stuffed if I know why. The mine’s gone, and this is the ass-end of nowhere. There is literally no reason for people to be here. And yet, they are.

Falco and I pass through a surprisingly lively market on our way through. Then we pass a church that I can only assume the priest that did Isa’s exorcism came from.

No one here gives a damn who I am.

Finally, we arrive on the doorstep of the building we’re looking for.

The sign on the door of that building says ‘The Great Museum of Northeim’. The greatness that the sign purports is undercut by the boarded up windows on either side of it.

Between those boarded windows, the cobwebs hanging off every surface of the porch, and the fact that we’re in a place whose population likely claps when visitors arrive since they’re so seldom seen, I’m having trouble accepting the fact that this is really a museum at all.

“How do you know this guy, anyway?” I ask Falco, as he stares apprehensively toward the door.

“He used to live in Heron’s Bluff.”

“Why the hell did he come here?”

“He didn’t do it of his own accord.”

“Then of whose accord did he do it?” I think that sentence is right.

“Pretty much everyone’s.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

Falco knocks on the door.

31

“Gwapo ex jinya!”

Yeah, I’m lost, too.

“Oofla min munshulto?”

Falco says something to the woman who greeted us at the front door in a language I’ve never heard before, and she bursts out laughing.

I am 100% lost in the conversation.

Falco turns to me, while the woman stares up at him, her arms together, and a huge smile plastered across her face. “It’s Araran: language of the Orcs.”

“So she doesn’t have a serious speech impediment, then.”

“No.” He turns back to her. “Milma en el raykin.”

The woman rotates on the balls of her feet, and leads us deeper inside the incredibly dark and messy building.

There are books everywhere, all over the shelves, chairs and floors. Scurrying around on top of those books is a single rat that seems as unfazed by our presence as the woman leading us is of its. What the fuck?

Eventually, we reach a door toward the back of the building. I know it’s a door because I can just make out its rectangular outline in the shadows.

The woman knocks on the door once before smiling at Falco, giving me a strange look, and walking away.

The sound of shuffling comes from behind the door. “Just a moment!”

“That woman is into you,” I tell Falco.

His mouth falls open. “Really?”

“You never noticed?”

“No…” A smile is forming on his lips.

“Well, she is.”

He glances into the darkness into which the woman disappeared. “What should I do?”

“Run like hell,” I tell him. “What kind of place is this?”

He opens his mouth to respond just as the door starts creaking.

Slowly and theatrically, the door swings inward, revealing an old man on the other side.

“AAAHHH!!!”

I duck, and search the room for whatever it was the man was yelling at. I find nothing.

I look up to see Falco and the old man standing over me, looking at me as though I were crazy.

I rise.

“What the fuck were you yelling at?” I ask the old man, who looks past me, into the darkness to my left.

“What do you mean?” he asks, sounding genuinely bewildered by my question.

“You yelled.”

“I did not.”

“You did, too!”

Falco waves for my attention. When he has it, he shakes his head. “Just go with it.”

“What are you doing here, Falco?” the old man asks, standing in the doorway, stroking his exceptionally long, white beard.

“We need your help, Alfred.”

He grumbles incomprehensibly, then motions toward me with his cane. “Who’s the bimbo?”

“Ex-fucking-scuse me??”

He screams again - pure terror in his eyes - and then his face goes neutral, as if nothing had ever happened.

I clutch my chest, and look behind me to see what he’s looking at. All I see is a blank wall.

Falco is scratching his chin, trying to shield his grin from me. “This is Chloe. She’s a friend of mine.”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

The old man grumbles again and then hobbles out of the doorway.

Falco motions for me to go in before him. “Ladies first.”

“How chivalrous of you.” I take a cautious step toward the doorway. My feet are unsteady; my nerves are shot from this idiot’s inexplicable screams.

I step over more piles of books and enter a small, windowless room, lighted by a single candle in the corner.

“Please,” the old man says to both Falco and I, motioning across from his desk. “Stand and make yourselves comfortable.”

The man drops into a leather chair behind his desk. There are no other seats in the room.

When he settles into that chair, the man looks expectantly at us. The lack of hair on the top of his head, coupled with the exceptional amount hanging from his chin, makes it appear as though his head has been fastened to his neck upside down.

Falco steps away and motions from me to the man.

I reach into my pocket and take the two drawings I did on the way down here from it. Then, I pass them to him.

He takes them from me, and thrusts a pair of glasses over his eyes to examine them.

He yells again. I close my eyes and weather it this time.

“Who drew these?” the man asks.

“I did.”

He extends the drawings back at me. “You will never succeed as an artist. You may have talents of which I am unaware, but drawing is not one of them. That is my professional opinion.”

I look back to Falco, who steps forward again. “No, Alfred, we need to know what these symbols might mean.”

He retracts his arm and examines the first drawing. This one’s a rough sketch of the burning bird atop the pylons back in that chamber Aaron was in last night.

“Why is it labeled ‘burning bird’?” he asks, just before producing another ear-splitting scream.

“Because it’s a burning bird,” I tell him.

“That’s not a burning bird, you idiot!” he says, looking up but gazing again at something to my left. “It’s a phoenix, rising from ashes.”

“Okay…”

He shuffles the papers to look at the image of the snake curved into a figure-eight. He reads my label. “‘Eight/ate snake’?”

Falco looks at me.

“It’s a snake in the middle of eating itself…” I throw my hands in the air. “I thought it was clever.”

“Have you seen that symbol before?” Falco asks the man.

He screams in response.

“Is that a ‘no’?”

“This symbol is the Ouroboros. Both are classic symbols of rebirth and renewal. The snake, curved into a horizontal figure-eight, suggests infinity, eternity — something without an end.”

The old man hands the drawings back to me.

Falco turns to me. “Any ideas?”

I put my index finger on my chin. “The chamber healed Aaron. Maybe the ‘renewal’ interpretation is correct, and it’s just a healing machine.”

“But what does that tell us about the ghost?” Falco asks.

“Absolutely nothing.”

The old man’s voice comes from behind his desk. “Chamber?”

“Chloe here said she saw those two symbols in a chamber she discovered a ways north of Heron’s Bluff, alongside ancient writing in hieroglyphics.”

“You saw those two symbols in the same place?” he asks.

I nod.

“AAAHHH!!!”

“I’m sorry?”

The old man heaves himself out of his chair and starts looking about the room. Eventually he focuses on the bookshelf to his left/my right and totters over there.

He pulls a book off the shelf, opens it, then shakes his head. He then repeats that action half a dozen times.

Eventually, he turns to us. “This may take a while.”

“Okay,” I tell him.

“AAAHHH!!!”

“No worries.”

Falco and I have been waiting here for forty minutes.

He’s drinking tea given to him by the woman that lives here, whose name he insists is Sheryl, something I refuse to believe.

Despite being incredibly thirsty, I wouldn’t touch any beverage poured in this disgusting house. As such, I reckon I’m about an hour away from seeing mirages. Please, God, let this guy hurry up.

“I found it!” The guy rises up from the floor with a thick tome in his hand. Thanks, God!

He comes over to Falco and I and holds the book open in front of us. Printed in black-and-white on the left page are two photographs. One is of the exact same kind of pylon I saw in the chamber, and the other of the exact same kind of snake. It was like the pictures were taken in the very same chamber I discovered!

“Where were these pictures taken?” I ask.

He thrusts the book at me, and I take it.

“In Ashenweir,” he answers, moving around the desk to his chair. “Those photographs were taken in an ancient, underground temple during an excavation fifty years ago just east of a town known as Bas Endellan. The builders of that temple were a group of men with a belief system that I, at one time, was very interested in.”

“Belief system?”

“They believed that reincarnation was something that could be achieved, and not a default state.” He screams, but I’m learning to tune it out. “I included a few paragraphs about them in chapter five of my compendium, where I laid out what we know of their practices and accomplishments.”

“Your compendium?”

“On the current state of research into immortality.”

“Why were you writing about that?”

He screams at me.

“Still not getting it.”

“I was writing it as a courtesy to others who wish to devote their lives, as I did at one time, to extending to them indefinitely. By assembling all the research that’s been done up until this point, I have made it so others can devote themselves fully to advancing the field, rather than waste time getting up to speed and making the same old discoveries.”

He screams again. I can easily see him being kicked out of Heron’s Bluff; this is pretty unsettling.

“Alright. What did you say in this compendium thing? What were some of this groups’ accomplishments?”

“They accomplished two things during their time in Ashenweir.”

“Which were?”

“For one, building that temple.”

“Yeah, yeah, and?”

“Storming a village, killing all the men, raping all the women, and then killing themselves.”

Falco and I exchange glances.

“How long ago did this happen?” Falco asks.

“About two thousand years ago, in the first era.”

“Why would they do that?”

“They were all stricken by a plague that spread through Bas Endellan. Some people have suggested that the men figured they were going to die, and decided to just end it all with a bang (absolutely no pun intended). They weren’t known for being the most stable group of individuals.”

I scan the writing on the pages before me, while Falco and the old man continue their conversation.

“What do you believe?” Falco asks.

“The plague had a recovery rate of 40%,” the old man responds. “They knew that. I believe they killed themselves for another reason.”

“And what reason would that be?”

“They were completely insane.”

The information about the group (which would be more aptly described as a cult, in my opinion) continues on the next page. I absently flick the page over, and, when I do, my stomach drops.

There’s a photograph of a charcoal rubbing done at the temple. The caption says that the rubbing was taken from a wall depicting the face of a man who was presumed to be the cult’s leader.

The face of that two thousand year old man in the rubbing looks exactly like the man I found up in the ice near Whiterock.

Falco’s looking at me. “What?”

“We need to go.”

“Why?”

“Look!”

Falco’s face falls a split-second after I show him the image.

“We need to get back to Isa.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? She could be in serious danger!”

“Woah, back up,” Falco says. “Why do you think that?”

“Because that guy, the one in the image, led the slaughter of half the population of an entire village.”

“Yeah, but, he’s dead. He’s been dead for two thousand years. The guy up from Whiterock could have just been–”

“It’s not a coincidence, Falco. That guy is not dead.”

“Chloe…”

“Don’t you see?” I go on, thrusting my finger at the picture in the book. “That guy in the ice isn’t Aaron’s father.”

“Okay…”

“He is Aaron.”

The old man screams.

“My thoughts exactly.” I grab Falco by the arm. “Come on!”

32

Racing up the coast toward the cove where I left my ship, Isa, and Aaron sounded a lot more exciting than it actually turned out to be. Even with a good wind at our backs, the speed of Falco’s boat can only be described as glacial. The only race this thing could win is against a landmass experiencing continental drift.

For the first half-hour, I stared into the distance while holding an appropriately serious expression on my face. Then I got bored with that and sat on the starboard side of the deck to do some bird watching through a telescope I found near the wheel.

It was through that telescope that I saw the two things that have my attention now.

To the north, in the direction we’re heading, is a thin pillar of black smoke, extended toward the dark clouds above it like a gigantic middle finger. It appears to be coming from somewhere just west of Threkald, which is exactly where Isa and my ship happen to be. My theory is that the woman tried to start a fire for warmth and ended up setting most of the surrounding forest alight, but Falco and I really have no idea what to make of that smoke at the moment.

The other thing that presented itself through my telescope I haven’t told Falco about. A mile across the water, on Northeim’s shore, is a hooded figure. It’s moving lithely through the pines, seemingly keeping pace with this ship, while taking great pains to stay in cover. Maybe it wasn’t my imagination when I thought I saw that figure coming off the boat the Inquisitor arrived on; maybe, after all this time, she’s finally found me.

Looks like I might need to get the hell out of Northeim after all.

I pull my gun from my waistband and check the chambers.

Each one has a bullet nestled inside it.

Excellent.

I suppose it could be anyone out there, but it’s nice to know I’ve got some insurance just in case I’m not completely losing it.

“Who the hell builds a ship without covers??” It’s starting to rain. Falco’s not happy about it.

“It is pretty ridiculous,” I agree.

“A cabin, a canopy - anything would be better than this!” He comes to stand to my left. He looks down at me, and then out across the water to the island. “Any birds out there?”

“Yeah,” I answer, framing the figure in the telescope’s black, blurry circle just before it ducks behind a pine. “Just one.”

“What kind?” Falco asks.

“The crazy kind.”

Falco looks bewildered by my response. Rather than press the subject, though, he merely shakes his head, and sits down beside me.

He leans in close to me and looks downward.

“Falco?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you staring at my tits?”

His head jerks back as though it were trying to avoid arrow-fire. “NO!”

I do an extra button up on my shirt to hide my cleavage.

“I was trying to see how your arms and hands were doing!”

“How they’re doing what?”

“Recovering, withering away – I don’t know!”

I pull up the checkered sleeve covering my right arm. My nails are still on that one, and only a hint of redness remains. “They seem okay.”

“Any theories on what happened to them?”

“No idea.”

“Any theories as to what that black pillar of smoke is up there?”

“I’m guessing it’s a black pillar of smoke.”

“Morgan…”

“Oh, we’re back to that are we?”

“I meant ‘Chloe’.” He sighs. “This is all terribly confusing.”

“Terribly.”

“What do you want to be?”

“A permanent resident of Ashenweir.”

“No, I meant how do you want me to refer to you??”

I’m gonna miss riling Falco up. “Anything that’s not ‘slut’ or ‘bitch’ will be fine.”

“I’m gonna stick with Morgan.”

“The name of my last ‘victim’??”

“Is that a problem?”

“Is it for you?”

“No.”

“Then Morgan’ll do fine. It did kinda grow on me.”

It’s official: I now have two names. I’m gonna need to draw up a spreadsheet to keep track of who calls me what.

I regard Falco out of the corner of my eye. “Can I ask you a question?”

He nods.

“Do you actually think I’m a murderer?”

Falco falls silent for almost a full minute.

Finally, he answers.

“No.”

I exhale a puff of air I didn’t realize I was holding in. It seems that I care about things more than I might like to admit.

“Why?” I ask.

“I read your testimony.”

“And?”

“And it seems consistent with everything that happened after the murder.”

“Huh?”

He looks at me, curiosity in his eyes. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“It’s killing you that you don’t know, isn’t it?”

“Know what??”

“The thing I know that you don’t.”

“Falco, I swear to God…”

He motions for me to calm down. “The local sheriff that tried to have you executed was imprisoned shortly after you escaped.”

“For…?”

“For killing his sister and trying to frame his brother for it.”

Seagulls cackle above us.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not.”

Huh. That certainly puts a new spin on events. “Why did he do it?”

“The guy was nuts?” Falco shrugs. “I don’t know. But what I do know is that his brother woke up covered in blood and with a knife in his hand, just like you did with his wife.”

“Maybe he got the idea from what happened with me?”

“Or maybe he was the one who set you up after finding you with his wife.”

A thought strikes me. “Hang on, you knew about this and still had me arrested? What the actual fuck, Falco? Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused me??”

“I can venture a guess,” he says, leaning back on his arms, resigned to absorbing the rain drops as they begin to fall now in earnest. “I was angry, Morgan. I was looking for someone to blame. Do you have any idea how much trouble I will be in when I have to report to the ETC that I lost two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of gold?”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“In a bureaucracy, it’s always someone’s fault. The gold was destroyed on my watch, so it will be I who bears the consequences.”

“So you thought ‘hey, we’ve got a convicted murder here’, let’s let this bitch take the fall’??”

Falco winces. “I was angry at you, too, you know.”

“What?”

“You lied to me, Morgan. We’ve been friends for five years, and you lied about everything. Who you were. Where you came from. I was angry, and I had Karellius breathing down my neck, showing me the reports he’d found, shouting his interpretations into my ear. It all happened so quickly; the silo blew up literally as Karellius was explaining his findings to me.”

“Karellius… Breathing…” I shudder.

Falco chuckles. Then, his face goes serious. “I honestly don’t know what to make of you, Morgan,” he says. “But you seem like an okay girl to me.”

“That’s nice of you to say.” And I mean that.

“If you are gonna stick around, just try not to kill anyone, yeah?”

“I promise to control my temper, and keep my axe on a high shelf, out of easy reach.”

“That’s not particularly comforting.”

I bite my lower lip and playfully thrust my fist into his shoulder.

The rain is furious now, pummeling every square inch of our bodies and the ship. “You can go below deck, if you want,” I tell him. “I need to drive, but there’s no reason you need to stay up here.”

“I’m good.” His pushes the volume of his voice up to rise over the sound of the rain.

“So what are you gonna do about Gwapo?” I ask him.

“Gwapo?”

“That woman from the ‘Great Museum of Northeim’.”

“Her name isn’t… whatever it was you said.”

“Gwapo?”

“Yeah that.”

“Sheryl, then. If the ETC doesn’t make you take a bath in lava, maybe you and her could…”

“Take long walks on the beach together, hand-in-hand?”

“Or short ones while keeping your hands to yourselves… You and she could do whatever you guys liked!”

Falco tilts his head slightly to one side and thinks. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to give it some thought.”

“You do that.” I rotate to face him. “Why does she live with that guy?”

“She’s Alfred’s housekeeper.”

“I thought it was a museum.”

“I think it was meant to be,” Falco says. “But then it wasn’t.”

“Huh.” A loud crack of thunder sounds, and a lightning flash illuminates the distant buildings that make up the town of Heron’s Bluff. “Good call on getting him to see if he knew anything about that chamber and the symbols.”

“I have the occasional good idea,” Falco admits.

Another flash streaks across the buildings of Heron’s Bluff. In that split-second, I am able to see the outline of my house, and suddenly, I start to feel very homesick. After that, I start to feel angry.

“You’re really not gonna ask about the screaming?” Falco asks.

“What was with that guy and screaming??”

“I wish I knew.”

“Very illuminating.”

Another thunderclap sounds from above, loud enough to vibrate the entire ship. Fog begins to close in around the ship as color makes its escape, leaving in its place only various shades of gray.

Falco looks apprehensively to the north. “Are you sure about this theory of yours?”

“About Isa’s kid being a two thousand year old rapist and murderer? Yeah, of course I’m sure. It makes perfect sense!”

“So, no…?”

“This whole thing is absolutely, 100%, insane. But we were on a ghost-hunt before we got to Frostridge, remember? I think we abandoned sense a while back, don’t you?”

Falco looks toward Heron’s Bluff. “Maybe we should ask Ferdinand for help.”

“We’re not asking Ferdinand for help.”

“Why?”

“I have a rule about confronting two thousand year old dead men hiding in the bodies of four-year-olds alongside torturers named Ferdinand. It’s a weird rule, but a rule nonetheless.”

“You are a very strange person, Morgan Acacia.”

“I try.”

“No you don’t.”

“Alright, fine, maybe I don’t.”

33

It’s my ship.

The Neridia.

That’s what’s on fire.

It’s sitting inside the cove, utterly engulfed in flames, being slowly swallowed by the ocean in the dying evening light.

The dismay I’m currently experiencing at witnessing my ship turn to ashes is mitigated somewhat by the possibility of having something warm to stand next to. It’s freezing up here, and Falco’s complaint about there being no rain shelters on the deck of this ship is more apropos now than ever. It’s coming down hard, as if the clouds are trying to do me a personal favor and save my ship from the flames.

The burning vessel slides slowly past the port side of this ship, the amber fireball throwing its light all over Falco and my concerned faces.

I scan the approaching shore for Isa but see nothing. Has something happened to her? Or is she worried about informing an armed, slightly unhinged woman that she accidentally set her ship on fire and is hiding somewhere?

I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

The anchor makes a tremendous splash as it breaks the surface of the black water. Once I’m satisfied it’s hit bottom, we lower the ship’s tender into the water and head for the shore.

Falco’s tender is a small wooden raft, that, unlike my raft, requires no inflation. I’m thankful for that, since I’d honestly rather take my chance with a swim than go through what I went through yesterday again.

Eventually, we near the rock platform that passes for a shore around here and, with a bit of effort, we disembark.

My watch informs me that it’s 5pm, but you wouldn’t know it’s so early looking around now. Between the clouds, rain, fog, and the fact that it gets dark pretty early anyway now, it’s hard to see anything this far away from the burning ship behind us. We should have brought a lantern over with us; not doing so was pure insanity. I can’t be fucked paddling back over there to get one, though, so we press on.

“Isa!” I yell her name over the sound of a million raindrops hitting the leaves in the forest around us.

“Isabella!” Falco yells a few seconds after I do. Then, he yells in pain.

“Hey!” Falco massages his assailed shoulder and looks at it, assessing the damage. “What the fuck are you doing??”

“Punching you,” I respond.

“Yes, yes, I know that, but why are you punching me?”

“Isa’s not gonna reveal her position if she knows you’re here.”

“Why? What’s wrong with me?”

“As far as she knows, you’re still the guy who’s trying to arrest her, you twit. Use your head.” I survey the dark forest around us. “Do you think maybe your men caught her?”

“Maybe. But how does that explain your ship being on fire?”

“It doesn’t need to. The two events could be entirely unrelated.”

“Well, I suppose it’s possible,” Falco says, stroking his beard and wincing underneath the deluge. “Hell, they might have found her because of the fire.”

“Good point.”

He looks at me. “So what are we gonna do?”

I take my revolver out of my waistband and grip it with both hands. Then, I toss my chin to the south. “This way. Shut up. Let me do the talking.”

“Talking?”

“Yelling. Whatever.”

It takes forty minutes of calling out for Falco and I to locate Isa.

We find her sitting against that boulder I hid behind last night when I saw Aaron coming back from his secret walkabout. She is oriented toward the field of snow containing the inlet and the arthritic snowman. She’s just sitting there, staring off into the distance.

I lean down beside her, and look into her eyes. “Isa?”

“Yeah?” Her response is husky, quiet.

“What happened? Why is the ship on fire?”

“You left me.”

I take both her hands in mine. They’re so warm that I dread the moment I’ll have to let them go. “I know. I’m sorry. But I’m back now. Can you tell me what happened?”

“You left me.”

She’s not blinking. Not moving. Just sitting there, looking past me out into the darkness and the rain.

I look all around us but I cannot see him. “Isa, where’s Aaron?”

“He left me, too.”

“Why did he do that?”

“He was trying to save himself.”

“Huh?”

“There was a ghost attack. It was trying to kill him. Trying to kill my son.”

Guilt rushes over me at having left Isa alone all this time. At considering just turning tail and running away from her.

“The ghost tried to kill your son?” Falco questions.

Isa nods. The fact that Falco’s here doesn’t even seem to register with her, something that twists the knife of guilt lodged in my stomach even further. Even the rain doesn’t seem to faze her. “It did. It chased him around with a knife, just before it knocked over the candle I’d lit in the cabin to read.”

“The ghost really likes knocking candles over, doesn’t it?”

“The cabin’s carpet caught fire.”

“I see.”

Isa continues to stare past me. “You left me without a raft so I had to swim ashore to escape.”

Shit. I tighten my grip on her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“What happened to Aaron, Isabella? Where is he now?”

She looks up at Falco. Recognition flashes in her eyes. “Hey, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Morgan and I have discovered something that might explain what the ghost attacking everyone is and where it came from.”

Isa meets my eyes for the first time upon hearing Falco’s continued use of my A.K.A. “’Morgan’?”

I shrug.

“What did you guys discover?”

My eyes dart around, landing on pretty much everything except Isa’s. Finally, I work up the gumption to look her in the eyes. “I’ll… uhh, no, we’ll explain everything on the way.”

I stand, and gently pull her to her feet along with me. “On the way to where?” she asks.

“To wherever Aaron is right now.”

Falco takes a step closer to Isa and I. When he does, Isa tucks herself in behind me slightly, eyeing the man warily. Looks like I haven’t utterly destroyed the trust we’d established after all!

“Do you have any idea where Aaron went, Isabella?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Please just answer the question.”

She points south, toward the inlet.

Toward that chamber.

Falco and I exchange knowing glances, just before a patch of fog lights up blue in the distance.

“You guys are crazy.”

“You won’t find protest here,” Falco tells Isa, as we all move in the direction of that illuminated patch of fog up ahead.

I help Isa over the trunk of a fallen tree. When she’s safely over, she lets my hand drop as though it were a live grenade. She lags behind Falco and I, trudging carefully through the snow, her arms crossed. The woman has become increasingly irritable since we started explaining what we discovered about Aaron. She just can’t seem to accept the idea that her son - someone who four years ago pushed his way out of her body and who she’s known ever since - is a two thousand year old murderer and rapist. People can be so fucking difficult sometimes.

Eventually, she lags so far behind us that Falco and I are forced to stop. When we do, I cross my arms, matching her defensive stance, and wait for her to catch up. When she does, her eyes lock onto mine, and she advances on me, stopping well inside my personal space. “Explain this to me again.”

I exhale a sigh. “Do you really think me telling you a third time is going to make it make more sense?”

“Let’s try it and see.”

I brush a few clumps of waterlogged hair out of my face and sigh once more. “Two thousand years ago, the leader of a cult that believed that reincarnation is something that could be ‘achieved’ stormed a village. They killed all the men, and, most interestingly, raped all the women, leaving them all pregnant.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That cult leader looks exactly like the guy I found floating in the ice near Whiterock - i.e. the guy who raped and impregnated you. Do you see how that might strike me as something more than coincidence?”

Isa squares her shoulders, and her body straightens as though preparing for a fight. Ever since it came to light that Falco knows about the rape, she hasn’t been a happy camper. “So they look similar. So fucking what? Do you actually believe that guy was over two thousand years old??”

I glance apprehensively toward that patch of blue fog in the distance. “That’s what we’re here to find out, I suppose.”

“By finding my son…”

“Yep.”

“How is that again?”

I throw my hands in the air, and motion to Falco for assistance.

He dutifully comes to my aid. With a pained expression, he relates my (our?) theory. “We think that this cult, and this guy, might achieve reincarnation by…”

Falco’s voice trails off.

Isa lifts her palms up in question. “By what?”

“By impregnating women with himself.”

Isa produces a laugh that sounds like one part amusement and two parts hysteria. None of our earlier explanations have really summed up the situation as well as that; even I’m not entirely sold on our conclusion after hearing it like that. “So you think that my son is actually that fucking asshole from years ago? That he raped me in some ridiculous attempt to be reborn and achieve immortality?”

I nod. “Why else would he be making late-night trips to a secret chamber in the middle of nowhere that nobody but his father would know about?”

Isa huffs. “And the ghost fits in where?”

Falco and I exchange glances. “Uhh, we’re not sure about that part yet.”

Isa shakes her head. “You two are morons.”

“That’s probably true.” I turn away from Isa, and resume our march toward the blue light. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“What are you going to do, Morgan?” Isa’s receding voice asks me. She’s gone back to calling me my old name again; it’s much easier for everyone, I think.

“I’m going to have a chat with your son.”

She’s at my side now, trying her hardest to keep pace with me in the thick snow. “About what?”

“Politics. The weather. What it’s like to be a two thousand year old dead man in a four-year-old’s body. Normal kid stuff.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Fine. I’ll leave the politics out of it.”

“Still not gonna happen.”

An intensely bright square is coming into focus amongst the fog up ahead. The chamber’s entrance. “And how do you intend on stopping me, Isa?”

“With this.”

I turn to my left to look at her, but she’s not there.

Looking further back behind me, I can see that she’s standing motionless in the snow. Her right arm is extended in the direction of Falco and I. At the end of that arm is the gun I left her with this morning. The weapon, bathed in the blue light just like its owner, has a bullet in all six of its chambers, ready to fire. I’m not particularly comfortable with having it pointed at me. “What are you doing?”

“Stopping you from doing whatever it is you intend on doing.”

“I’m just going to have a talk with your son. I’m not going to hurt him.”

Isa tightens her grip on the gun. “And that’s fine, but you’ll do it on my terms.”

“Okay. What are your terms?”

“I go get Aaron, and you can talk to him all you like here.”

“Here?”

“Yep. Right here.”

I glance again at that alien light; at the strange chamber that Isa wants to go into all alone. “You have no idea what you might be getting yourself into. You could be placing yourself into extreme danger.”

“My son is not dangerous!”

Something about the desperation in Isa’s voice and the waver in her grip on her weapon makes me put my hands up.

“Okay,” I tell her. “You win. You can go. We’ll wait right here.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Not generally, no. But sometimes you can–“

“Shut up, Morgan. I want you to tie yourselves up.”

“And I want to eat an entire cheesecake, right here, right now. Doesn’t mean either of those things are going to happen.”

“And why not?”

“Because the nearest place that sells cheesecake is about eight miles that way.”

“No, why aren’t you gonna tie yourselves up?” She brandishes her weapon for dramatic effect.

“The lack of any kind of rope is probably the biggest barrier.”

She surveys the ground around her. Why she does this is beyond me; it’s not like you’re just going to find rope on the ground whenever you have a need for it. “Alright. Fine. I’ll go. You stay. If you follow me, I’ll kill you.”

“You wouldn’t kill me,” I tell her. “I’m adorable.”

“Of all the descriptions I could possibly use for you, Morgan, ‘adorable’ isn’t one of them.”

“That’s very hurtful.”

She shrugs, and waves her arm at Falco and I. “Give me your guns.”

“What guns?”

“For starters, the gun in your waistband. Throw it to me.”

I reluctantly remove my weapon and throw it at the woman’s feet. Anxiety hits me the moment it leaves my fingers.

Isa bends down to retrieve the weapon, keeping hers trained on us the entire time.

She rises, then, and places my gun in her pocket. “Falco?”

“Mmm.”

“You got anything for me?”

“Yep.”

“Let’s have it.”

Falco extends his arm toward her, and then raises his middle finger.

Isa gives the man a stiff smile, and Falco lets his arm drop.

After that, Isa starts to back away. “Don’t follow me.”

“Oh, we won’t,” I tell her. “We’ll stay right here. Won’t move a muscle. Isn’t that right, Falco?”

“That’s very true, Morgan,” he replies, nodding profusely. “We wouldn’t dream of going anywhere. We’d never do something like that.”

Isa shoots Falco and I a disgusted look. Then, she turns around, and runs away.

34

We wait five minutes before chasing after Isa.

It takes us five more to reach the grove of trees containing the entrance to the chamber.

The trapdoor door to the chamber is wide-open, allowing light to flood the entire area, bright enough to hurt my eyes.

I don’t see Isa anywhere. She’s probably already gone in.

Falco and I are a hundred yards away from the chamber, trying to weigh up our next moves behind a fir tree. The tree, along with its companions in the grove, is a pale blue pillar against the starless night sky.

“Do you think this is a good idea, Morgan?” Falco asks me. “Just walking in there, I mean.”

“Do you think it’d be better to run in?”

“No,” Falco whispers.

“Crawl in?”

“No.”

“Sort of sidle in surreptitiously?”

“Morgan!”

I place my index finger up to my lips and wiggle it a bit to drive home the point.

Falco quickly gets the hint, and goes quiet.

“We need a plan,” I tell him, eyeing the chamber’s entrance.

“One that doesn’t involve us dying horribly, right?”

“Ideally. Getting raped is also something I’d prefer to avoid.”

“Do you really think he’d rape you if he caught you? He’s four!”

“Going on two thousand.”

“That still sounds ridiculous to me.”

“Me, too.”

“Me three.”

I wheel around, and search the area for whoever just said that. Unless Falco’s developed a very convincing teenage girl voice and decided to try it out on me here, we have a visitor.

“Who’s there?” I call, as loudly as I dare with the chamber so close.

Thalia moves out from behind the fir tree.

I jump at the unexpected sight, and that low-level anxiety I was experiencing before ticks up to DEFCON 2.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey yourself. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Looking for my mother the murderer.”

“I’m not a murderer.” There’s an unexpected amount of challenge in my voice.

“I know that, you fool.” She looks past me, toward the blue light, and stuffs her hands into her jeans pockets. “So what’s going on?”

“We have reason to suspect that my ex-girlfriend’s son is actually the reincarnation of a two thousand year old murderer and rapist.”

Thalia nods. “Got it. What do you need from me?”

“A wide berth,” I respond.

Thalia reaches into the satchel she’s got strapped around her shoulder then, and pulls from it a bag of corn chips. She holds them up beside her face for me to see. “Do you really want to squander your chance to get your hands on these mouthwatering delicacies by sending me away?”

I look from Thalia to the chips. My mouth does, indeed, water. I haven’t eaten anything since this morning, and now I’m really starting to feel it. “Give me the chips.”

“Tell me what’s really going on, and they’re yours.”

“I already told you.”

“Uh-huh.” It’s obvious that Thalia, understandably, doesn’t believe our story. She points at Falco. “What’s he doing here?”

“Morgan and I are here together.”

“Together??”

“Not ‘together’ together, for Christ’s sake!” I exclaim. “Why the fuck would you think that??”

“Well, you lied to me about your name and your past. Lying about your sexuality isn’t that much further a stretch.”

“Get me a girl and I’ll kiss her right now.”

“So would 90% of drunk straight chicks if put up to it.”

“I’m not drunk.”

Thalia presses a hand to her heart. “You’ve changed so much.”

“Ha ha.”

“Ladies,” Falco interjects, “if we could–“

Falco stops talking when the world turns red.

Well, not the whole world; just the part of it that’s immediately around us.

I turn around and see that the light from the chamber has changed from that strange, alien blue, to an intense, foreboding red.

Falco sidles up to me, his body painted in various shades of red and gray. “What the hell is that?”

The sound of a baby crying comes from the chamber, louder and clearer than I’ve ever heard it before.

Thalia joins me on my right flank. “Yeah, what’s that all about?”

“It’s a long story. Falco?”

“Yeah?”

“We need to go in now.”

“Okay. Plan?”

“Climb down. Avoid angry four-year-olds. Extract Isa. Run like hell.”

“We’re not gonna try and capture the kid?”

I look at him. “Isa took my gun. Aaron probably has both mine and hers now. So, unless you’ve got a large net with you that I don’t know about, we’re not gonna–“

Thalia clears her throat, drawing our attention.

When she gets it, I watch her extract a small, shiny object from her satchel.

She hands it to me.

It’s a revolver, five out of six chambers full.

I look at her. “Where did you get this?”

“I stole it.”

“From?”

“Laura’s father.”

“Why?”

“I thought we might need it.”

“We?”

“Yeah, we.”

“Why would ‘we’ need anything?”

“Well, if we were going on the lam, I figured we’d need some form of protection.” She runs her eyes up and down Falco. “But I suppose that’s not a thing anymore, huh?”

I think Thalia was under the impression that I was going to take her with me, after fleeing from Falco and his men. The most surprising part of that to me is that she would want to come at all, after what happened last night, and knowing that it would mean leaving Laura behind. Not sure what to make of that one.

“It’s a good thing I brought it, too,” Thalia goes on.

“How’s that?” I ask absently.

“If I didn’t, I might not have been here to help you guys.”

“Why would not having a gun prevent you from being here?”

“Because the chick that attacked me on my way toward this light that I heard Falco’s men talking about last night would have definitely managed to catch me.”

My heart sinks. “The chick that attacked you??”

“Yeah. If there’s any blood on the handle of that gun, it’s from that woman’s nose.”

“Shit… Any idea who it was?” Morgan asks, knowing full well who it was already.

“Yeah, uhh, funny thing that.”

“Huh?”

“Before she tried to shove a bag over my head, the woman did tell me who she was.”

“And who was it?”

“She told me her name was Neridia.”

35

We’re at DEFCON 1.

She’s here.

My old business partner - the woman I’ve been hiding from all these years and the reason I came to this desolate island in the first place – has finally found me.

She’s somewhere in the immediate area; she’s already attacked my daughter; and she’s probably not happy.

This is bad.

Even Thalia’s chips couldn’t quell the anxiety caused by this disturbing development.

On the plus-side, confronting Aaron sounds like child’s play now, something which may or may not be a pun.

Falco, Thalia, and I are now standing just a few feet away from the entrance to the chamber. Red light assails our eyes, while the ear-splitting sound of a crying baby assails our ears. It’s like standing outside the weirdest nightclub ever.

I tighten my grip on the handle of my new gun, and then look at Thalia. I’m trying to decide what I should do with her. I could bring her inside with me, which isn’t a good idea. But, leaving her outside with that crazy bitch running around on the loose isn’t particularly good for her health, either. At least, if Thalia comes with Falco and I, I’ll be able to protect her with my new gun.

I sigh.

She and Falco watch me, awaiting the command that it’s apparently on me to give.

Nodding at both of them, I move to the chamber’s entrance.

The baby crying sound becomes almost unbearable when I reach the top of the ladder. What the fuck is going on down there??

I lean down and poke my head into the chamber, cognizant of the fact that, if I’m not careful, I might lose it.

Isa’s on the side of the chamber closest to me, near the back-right pillar, which is lit up like the evening sun. She’s sitting on the floor, her knees to her chin, with a gag in her mouth. After her absurd decision to come to this chamber on her own, seeing her gagged like that makes me incredibly happy, almost as much as the fact that she’s okay.

I don’t see the guns anywhere.

Casting my gaze up and deeper into the chamber, I see Aaron, standing on the raised section of the floor with the eight/ate snake picture.

Just in front of him is something that takes a few moments for my mind to process. This is due to the fact that I’ve never seen something like this before in my entire life.

At first glance, it looks like a simple cloud of dark, black smoke. But, when I look at it more, I see that that smoke is actually in the vague form of a baby! The dark, roiling cloud extends in four directions for the extremities; it has dark patches for its eyes, nose, and mouth; and it’s got… well… something that clearly indicates that it’s a boy.

Smoke-baby isn’t happy. The sheer volume and pitch of its crying is starting to irritate my bones.

I watch the baby for a few minutes as it writhes in obvious agony, while I try to figure out what the hell to do.

What the hell is all this? Is Aaron doing something to the baby-ghost? And, if he is, should I stop him? I’d turn around and see what Falco reckons, but I can barely even hear my own thoughts now, so there’s no point trying to communicate.

I could probably put a round in Aaron’s leg and get him off that pedestal. Or, I could probably seize the opportunity and grab Isa, before the kid/guy opens his eyes.

Fuck! This is worse than trying to decide between spirits and wine.

Eventually, I decide to go for Isa.

Pivoting around, I nod to the two concerned faces staring at me from outside the chamber, and start making my way down.

It takes me seconds to reach the stone floor.

Only a few more pass before I reach Isa.

Her eyes are closed.

I poke her a few times to see if I can wake her.

Nothing.That works for me.

I scoop the woman up in my arms and then sling her over my shoulder. I consider removing the gag before I do this, but I decide against it.

Thalia and Falco look down at me from the surface, as I ascend the ladder.

Just as I reach the top of that ladder, the world goes dark.

I turn my head just in time to see the faint glow left in the pillar to my right die away.

The crying dies along with it, leaving in its wake a sustained, high-pitched whine in my ears.

I heave Isa off my shoulder and onto the snow around the chamber’s entrance. Thalia gently guides her unconscious body to the ground.

Then, I try to heave myself out.

I don’t get far.

Something grabs my left leg, pulls me into the abyss that is the darkened chamber, and pins me to the floor.

Bullets fly from the barrel of my gun, as I begin to shoot wildly around the chamber. In the moments of illumination accompanying the muzzle flashes, I can see Aaron’s face appear at various spots around me.

I see the kid’s face way off target as the last of the shots are fired. By the time I run out of bullets, he’s still alive and well, if not more than a little agitated.

Blows start raining down on my left cheek. The little bastard’s strong for his age.

When I find that I can’t kick him off me, I swivel the gun around to hold it by the barrel and use the handle as a weapon.

The recently traveled barrel doesn’t burn the shit out of me, thankfully, allowing me to land some heavy blows on the kid’s skull without cooking myself.

I was in two minds about hurting the kid when I came down here; I don’t give a fuck now.

Once he’s off me, I rise and make for the ladder.

I determine its direction through the sound of Falco and Thalia’s calls alone.

It’s only when a candle is lit by the tunnel’s entrance that I truly get a clue where I’m going.

Two seconds later, I’m halfway up the ladder.

Again, I’m pulled down.

Aaron straddles me again, and starts laying into my nose and eyes with his fist. I’m already starting to feel consciousness slipping away.

I send my elbow up toward the kid’s chin, just before Thalia jumps onto his back, and rolls away with him deeper into the chamber.

In the light from a lantern that I presume is being held by Falco, I watch Thalia straddle the kid the same way he did me, and send her fist into his skull in the same manner she did to my table last night.

She does this again and again until, finally, Aaron has been subdued.

I rise and wipe the sweat from my brow. Then, I go over and join my daughter.

She looks up at me, guilt apparent in her expression.

Thalia looks down to the unconscious Aaron, then back up to me. “I’m going to hell, aren’t I?”

“Probably.”

I reach down, scoop Aaron up in my arms, and turn to the chamber’s entrance.

“But at least it’ll be warm there.”

36

“You know how, in books and movies, there’s a big storm during the fight with the bad guy that wears off the moment he’s been subdued and all is well?”

“Yeah,” Falco responds.

“Why the fuck can’t that happen in real life?”

Both Thalia and Falco look up at the sky, still showering us with water as though it were trying to make a statement about our hygiene.

Thalia’s eyes settle on Falco. “How far away is this ship of yours?”

“Too far,” Falco huffs, brushing water from his eyes and adjusting his grip on the heavy child in his arms.

I twist slightly to look at Thalia, over the ass of the sleeping woman on my shoulder. She’s got both of the guns we found on Isa in her hands, and she’s keeping an eye on the forest around us for trouble. Apparently, Isa never drew either of her guns on the kid; Aaron probably never knew about them. In any case, I feel safer knowing that, if Aaron wakes up before we get back, he’s gonna wake up to the sight of the barrels of two loaded guns pointing at his face. Knowing that I have my own pint-sized, heavily armed security guard while that woman is stalking around out here is a great comfort as well. Still, I’m trying to hustle.

“I meant to thank you,” I say, eyeing Falco.

“Thank me? For what?”

“For lighting Thalia’s lantern and keeping it lit while two girls did the fighting for you back in the chamber. I don’t know what we would have done without your lantern-holding bravery.”

Falco winces. “Well, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

“Isa’s kid is possessed and we’ve still made no headway whatsoever on getting rid of that ghost. What about all this sounds like a win to you, Falco?”

Falco shakes his head, then casts his attention to Isa, draped over my shoulder like a wet towel. “How long do you think it’ll be before she wakes up?”

“Dunno,” I answer. “But, when she does, I have a feeling I’m gonna be in for it.”

Finally, a yellow pinprick of light appears in the distance. The Neridia is taking its sweet time about sinking to its final resting place at the bottom of the ocean. There’s something vaguely poetic about my old ship’s last act being guiding me to my new one (well, it’s not exactly mine, but you get the point). I love ships; you can always count on them to lead you to a better place. I look forward to meeting the one Isa’s gonna buy me as payment for destroying my old one.

“Why do you think you’ll be ‘in for it’?” Thalia asks from her position behind me.

“We beat the living shit out of her kid. How happy do you think she’ll be when she learns that?”

“The kid tried to kill you, Morgan,” Thalia points out. “Or, uhh, Chloe.”

“Whatever.” I wave off the name thing. “And he didn’t really try to kill me.”

Thalia scoffs. “Well, he sure as hell wasn’t trying to give you a massage!”

“I suppose that’s true. I’m counting on you two to back me up on that.” I eye Falco. “Got it?”

“Kid. Killer. Got it.”

“Good.”

“Do you want me to embellish the whole thing a bit, so you look better?” Falco asks.

“Definitely. If you can work a bunch of helpless puppies into your version of the story, all the better.”

“I’ll think about it and see what I can come up with.”

“Good stuff.”

In the light of the burning ship behind us, I watch Falco and Thalia struggle up the side of Falco’s ship and onto the deck. We all had to squeeze onto the wooden tender from this ship since the inflatable raft from my ship was as flat as a pancake when we found it on shore, something I’m interpreting as its final ‘fuck you’ to its owner.

When my two conscious companions reach the top of the rope ladder, I pull Isa back onto my shoulder and then begin the precarious climb. For a short, borderline emaciated woman, Isa weighs a ton; she’s not quite heavy enough to warrant sending my daughter and Falco off to find a block and tackle, but still, Jesus Christ.

Thirty supremely uncomfortable seconds later, Thalia’s helping me off the top of the ladder and onto the deck.

“What are we gonna do with these two?” Falco asks me, looking between Aaron in his arms and Isa on my shoulder.

“You got any rooms on this tub that lock from the outside?”

“There’s a couple of small storage areas down below which can’t be unlocked from inside, if memory serves.”

“Should do the trick.” I turn to Thalia. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“Name it.”

“I need you to take this thing a couple of miles away from the shore. Then, I want you to drop the anchor, and keep an eye out for any signs of trouble.”

Thalia’s left eyebrow arches. “Signs of trouble?”

“Yeah.”

“That’d make a great album title.”

“Huh?”

“Signs of Trouble: the new album by Thalia Blackwood.” Thalia nods approvingly at her own idea.

“A musician so amazing that she can make an entire album without knowing how to play a single instrument.”

“I could easily learn an instrument if I put my mind to it.”

“I suppose you could, if you had one.”

“An instrument or a mind??”

“One of each would be useful.”

“What are you saying??”

“Ladies, please…” Falco massages his temples. “What trouble are you expecting, Morgan?”

“Your men would still be operating under the assumption that I’m an escaped murderer, yeah?”

“I can’t see any reason why they wouldn’t be.”

“So I’d imagine they’re still looking for us. Is that right?” I address my query to Thalia.

“Hell yeah they are. They think you kidnapped Falco and stole his ship. Some of them are also pretty pissed about the fact that you made them make the eight mile trip back to Heron’s Bluff on foot.”

“I see.”

“If curses are real, I’d watch out, Morgan,” Thalia says. “If even half of what those guys who returned to the village today wished on you comes true, you’re screwed.”

I scratch my head with the barrel of my gun, just before it strikes me that that might not be the best of ideas. “Why would they return to the village?”

“To get supplies for the men still up there?” Falco theorizes.

“Or to get another ship,” I point out.

“Maybe.”

“Are you sure it’s Falco’s men you’re worried about?” Thalia asks me, through narrowed eyes. “Or that woman out there?”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten about her.”

“Are you gonna explain to me why a woman with the same name as our ship tried to kidnap me at some point?”

“It’s not our ship anymore, Thalia.” I adjust the position of Isa on my shoulder and begin to walk away.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Thalia calls to me, just before I motion to Falco to accompany me below deck.

“Yeah, I’ll explain it at some point,” I call back to her.

“That’s good. Because that’s not really a plot-twist I’m happy to let go unexplained.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I lean down and open the trapdoor near the stern of the ship, revealing a wooden ladder leading below. While I wait for Falco and our new prisoner to descend that ladder, I glance at Thalia, who’s glaring at me from near the ship’s wheel. “Call me if you see anything,” I tell her.

She hesitates a few moments, then nods.

“This hopefully won’t take long.”

“Why is there hay on this ship?” I ask Falco, just before lowering Isa onto one of the bales in the small storage compartment in the bowels of the ship.

Falco shrugs, looking just as mystified as I am.

“Hay and fishing equipment,” I go on, motioning to an array of rods on the wall. “Is the owner of this ship fishing for horses?”

“I suppose you’ll have to ask Sabina about it when you get back.”

“This ship is Sabina’s??”

“Indeed it is.”

I motion for Falco to follow me back out into the dark hallway bisecting the deck from end to nose. “Huh. I didn’t know that. We’ll have to be extra careful with it on our way back.”

Falco detects the sarcasm in my voice. “Morgan…”

“I’m just kidding. But we should probably head back soon, then, now that I know that.”

“So we don’t disrupt her business, you mean?”

I unlatch the door to a second storage compartment and let the door swing open. “No, to make sure she doesn’t go hungry.”

Falco moves into the room and places Aaron on another hay bale. “Why would she go hungry?”

“I think I’ve figured out why all this hay is here.”

Falco rolls his eyes and regards Aaron intently. “What do we do now?”

“We hurry back – she and her new beau Karellius are probably starving to death!”

“What are you gonna do about Aaron, Morgan?”

I place my hand on the man’s shoulder. “You’re gonna go pull a Jack and Jill, and fetch me a pale of water. I’ll wait here.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

37

A torrent of water strikes Aaron’s face.

His eyes snap open.

He tries to sit up from his position lying down on the hay-bale, but he quickly realizes he cannot.

His eyes move from the ropes binding his hands, down to where they bind his ankles, and then to me, looking at him over his shoes.

I raise my mug of steaming hot tea in the air and smile. “Evening, asshole!”

His beady eyes narrow, before they flick over to Falco, who puts the now-empty bucket down and leans against a wall, arms crossed.

I lean in close to him. “Who are you?”

“I’m Aaron, Morgan. Don’t you remember me?” His innocent-sounding voice makes me unsure about this whole thing, until I remind myself of what happened in the chamber just an hour ago.

“No,” I say, putting my cup down on the floor next to me. “Who are you really?”

“Aaron Aeterno.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“About what?”

“That you’re really Aaron Aeterno.”

“Let me check.” He leans his head forward and scans his body all over. “Yep. Pretty sure.”

I throw my hands in the air.

Falco moves in. He leans down beside Aaron, and looks at him. “Look… little guy… we can help you, you know. If you tell us the truth, we’ll make sure this all goes easier for you.”

Aaron swivels his head to meet Falco’s eyes, then he closes his own. “Your good-cop-bad-cop routine could use some work.”

“Aaron…” Falco begins, still keeping our rather juvenile interrogation tactic alive. “Come on… man. You can tell us: what’s really going on? Why were you down in that chamber before? What were you doing?”

Falco’s absurd attempt to sound hip through his use of the word ‘man’ makes me audibly snigger, and I can’t conceal it. He shoots me a dire look.

I get up off my chair and move in toward them.

Falco moves aside, and I take his place beside Aaron.

Hate quite obviously burns in the kid’s eyes. It burns in mine, too, but more because I missed dinner than anything else.

“What were you doing down in that chamber, Aaron?” My tone is serious.

He doesn’t answer.

“How did you know the chamber was there?”

Again, nothing.

“What do you know about this ghost that has been haunting Heron’s Bluff all this time? What were you doing to it?”

Still, silence.

“What sickness did you have before? How did you get better?”

No response whatsoever.

“Why did the chicken cross the road?”

Aaron’s eyes roll, just before he shuts them.

Fuck.

I stand, and motion for Falco to join me out in the hall.

He closes the door behind us. “I pictured this going better.”

“Me, too.”

“What do we do now?”

“I’m thinking we get some rubbing alcohol. Then you hold open his eyes, while I slowly…”

“Mom!” Thalia’s voice tumbles down the hall from the trapdoor.

Falco and I exchange glances, before heading off to investigate.

“It’s a ship,” Falco informs me, looking over the nose of the ship and out toward the obviously ship-shaped silhouette in the distance.

“And here I was thinking it was a dragon,” I drawl.

“It’s definitely an ETC ship,” Falco says, ignoring my comment.

“How do you know?” Thalia asks from my side.

Lightning flashes. In the brief moment of illumination, I recognize the ship; I’ve seen it a million times in the marina. “That’s that ship that makes runs between Heron’s Bluff and Frostridge, aye?”

“The same,” Falco responds. “We were originally going to use that to pursue you and Isabella when you escaped last night, but it was in for repairs.”

“Necessitating Sabina to step in and donate her ship to the cause.”

“Yes. She was more than happy to aid our efforts to capture you.”

“How generous of her.”

Falco turns away from the approaching vessel and looks at me. “You probably shouldn’t be here when they are, at least initially.”

I glance at the angry looking sea beneath us, off the side of the ship. “Options?”

“Go below while I talk to them. Once everything’s been explained, I’ll call you.”

I shove my hands in my pockets and turn back toward the trapdoor. “Fair enough. I’ll wait for your signal.”

“Don’t forget to check on Isabella while you’re down there.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The trapdoor bangs shut above me, leaving me alone in the hall, lit by a single candle just a bit down the way.

The sound of rain striking wood above me fills the silence.

The entire ship sways in the storming sea, forcing me to hold onto a doorknob every so often for stability.

Before I go check on Isa, I decide to check something else.

My revolver is still full, ready to shoot. I knew that before I checked it, but I wanted to make sure, for reassurance more than any practical reason.

I’m uneasy about the cavalry’s arrival.

I’m pretty sure Falco is sincere when he says he’s gonna keep me safe from the ETC and the law that they, in these parts, uphold, but I’m not taking any chances.

Who knows what Karellius’ been telling them.

Who knows what conclusions they’ve drawn about me when Larry told the rest of the men what happened.

And who the fuck really knows what’s in Falco’s head.

I suddenly feel rather claustrophobic inside this small hall.

I’m trapped here, I realize.

If anything goes wrong out there, I’m absolutely screwed.

Holy shit.

The trapdoor above me suddenly creaks open.

Rain pours in, just before Thalia’s feet appear on the ladder.

A dull, metallic thud accompanies the shutting of the trapdoor.

“Hey.” She walks over to me.

Her eyes fall upon my gun when she gets close. “You expecting trouble?”

“Maybe.” I turn to head down the hall.

Thalia runs ahead of me, and roots herself in place before me, blocking me. “Uh-uh.”

“What?”

“We need to talk.”

I cast an apprehensive look to the ceiling. “This isn’t the best time, T.”

“Don’t care.” Her eyes are fixed on me.

I blow out a breath, and lean on an adjacent wall. “Fine. Talk.” I look at her expectantly.

“Let’s get something out of the way first.”

“Mmm.”

“I love you.”

I curse the butterflies that flutter in my stomach. “Okay…”

“Not in a weird, perverted way, I should note.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“But what the fuck, Morgan?”

Here we go. “What are you referring to, specifically?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t. You could be talking about the murder thing. The kid thing. Any thing.”

“I’m talking about what happened last night, in our living room.”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.”

“What about it?”

Her blue eyes, looking up to me, soften. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Why were you such a bitch to my girlfriend?”

“Because she’s insufferable, Thalia. I don’t know how you can stand her.”

“But I can stand her, Morgan. I do stand her.”

“Why?”

“Because, despite her faults – and she does have many – she loves me.” Thalia comes closer to me, and leans her back on the wall next to me. “Who does that remind you of?

I avert my gaze.

“Do you know how nice it is to feel loved by someone, Morgan? And do you know how it feels to feel safe with someone? To feel like they’ve got you, and they’re not gonna let you go? That no matter what happens, they’ll be there for you if you need them?”

The floorboards fill my vision. I swallow. “No.”

Thalia’s eyes flick over to me. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I look at her. “If you wanted an honest answer, then no; I don’t know what that feels like.”

“You think I wouldn’t be there for you if you needed me?”

I push off the wall. “I have to go check on Isa, Thalia.”

Thalia pushes me back to the wall, preventing me from going anywhere. “Answer my fucking question, Morgan. Do you really think I wouldn’t be there for you if you needed me?”

“At the moment, no.”

“But outside of this moment?”

I try to pry the hand pinning my shoulder to the wall off me. “I need to go.”

“You’re not leaving here until I find out what’s really going on with you. I want to know why you’ve been off lately, and I want to know now.”

“Because you’re leaving!” I snap.

The gentle patter of rain fills the hallway.

A knot forms in my stomach.

Thalia shakes her head. “What are you talking about?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, and breathe. “You got a letter, from the Imperial University. I know you applied for a course in psychology there. I know you’re leaving, Thalia.”

“I got a letter from the University?”

“Yeah. I was going to give it to you, but uhh…” I indicate our surroundings.

She nods, thinking. “What did the letter say?”

“It said you got in.”

A corner of her mouth curls upward. “I got in?”

“Yeah.”

“I got in??”

“You did.”

“Yay!!” She does a little happy dance, right there in front of me. It’s so ridiculous and out of place that I can’t help but smile at it.

When she stops, she regards me, still wearing a smile. “So that’s what all this has been about?”

“No, I figured you were going to leave since I noticed that things with Laura were getting serious.”

“So why didn’t you talk to me??”

“Because… I… I…”

Thalia holds up a hand, cutting me off. “I know why you didn’t say anything, Morgan.”

“You do?”

“Yep.”

I hold out a pair of spread hands. “Anytime you’re ready.”

“You didn’t say anything because you aren’t a person who says things, because you’re a person who doesn’t like to admit the fact that they feel things.”

“And so what if I am?” There’s way too much vitriol in my voice.

She indicates out surroundings. “Things like this happen.”

“Things like wha…”

The sound of an explosion cuts me off.

I’m sick to death of things cutting me off.

The entire ship lurches backward, then, sending Thalia and I tumbling into the ladder, and twisting my ankle.

“What the fuck was that?” Thalia asks me.

I watch in horror as water begins to spill out from the crack underneath a nearby door.

“You tell me.”

38

There’s a hole in the side of the ship.

The creation of that hole was what caused that explosion that cut me off.

Do you wanna know why there’s now a hole in the side of the ship?

I’ll give you a hint: it has something to do with the ship just a half a click away from ours, and the fact that it has its cannons out.

It’s turning now away from us now, which sounds, at first brush, like a good thing, but it’s not.

It’s coming around to hit us with its port-side cannons, after having a go at us with the ones on its starboard.

All kinds of theories run through my mind as Thalia and I stand there in the deluge, watching the ship come about with our mouths agape as to why it’s attacking us. Did the men on board figure it’d be better to shoot first and ask questions later, when dealing with the dastardly Chloe O’Conner? Is Ferdinand on that ship, on a mission to destroy everyone who knows his first name? Are Karellius and Sabina trying to sink this ship, under the belief that if they can’t have the hay below then no one can?

There are many possible explanations, but I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on here. And, if I’m right, then I need to get the hell out of here.

I scan the deck for Falco but find nothing.

Actually, that’s not entirely true actually.

I do find something.

I find that the nose of the ship is sinking.

Which means that Aaron and Isa will soon be underwater.

Holy shit!

I turn to Thalia and place my hands on her shoulders, as if I’m about to shake my next words into her. “I need you to find Falco and get him to shore.”

“What?” Her head whips around. “Why? How? What??”

Thalia’s panicking. I’ve never seen her do that before. Seeing it strikes more fear into me than the fact that the ship’s nose is starting to go under, and the image of the enemy ship heading straight for us.

It’s actually making a beeline this way, strangely enough. It didn’t bother having a go with its other cannons. Could it be out of ammo? Or is whoever it is that’s on that ship intending to board?

They’d better be here quick if they intend on the latter; there won’t be any ship left to board in a couple of minutes.

“Thalia,” I say. I place my hand on her chin and bring her eyes to mine. She’s hyperventilating. I lean down to her. “Hey, calm down. You’ll be alright. You just need to do as I say. Can you do that?”

She nods.

“Find Falco. He’s probably unconscious somewhere, knocked-out by the impact. Find some debris and wait on top of it for an hour. If I don’t find you by then, swim to shore. We’re not that far out yet. It’ll probably take you thirty to forty minutes.”

She looks apprehensively at the turbulent water. Then, she nods.

“Okay.” I give her a quick peck on the forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

I turn and make for the trapdoor.

When I get there and lift it up, I catch a glimpse of the enemy ship.

It’s almost here, but it’s not slowing down or wavering in its course.

I realize in moments what it’s doing.

It’s not trying to sink us.

It’s not trying to board us.

It’s trying to annihilate us.

And, given how much bigger it is than us, it’ll probably be successful.

If only a dinner party was the only thing I had to worry about tonight…

The trapdoor closes above me, just in time for me to get a decent grip on the ladder, before the world upends.

Water comes crashing down the hallway, submerging me instantly in the wake of the head-on collision with the enemy ship.

I take in as much air as I possibly can before the water consumes me.

Then, I kick off the ladder, and head for the storage areas through a screen of bubbles.

At the end of the hall, I try to decide between helping Aaron or Isa first.

It takes a single millisecond to head for Isa’s room.

The door is unlatched, I notice, which is strange because it was locked before.

I push the door open and have a look inside.

Empty.

What the fuck?

I swim around a few moments to make sure, but it’s a small space. Isa’s definitely not in here.

Weird.

I swim over to Aaron’s room.

When the door to his ‘cell’ swings open, I find that he’s gone, too.

Then I find out why they’re gone. Or, at least how.

There’s a big hole in the back wall of Aaron’s room, probably caused by the first cannon ball.

I’m betting that Aaron got free somehow, grabbed Isa, and took off with her through there.

That’s not good.

Neither’s running out of breath.

On that note, I paddle toward that hole, and head for the surface.

There’s air up here on the surface, but that’s pretty much the only good thing I can say about it.

The waves are angry.

The cold is bitter.

I can’t see anyone anywhere.

And the flagpole is the only part of Falco’s ship that’s still above water.

The enemy ship seems fine, though, unfortunately.

It’s got a giant dent in the front where it collided with our ship, but it’s otherwise untouched.

Salt water stings my eyes, as I squint to get a better look at the stationary ship through the darkness.

On its deck is a hooded figure, just like I expected.

It’s looking right at me, with its arms crossed.

That’s my cue.

Rotating in the current, I point myself in the direction I believe land is in, and then start swimming.

I’ll have a look for Thalia and Falco on the way in, but, if I can’t see them now, it means that my daughter probably couldn’t find any debris to settle on and instead decided to go straight for the island.

Between the sharks, the cold, and the distance between here and the island, I don’t see this all ending well.

Still, I am able to try, and I don’t really have anything better to do.

Several minutes of steady freestyle later, and I start to think I’m making good time.

Things are looking up!

That is until I feel a sharp pain in the back of my neck.

Could it be some sort of sea creature with a deadly bite?

Or am I being too optimistic?

I reach back and feel around.

I find an object back there, lodged in my skin.

I pull it out to find that it’s a small, fine-tipped steel dart.

I’ve seen this kind of dart before.

I’ve used this kind of dart before.

Weariness grips me instantly, just before my eyes shutter, and I fall asleep in the ocean.

39

Everything hurts.

That’s the first thought I have as I blink my way back into consciousness.

My neck hurts; my arms hurt; my back hurts; my ankle hurts…

This has, by far, been the worst trip I’ve ever been on.

“Hello?” My voice comes out as a rasp; it’s quite attractive, actually, if I do say so myself. I’m definitely getting a cold, so I’ve got about two days to sound sexy as hell.

“Chloe, Chloe, Chloe, Chloe…” A soft, lilting voice sounds from somewhere in front of me, tainted with disappointment. My eyes are covered with a tight ring of fabric, but I don’t need them to know to whom that voice belongs.

“It’s just ‘Chloe’, Neridia. You only need to say it once.”

“Chloe, Chloe, Chloe, Chloe…” The woman sounds like a reproachful school teacher, tutting and shaking her head in the wake of a student’s misbehavior.

“Neridia, Neridia, Neridia, Neridia.”

I hear her footsteps approach. I try to move, but, given that my hands and feet are bound tightly to a chair, it doesn’t do much for me. This is the second night in a row that I’ve ended up tied to a chair, which is annoying, but, if you don’t count the ropes, this is pretty much how I spend most of my evenings anyway.

“Have you missed me?” the woman asks. Her warm breath disperses over my face. It smells like peppermint, and not death, as I always expect it to.

“No, I see you all the time.”

“What?”

“You’re constantly in my nightmares.”

She laughs. It’s like music; a perfectly arranged tune that echoes pleasantly into the ether, no doubt just as she’d wanted it to.

“What do you want?” I ask her, just wanting to get this over with. After all this running from her, I pictured myself being a lot more afraid of her than I am right now. I’m feeling very tranquil at the moment, which I suppose makes sense given that I was just tranquilized.

“For starters, I’d love to know why the hell you named your ship after me.” Her voice comes from my left now.

“Somehow, I always knew it’d keep me afloat for a while, before I watched it burst into flames and sink to the bottom of the ocean. I thought it was the perfect metaphor for our relationship.”

“We were never in a relationship!” she snaps.

“Partnership. Whatever. Next question.”

“Where’s my money?”

“You and this money thing again. You need to get over that, Neds.”

My head flies back, and my hair strains against its attachment to my scalp, as the woman yanks a large clump back. “I don’t have time for games, Chloe.”

“In our hectic, fast-paced society, who does?”

She pulls my hair back further. It hurts, but the feeling’s somehow far away. I actually feel pretty damned good, in a spaced-out, dizzy kind of way. If I knew those poison darts did this, I would have started jabbing myself recreationally with ‘em years ago.

“My fifty thousand dollars, Chloe. Where is it?” Her voice is harsh but still overwhelming seductive, as usual.

“I have no idea where it is, Neridia. Have you checked between the cushions on your couch? I’m always losing things in there.”

She tightens her grip on my hair. “I think you know exactly where it is,” she tells me, her soft voice in my ear sending tingles down to all kinds of places on my body.

“Reasoning?”

She pulls the blindfold off my face. My vision is greeted by my sketch of the arthritic snowman, with lines around it denoting the various other landmarks in that snowfield along with a big ‘X’ where the money is. “What’s this?”

“It’s a map. Can’t you tell? Your vision was never the best, but that’s pretty bad, Neds.”

“Where is this?” she asks me.

It’s dark in here, but I’m still able to get a good look at the blonde standing over me. Time has treated her well. Her supple white skin, high cheekbones, and crystal, blue eyes still work in tandem to form a face that the majority of men (and some women) would gladly die for. The woman regards me with a pair of soft eyes, and a subtle tilt of her head. She looks up at me, kneeling at my side in a position that would suggest supplication if it weren’t for her hand in my hair. She doesn’t appear angry, but she never does. It’s impossible to tell what this woman is feeling by sight, since her personality dial got stuck on ‘seduce’ when she was about 16 and never moved. Instead, you need to rely on her actions to suss out what’s happening in her mind, and her actions for the past eight years tell me that she’s not happy. Maybe fucking with her is actually not the best of ideas.

The ground is moving, I notice. That, coupled with the fact that the four wooden walls around us form a room that looks very much like a ship’s hold tell me that I’m probably in a ship’s hold.

“What is the location of the X on this map, Chloe? Please tell me.” Her voice is slow, soft, and barely a whisper.

Many years ago, at school, one of my old English teachers used to tell us that, whenever we get stuck on something in class or in life, it’s always helpful to set a small, achievable goal to get you started again. I’m stuck here, so: Small goal: convince Neridia that I don’t know where the money is.

“That map is for something else,” I tell her. “I don’t know where the money is.”

“That’s not the truth. Please tell me the truth, Chloe.”

That teacher was a fuckwit.

Still, there’s value in perseverance, I suppose.

“I’m telling you, it’s for something else.”

“What then?”

“It’s the location of a small plot of land I’m thinking of buying.”

“For what purpose?”

“Uhh… holiday house.”

Her fist connects with my cheek with a dull crunch.

Yep. I can definitely feel pain again.

“Where is this spot?” she demands, her sultry demeanor cracking.

“I don’t know.”

Her fist comes crashing down on the side of my jaw once more, rattling every one of my teeth in their sockets.

“I still don’t know!”

And again.

Holy fuck. I’m not sure I can take another one of those. The pummeling I got from Aaron earlier was nothing in comparison to this.

There’s a thick, warm liquid in my mouth.

I spit it out onto the wooden floor in front of me.

It was blood.

She grabs my hair again and tilts my head, placing hers only inches from mine. “Where the fuck is my money??”

I can’t tell her.

Especially not knowing what I know now.

I shake my head slowly, and then brace for another impact.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, takes a few steps away from me, wheels around, and exits the room.

“Where are you going?”

“To get something to loosen your tongue,” she says, just before the heavy wooden door to the room slams shut.

An hour passes.

It’s probably 9pm now.

Any other night and I would have been in alcohol for three hours already.

Instead, I’m here, waiting for this psycho, freezing my ass off inside a strange ship.

The sound of rain above is my only companion in this small room.

I’ve long since given up trying to wriggle my way out of these ropes.

As such, all I can do is sit here and think.

About Isa and Aaron.

About Thalia and Falco.

About Neridia and how I’m gonna get out of this mess.

And about the fact that I seriously need to pee.

I’d just go right here, but, as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t want to do anything to compromise my appearance any more for when Neridia comes back.

Yep, she’s that good.

Or maybe I’m just that pathetic.

I have a lot of company if it’s the latter.

For anyone else, I’m barely motivated to go put on some eyeliner.

With Neridia, I’d still spend an hour in the bathroom before even considering seeing her.

I used to love that about her way back when, especially after her ability to do that to people got us the first permanent roof to ever extend over our heads.

Now, it just makes me sick.

I think that’s progress.

Jesus, I hope Thalia, Falco, and Isa are safe.

Ten minutes later, I hear footsteps coming closer.

The sound of soles hitting wood gets louder and louder until they stop, and the door creaks open.

Someone comes in.

But it isn’t Neridia.

It’s Thalia.

Neridia comes in after her.

Thalia’s hands are bound; she has a blindfold over her eyes; and has a dirty, cloth gag in her mouth.

She’s also sopping wet.

Neridia must have caught her.

This must have been what Neridia meant when she said that she was gonna get something to loosen my tongue.

Oh, shit.

Neridia’s dragging a chair behind her.

She places it opposite me, and then guides Thalia into it.

Neridia struts around behind Thalia’s chair, and then leans over her, looking at me. “Can you imagine my surprise when I came to this desolate cinder in the ocean to hear that you – Chloe O’Conner – had a daughter?”

Thalia’s head moves slightly; she’s probably realizing where she is.

I laugh nervously. “Yeah. It’s so weird, aye?”

Neridia runs a gentle finger over Thalia’s cheek, her eyes still fixed on me. “I couldn’t believe it until I saw it with my own eyes. You two, in a house, sitting around a dinner table, entertaining company – a perfect picture of domesticity.”

Shit! Neridia was there at dinner last night, probably looking at us through the window as we ate! If it wasn’t for the silo explosion, this confrontation might have happened in my living area or bedroom, rather than an ETC ship out in the middle of nowhere.

Neridia leans her mouth into my daughter’s ear. “Do you wanna hear a story about your mother, Thalia?”

Thalia gives her head a little shake.

“It’s a shame, cos it’s a good one.”

“Shut up, Neridia,” I tell her, my chest beginning to rise and fall.

Neridia places her index finger over her lips, then, and removes it once she’s made her point. “It was a cold winter evening…” she continues.

“The owls were purring… the crickets were squawking…”

“And there was little old me, standing on the sidewalk, barely wearing anything. I was so cold, and I didn’t know what I was going to do, but then a nice man walked up and offered me a place to stay for the evening, so I went with him.”

“Hey, shut the fuck up!” This is serious shit; I had no idea she was going to do this.

“Silence costs, Chlo. It can be yours for only fifty thousand.”

I say nothing.

Thalia’s head shifts slightly when she hears the $50,000 figure.

Neridia resumes stroking Thalia’s cheek, and continues. “The man took me back to his hotel, where we sat by the fire for a while and talked. He told me he was a merchant from Corinth, come to open a new shop in my hometown (at least back then). But, of course, I already knew that.”

“Neridia,” I say.

“Something to say?”

“Yeah. My daughter’s a smart girl. There’s no way she’s gonna believe the bullshit that comes out of your mouth. You should save your breath.”

Neridia’s mouth twists into a smile that exposes a pair of pearly, white incisors. “While the gentleman and I occupied each other, your mother crept in.”

My eyes narrow at her.

“She located the suitcase that the man conveniently left in the living room, when he and I retired to the bedroom. From it, she retrieved the money that the man had brought with him to open his store and populate it with wares. $50,000 in total. It was our biggest score to date, and, thanks to Chloe and I’s hard work and planning, it was to be our easiest. But then, something happened. Something that changed everything.”

“The mountain on the map is Threkald Peak,” I tell Neridia.

The woman’s smiles broadens. A crazed but genuine smile.

“The money is at the base of a tree near what can only be described as an ‘arthritic snowman’.”

“What?”

“Just follow the map.”

Neridia leaves Thalia’s shoulders, and straightens up. “Actually, I’d rather follow you.”

“Fine.”

“But first,” Neridia says, extending her arms above her head and stretching. “We’re going to get a good night’s sleep. Then, we’ll head for shore first thing in the morning.”

“After a big, hearty breakfast, right?”

“Of course.”

Silver lining located.

“I need to pee.”

40

Neridia served fish for breakfast.

She cooked them like she’s always cooked them:

Not well.

I never want to see another fish again.

We’re on the shore of the cove now, walking through the forest toward the arthritic snowman, underneath a bright but inadequately warm sun.

I’m starting to think I should build a road from this cove and through the forest up ahead, since it seems to be my lot in life to traipse back and forth through it until the end of time.

I’ve peed, in case you were wondering.

It was amazing.

Thalia and I are bound at the hands, and are being led by Neridia, who’s following my directions.

Neridia’s carrying a crossbow.

My old crossbow.

She’s still carrying my old crossbow, after all this time.

Seeing it in her hands makes me feel sad, strangely enough.

Not because I miss the bow.

I feel sad for her.

No one’s talking, which is probably a good thing since, if Thalia’s confused stares are anything to go by, I wouldn’t enjoy it if they were.

I don’t know what the girl makes of all this, but the knot in my stomach tells me that I’ll find out soon.

The only thing she’s said all morning was that she didn’t manage to find Falco before getting caught by Neridia.

I wish she’d started her vow of silence before she decided to deliver that piece of news.

There it is.

The rocky outcropping that we’ve been looking for.

The arthritic snowman.

She points at the map and then the tree next to the snowman. “Is this it?”

“It is.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“My sign that said ‘$50,000 lies here’ must have blown away in the wind.”

She approaches Thalia, her crossbow pointed at her. “Dig.”

Thalia looks from me, to the tree, and then to Neridia. “With what?”

“Don’t care.”

Thalia approaches the base of the tree, kneels down in front of it, and starts scraping at the snow with her fingers.

Neridia then directs the bow at me. “You, too.”

“Do you want me to shine your shoes as well, Neds? You want it, you get it.”

Thalia shoots me a worried glance over her shoulder. I can’t let her do it all by herself. This empathy thing sucks.

In a few seconds, I’m at the base of the tree, by her side.

Neridia watches us intently as we break through the thin layer of slush and then start work on the dirt.

“What’s the plan?” Thalia whispers, barely loud enough for even me to hear, just a few inches from her.

“We do what she says.”

Thalia’s still digging, but she’s looking at me. “You’re really gonna just let her get away with this?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Because I have to grow up at some point, I suppose.”

“The fuck?”

“Just go with it.”

“Hey!” Neridia’s shadow splashes over our work area. “What are you saying to one another?”

“Thalia was just telling me how she thinks she’s all that, and then I of course informed her that she’s not all that, and then Thalia just repeated her point at me but slightly louder, and then it sort of spiraled out of control from there.”

“Yeah, well, less talk, more work.”

“Yes, boss.”

Fuck, I’m channeling Larry now!

Eventually, Thalia and I remove the clothing bag containing the money.

I hand the mud-covered bag to Neridia, who takes it and looks inside.

“How do I know this is all of it?”

“How do we know that blonde is your real hair color?”

She rummages around inside the bag, then, mouthing a silent count.

Five minutes later, she closes the bag, satisfied.

Her thick, red lips form a predatory grin, and she advances on me, her crossbow still trained upon me.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment,” she says, stopping well inside my personal space.

“You have no idea how much I resent you for making me get that flower tattoo.”

“Eight long years…”

“Twenty-seven short minutes…”

“What?”

“Oh, I thought we were naming arbitrary units of time.”

“I searched for you for eight years.”

“And you don’t see how that’s a little, I don’t know, odd?”

“And every time I’ve come close to finding you, you’ve been long gone.”

“I know. I was there.”

“Except once.”

“Huh?”

“One time, many years ago, I found you. I stood over you, watching you sleep, and you didn’t have a clue.”

“Well, if that’s not creepy as fuck…”

“But, as much as I wanted to take you out of there, and beat the shit out of you to get out of you the location of my money, I didn’t.”

This is weird as hell. “Okay. Why?”

“Because I took pity on you.”

“You took pity on me?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And I unlocked your cell, and left you alone.”

Woah. “You’re the reason that cell door was unlocked?”

“Who else do you think would have done it?”

“I don’t know – a concerned citizen?”

Neridia laughs – a note-perfect replica of her laugh from last night. “The only thing those citizens cared about was getting a good view of the gallows in the morning.”

“Okay, so, what? Do you want a medal?”

Her soft eyes briefly narrow, before returning to their normal state. “I want you to come with me.”

I chuckle loudly. “You want me to what?”

“Come back with me.”

“Come back with you where?”

“To Ashenweir.”

“To what?”

“Our lives.”

“We never had lives, Neridia!” I motion at my old bow. “You still don’t!”

“Oh and you do?”

I glance at Thalia, who’s looking from Neridia to me, mystified. “Maybe I do.”

Thalia smiles.

Neridia’s face falls.

She looks horrified at my rejection.

By my count, she allows that genuine emotion to shape her expression for five seconds, before pushing it away.

Neridia gets even closer to me, placing her mouth right up to my ear.

I’m not a hundred percent sure what she’s doing, and it makes me uneasy.

All she ends up doing, however, is whispering.

“Very well, Chloe,” her small voice says. “Until we meet again–“

“I’ll be happy.”

She walks past me, then turns around, walking backward away from us in the snow. “We’ll see.”

With that, Neridia turns, and runs.

Thalia approaches me, wraps her arms around one of mine, and we both stare at the black spot against the snow that is my old partner, as it fades into the distance.

Soon, it disappears into the forest.

I look down at Thalia.

Thalia looks up at me.

“What the fuck was all that about?”

41

“What now?” Thalia asks me, staring across the field of snow below us, glistening in the morning sun.

“Now, we find Isa, Falco, and Aaron.”

“How do we do that?”

“I’m pretty sure it won’t be much of a challenge.” I start down the incline, toward that grove of trees in the distance. “Isa and Aaron will almost certainly be back at that chamber.”

“And Falco?”

“We’ll start looking for him after we’ve checked said chamber.”

“Or maybe we won’t have to.”

“What?”

“Mom…”

I stop and rotate to face Thalia.

She’s staring at something inland, to the east.

I follow her eye-line to see what that something is.

“You’re not dead!”

“Well-spotted, Morgan,” Falco tells me, approaching Thalia and I, with, to my surprise, Karellius, Ferdinand, and Larry.

“You had me worried there for a while!”

Falco and I approach each other with open arms. Halfway through the maneuver, though, we decide against the hug and settle for a hearty handshake.

“What happened?” I ask him.

“The enemy ship fired its cannons at us.”

“I know that. What happened to you?”

“The blast tossed me into the ocean and knocked me unconscious. If I hadn’t landed face-up, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

I’m still holding onto his hand, I notice. I quickly let it drop.

“Falco has informed us of the misunderstanding,” Karellius says, eyeing me with disdain.

Next to him, Larry eyes me with confusion. I haven’t a clue what Ferdinand’s looking at underneath his helmet.

“Misunderstanding?”

Falco quickly takes control of the conversation. “I have informed Vincent and Ferdinand of the facts regarding your murder charge, as well as the fact that you have taken up the task of helping the ETC by uncovering the mystery behind this ghost attacking its mine.” He looks to his right out of his peripheral vision at Ferdinand as he speaks to me.

“Okay…”

Falco nods once, seemingly to indicate that the matter is done with.

“What are you guys doing here?” I ask warily.

“We were on a ship to find you,” Karellius tells me, his voice a sneer. “I was enjoying a delicious beef sandwich in the commissary, when I was knocked unconscious by an unseen attacker. I woke up to find myself with Ferdinand and Dylan here on the shore.”

“Don’t you mean Larry?”

“What?” Karellius turns to the giant, square-jawed gentleman to his left.

Larry tosses his hands into the air.

“We found Falco wandering around a short time later.”

“I see. Any idea who it was that was responsible for relieving you of your ship?” I ask him, knowing full well that it was Neridia.

“We assumed it was you.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Well, you’d already commandeered one ship.”

“So you thought I was trying to build a fleet or something? A fleet of multiple ships, that I was going to somehow pilot on my own?”

Karellius squares his shoulders, which is difficult for him, considering that his body is more or less circular. “Perhaps.”

“Do you know what I find to be the weirdest part of that story, Karellius?”

“Mmm.”

“That someone managed to move your unconscious body.”

Falco winces. “Morgan…”

Karellius advances on me, but Ferdinand puts out a hand before him to stop him.

The Inquisitor swivels his helmet in my direction, the golden metal shining brightly in the sun. “Do you possess the location of Isabella Aeterno’s child?”

“I possess the location of the possessed child. Would you like me to give it to you, so that you also may possess that information, which is, as I have just said, currently in my possession?”

He falls silent for a few moments. Maybe he died in there. “Hello? Ferdy??”

“Lead us there,” he says.

“To do what?”

“To capture him.”

“And then?”

“And then deal with him.”

“How are we gonna do that?”

“You leave that to me.”

I think on that. Isa’s probably not gonna like that much. “I have an idea,” I tell them.

“Someone call the papers,” Karellius spits.

“It’ll probably be less morally questionable than giving the kid the bamboo treatment.”

“What is it, Morgan?” Falco asks.

I grab Thalia by the arm and start off in the direction of the chamber. “You boys follow me. I’ll explain on the way.”

“I’m not cut out for this sort of thing,” Karellius whines as we approach the grove of trees containing the chamber, for what seems like the millionth time.

“Why did you even come?” I ask him, observing the chamber’s open entrance from behind a fir tree, trying to see if there’s a light on in there in the daylight.

“Well, I couldn’t very well stay on the beach. Who knows what kind of monsters are out here?”

“Umm, probably zoologists, hunters…”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was answering your question.”

“What question?”

“You asked who would know what kind of monsters are out here. I told you.”

Falco shakes his head.

“What’s the plan, Morgs?” Thalia asks from my side.

“We go in there.”

“Okay…”

“Point our new guns in Aaron’s general direction.” I motion to the guns in everyone’s hands, graciously provided by Larry, who’s got a bag of ‘em, along with a ton of ammo (Falco’s men apparently thought I was going to prove quite a challenge).

“Uh-huh…”

“Tie him up.”

“Yeah…”

“Then go have lunch.”

Everyone nods in agreement, more at the last bit than anything else.

“And the other thing?” Falco asks.

“We do that after lunch.”

“Hear, hear!” Karellius wheezes, just before attempting to cough up his spleen.

42

We’re all standing around the chamber’s entrance, trying to decide who’s going in first.

“Well, Karellius is out,” I whisper.

“Why is that?” Falco asks.

I point at the small, square opening and then at Karellius. “Physics.”

The fat man huffs and waddles away.

“Ferdy couldn’t climb down there because of that stupid get-up he’s wearing. Thalia’s not going anywhere because it’s Thalia, so that just leaves…”

“You, me, and Dylan…” Falco says.

We look at Larry, who’s standing nearby. He’s slightly further away from the chamber than he was the last time I looked at him.

I roll my eyes, and then cast them into the chamber.

It’s dark.

No lights.

No sound.

Aaron might not even be down there.

I think I’m onto something when I hear the sound of a gunshot in the distance.

I look up just in time to see Karellius drop to the ground.

Oh, shit.

“Everyone take cover!” I call, and everyone fans out behind the trees, covering themselves from the direction of the sound.

I grab Thalia and Falco and pull them around behind the tree behind the trapdoor.

“Who do you think that is?” Falco asks.

“Who do you reckon?”

“One of my men who’s not in the loop?”

“It’s Aaron, you idiot.”

“How did he get a gun??” Thalia asks.

“There were probably a few floating around while the ship was sinking.”

“Guns don’t float.”

“Well, maybe he got one somewhere else.”

Another gunshot sounds.

It doesn’t hit anything as far as I can tell.

“Everyone alright?” I call.

I get yeses from Larry and Ferdinand.

We need to get Karellius out of the line of fire. I think he’ll be alright, but we’re gonna need to hurry.

“What now, Morgan?” Falco asks.

“That armor of yours bulletproof, Ferdy?”

“It is,” he answers. “From a distance, at least.”

“I’d estimate the shooter to be about seven, maybe eight hundred yards away. How do you think your armor will hold up at that range, if it took a direct hit from a standard revolver?”

“I wouldn’t even feel it.”

I need to get one of those suits at some point. “Excellent. Off you go. Get him to waste his ammo. Then, we’ll do the rest.”

“Right.”

The man in the golden armor moves out from behind the cover of the fir tree and back out into the open field.

Thalia’s leaning right into me. I’m not sure if it’s because of fear or if she’s trying to keep behind the trunk of the tree.

“I need you guys to do me a favor.”

Thalia and Falco look at me.

We hear the first gunshot.

A millisecond later: the sound of metal striking metal.

“You alright, Ferdy?”

His voice comes back immediately. “I am. I’m making my way toward the muzzle flash. It’s coming from up near the peak.”

Probably near the inlet.

“Good stuff.”

I turn back to Falco and Thalia, just before we hear another gunshot. “When Aaron stops firing, I’m going after him.”

Thalia wraps her arms around one of mine and squeezes.

“I need you guys to get Karellius and get him behind cover while I do it.”

“You’re not going up there alone,” Thalia tells me.

“You’re right about that,” I say, just before we hear yet another shot that clanks against Ferdinand’s armor.

“Larry?”

“Yeah?” the big man answers from his position behind yet another fir tree just in front of us.

“When the kid’s out of ammo, you’re with me.”

Larry mumbles something before replying. “Fine.”

“Why do you call me ‘Larry’?” Larry asks, as we creep in the direction of the gunshots which stopped a minute ago.

I advance toward the inlet, keeping low behind a rocky outcropping that looks vaguely like a wolf attacking an empty chair. “Do you want me to stop?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“That’s too bad.”

I stop behind yet another fir tree, and peek out, surveying the area. The area around the inlet seems clear, but we’re still pretty far away. This is where our ability to stay in cover ends – there’s nothing but clear snow from here to the water. By my count, Aaron fired a total of six shots before Larry and I started down here. That’s the maximum amount of ammo a revolver can carry. It isn’t the maximum amount a human can carry, though, so if Aaron’s got more bullets on him and has reloaded, we’re fucked.

“Morgan.” Larry taps my shoulder and points east.

Ferdy’s coming over to join us, walking out in the open without a care in the world. Suddenly, that armor he’s wearing doesn’t seem so ridiculous. He juts his chin at us in acknowledgment when he gets to our tree. “I saw movement up near the tree-line, on the other side of the river.”

“You think it’s a river?”

Ferdy’s head swivels to look at the strip of water bisecting the field. “It is a river.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Certainly.”

“Tell my daughter that when we get back.”

“Okay…”

“What’s the plan?” Larry asks.

My eyes roll. “Why is it always on me to come up with plans?”

He shrugs. “You seem like you know what you’re doing.”

“‘Seem’ is definitely a keyword there, but anyway.” I look at the Inquisitor. “As much as I’d like to take you with us, Ferds, I’m gonna have to make you sit this one out. I don’t trust that armor to take a hit at point blank, and stealth isn’t exactly your strong suit, so…”

“No problem.”

“Larry, here’s what we’re gonna do.”

I motion for him to peek out from behind the tree along with me, and look at the tree-line. “See those trees up there?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re gonna run like hell right up to ‘em.”

“I thought you just said we needed stealth??”

“We will, once we have something to hide behind.”

Larry’s box-shaped jaw sets. “Running across that field means a long time out in the open. What if the shooter still has ammunition?”

“Then we die.”

Larry winces.

“Or, we get seriously injured. Either one.”

The big man edges away from the tree, back in the direction of the chamber.

“Larry…”

He rolls his eyes and gets behind me. “Okay, okay.”

“Ready?” I ask him.

He nods.

“You two should split up,” Ferdinand’s muffled voice tells us.

“If we were in a relationship, I wouldn’t hesitate to agree.”

“No, I mean when you run out there. If you move out together, you’ll just be one big target.”

“As opposed to being two big targets?” Larry’s voice is quivering.

“Calm down, Larry,” I tell him, placing a hand on his arm. “We’ll do fine out there.”

Larry looks into my eyes, and then nods.

“Unless we get shot,” I go on. “Then we’re screwed.”

43

I just swam across the inlet/river.

Have a guess how much I enjoyed that.

I haven’t been shot yet, though, which is always a good thing.

Larry and I are converging on the forest from different directions: he headed inland and is hugging the peak on his way back around; I’m taking a roundabout way up to the forest by paralleling the island’s shore.

It takes ten minutes of cautious running to get to the forest, during which I realized that I probably misspelled ‘parallel’.

Larry isn’t here yet.

I should probably wait for him, but I don’t want to.

This little mission isn’t about capturing Aaron.

I couldn’t care less about that little shit.

At this point, I’m just here for Isa.

I’ll kill the kid for her if I need to.

I wonder how the ‘but he was a two thousand year old criminal’ defense would hold up in court against a child killing charge?

Probably not well.

I’ll have to aim for the knee-cap.

The forest is dark, which is uncomfortably ominous.

It’s dark because the sky is dark; a new layer of nimbus that’s been blowing in all morning just covered the blue sky.

It’ll start raining again soon, which is just fucking great.

I tread carefully across the forest floor, trying my hardest not to make a sound, but the layer of dead leaves on the ground cracks loudly in the wake of every step. Don’t they know I’m relying on being stealthy to survive? Or are they on Aaron’s side??

I cross the familiar field of yellows and browns, zig-zagging between the wooden pillars, until I’m back at the cove.

The Neridia, just like the human who shares its name, is gone, finally on the bottom of the ocean.

I can’t see Isa anywhere.

I also can’t see Aaron anywhere.

But I feel him when he lands on top of my head.

Pain flares in my skull as his feet come down on me from above, and we both descend to the forest floor.

Aaron straddles me and starts hitting me in the face with the butt of his gun.

Then, he throws his weapon away and tries to pry mine out of my hands.

He stops when I shoot his ring finger off.

He falls off me, then, howling in agony.

I stand, just in time to see him snarl in prepubescent rage, and come back at me, preparing to slash at my eyes with the long nails on his fingers.

But he doesn’t get far.

I fire off a round in front of him, and he stops in his tracks.

He looks at me, and at the barrel of the gun pointed at him.

“Where’s Isa?” I demand.

He says nothing, and instead just stands there, clutching the spot where his finger once was, trying to stem the flow of blood.

“Answer or I’ll shoot your big toe off.”

He backs away from me.

I straighten my gun arm. “Not a good idea.”

“She’s over there.” He motions to the cove.

I notice Larry running toward me from behind Aaron.

I wave him over.

He stops just behind the kid.

“You caught him!”

“No thanks to you, Larr.”

“Sorry.” He grabs the Aaron by the scruff of the neck and shows him his gun. Aaron nods once in acknowledgment of it.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, then bolt over to the cove.

I search the rocky surface as rain starts to spit from the heavens.

I spot Isa on the far side.

She’s lying face down on the rocks.

The risk of breaking an ankle be damned, I sprint over to her position.

I collapse at her side and roll her over.

When I do, I…

Oh, fuck…

Isa’s face is covered in blood.

It’s so scratched, swollen, and bruised that it barely looks like Isa anymore.

Those scratches weren’t the result of Neridia crashing into the ship last night.

Aaron must have beat the living hell out of her when he brought her back.

She’s breathing, but just barely.

In the unlikely event that I could get her to a doctor in time to save her, it’s unlikely she’ll ever fully recover from this.

She’ll definitely never look the same again.

I expect tears, but none come.

Instead, I start shaking, just before I turn around, and start back toward Aaron.

The heavens have opened.

Rain falls violently to the ground, just like Aaron does when I smash his face in.

I fall to my knees and lean over him.

Then I break his nose.

The kid opens his mouth to say something, but only a short, gurgling sound comes out.

After that, I grab him by the hair and drag him through the forest.

I dump him next to Isa’s body.

Blood pours from various places on his face, and gushes from his now unnaturally positioned nose.

“You raped her,” I spit.

He doesn’t reply.

“And then you stole her kid away.”

His eyes are glassy; he’s not even looking at me.

I lean down and jam the barrel of my gun into his forehead.

“And now you’re going to save her.”

His eyes flick to me.

“That’s right, asshole. I know you can do it.”

He closes his eyes.

I open them by picking up a small, sharp stone from nearby and dragging it hard against his cheek.

I show him my hand, the one that nails dropped off of. My skin is clear, and all the nails have grown back, miraculously, like nothing had ever happened.

“That chamber of yours healed you,” I say, my words slightly distorted by my heavy, quickened breathing. “So we’re gonna go there.” I pull back the hammer of my gun. “And if it can’t do the same for her, then I’m gonna spend the next week dicing you like a tomato.”

I turn to Larry, who looks horrified by everything that’s going on.

I grab Aaron by the hair and throw him at the big guy’s feet. “You take him.”

Then, I reach down, and scoop Isa up carefully in my arms.

“I’ll take her.”

44

Falco rushes over to me when he gets a look at the woman in my arms. “What happened??”

I ignore him and continue on my path through the grove toward the chamber entrance. “Ferdinand!”

He’s at my side immediately, after leaving Karellius’. “Yes?”

“You got any bamboo on you?”

“Oh, yes,” he says. “And more.”

“Excellent.”

“Mom?” Thalia’s keeping pace beside me, looking at Isa. “What happened??”

“He happened.”

She follows my chin to the kid in Larry’s arms. He’s not moving. I’m not sure if that’s because he’s being compliant, or if he’s in shock from having his nose suddenly fractured.

We arrive at the chamber’s entrance, and peer down into it, underneath an angry sky.

I turn to Larry, whose hands are stained with blood. “You go down first.”

He winces, and peers into the seven-foot-drop into the chamber. “I can’t keep a hold of him and climb down at the same time.”

“Then just toss him in.”

Falco steps in and takes the kid from Larry’s hands. “I’ll take him and hand him down to you.”

Larry swivels around and moves down the ladder.

“Mom?” Thalia places her hand on my arm. “What happened out there?”

“I’ll explain later.”

She looks toward the chamber. “What’s gonna happen in there?”

“If this little bastard doesn’t cooperate: something that none of us will ever forget.”

Thalia just looks at me.

“Now her,” Falco says, extending his arms.

I place Isa reverently into them, and Falco takes her the same way.

Then, I head toward the ladder.

Aaron’s lying face-up on the floor in front of us.

His face is a wash of shadows and blood in the dark space.

Ferdinand, Larry, and I stand over him, and he meets our stares with a faraway one of his own.

Falco and Thalia are behind us, kneeling over Isa, and I have no idea why. It’s not like they can do anything for her.

“Ferdy.” I motion at the kid.

Aaron recoils ever so slightly, as the golden man kneels down next to him.

“Do your thing.”

Aaron struggles away from the man then, as he reaches into a small compartment in his armor.

He pulls out a small, black device that looks like a mini vice.

The Inquisitor forces one of the boy’s thumbs inside the device’s two, sharp bars and starts twisting a small winder to close those bars.

Aaron looks on in horror as the device starts crushing his thumb. I’d give it under a minute before his thumb is as flat as a pancake.

“How do we operate this chamber?” I demand.

Unsurprisingly, Aaron says nothing.

Ferdinand tightens the device further, and Aaron’s eyes begin to water.

“I figure it might need to be calibrated in some way so that what happened to my hand doesn’t happen to the next person. I know it’s set to heal you. I want it set to heal her.” I point behind me, at Isa.

Aaron spits at the Inquisitor’s face, something that would probably be more effective if he weren’t wearing a protective mask over it.

Ferdinand tightens the vice over Aaron’s thumb some more. The thumb is now entirely white.

I advance on the kid. “How do I tune this device to heal Isa, Aaron?”

He spits at my face, but it ends up on jeans.

“We don’t have time for this, Aaron. Isa might not last much longer. And, if she dies, Ferdinand and I are gonna do things to you that would make the Devil himself vomit in disgust.”

Aaron’s eyes open wider, but his mouth remains closed.

I meet Aaron’s eyes. “Take the finger, Ferdy. We’ll still have eight more to go. Then, we’ll move onto other stuff.”

Ferdinand begins to tighten the device further and further until Aaron can’t take it anymore and starts screaming.

“Well, Aaron?”

“The statue to the left of the platform is a control panel!” Aaron screeches. “The symbols on it are buttons!”

I lean down next to the Inquisitor. “Keep the pressure on, Ferdy, and give me some fucking bamboo!”

He hands me a sliver and I inject it underneath one of the nails on Aaron’s left hand. “I wouldn’t have a fucking clue what to do with that panel. You go over there and operate it!”

“Very well!” he yells. “Enough!”

Ferdy stops turning.

I remove the bamboo from his fingers.

Then, I grab him, and drag him over to the statue.

“I want you two out of here,” I whisper to Falco and Thalia, after they place Isa’s unconscious body next to the panel.

“Why?” Falco asks.

I glance over to Ferdinand and Larry, both supervising Aaron while he presses on the various hieroglyphs, lighting each chosen symbol up in that alien blue color as he does. He definitely knows what he’s doing over there; seeing him manipulate the controls makes me increasingly okay with the fact that I just beat the shit out of him.

“Because, for all we know, he could be rigging this place to self-destruct. I want you two out of here, just in case this story isn’t meant to have a happy ending.”

“What about you?” Thalia asks. “You don’t need to be in here.”

“I suppose not,” I respond. “But I’m gonna be.”

Falco heads over to the ladder, but Thalia stays where she is. “I’m not leaving you.”

“We’ll talk about that later. Assuming, of course, that there is one.”

She rolls her eyes. “No, I mean now. I’m staying. I let you go into the snowfield of death before when this kid was shooting at us. I’m not letting you do this alone now.”

“Your mother’s right, Thalia,” Falco says, coming over to both of us. “We can’t trust this kid. He might be doing anything over there.”

Falco’s suspicions compound my own by several hundred orders of magnitude. “Thanks, Falco. You really know how to put a girl at ease.”

He raises his arms. “But you were just saying–!“

I level my gaze at my daughter. “Leave, Thalia.”

“No, Morgan.”

My teeth clench together.

She grins.

“Fine,” I tell her. “By all means, let us die together for no apparent reason.”

She links her arm with mine. “I can think of worse ways to go.”

“Then you’re obviously not thinking hard enough.”

“Oh, shut up.”

I look at Falco, who’s just standing there looking at Aaron. “What’s with you? Aren’t you heading up?”

“Maybe I’ll stay, too.”

I shrug. “It’s your funeral.”

“Let’s hope not.”

45

“It’s ready,” Aaron says, turning away from the statue and crossing his arms.

“Excellent,” I say, getting up from beside Isa and walking over to the kid. The statue behind him is lit up like… something with lots of blue, squiggly lights in it. “What now?”

“Put her on the platform and wait five minutes,” Aaron spits.

After what happened to my arms when I stepped on the eight/ate snake picture, I’m not too keen on letting Isa take a nap on it. “Will it hurt her?”

“More than anything she’s ever experienced in the entire world.”

That doesn’t seem right. “I stepped on this platform yesterday and it burnt my arms. It didn’t hurt, though. Why would it hurt her if it didn’t me?”

Aaron’s eyes widen. “You stepped on this platform yesterday?”

“Yes…”

“For how long did you stand on it?”

“About a minute. Why??”

Aaron sways slightly, and raises his hand to his crooked, bleeding nose.

“Hey!”

“You should be fine, as long as you weren’t planning on having any more children.”

“I can live with that.”

Aaron turns away, and I motion for Thalia to help me place Isa on the platform.

Just as I bend down, Larry’s voice sounds from our left. “Uhh…”

I look at the big guy, standing beside Ferdinand, dwarfing the armored figure. “Maybe we should wait outside?”

“Oh, you should?”

“Yeah. Maybe we all should.”

“I’m not leaving Isa,” I tell him.

“Then don’t. But I’m getting outta here.”

I shake my head. “Whatever. Go.”

Larry leaves without a moment’s hesitation.

“Ferdy?”

The Inquisitor’s head swivels toward me.

“You’re welcome to leave, too.”

He brandishes his gun at Aaron. “Who’ll watch the kid?”

“I can do it.”

“I will stay.”

“Fair enough.”

I look at Thalia, whose blue eyes are looking back at mine. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

With some effort, my daughter and I haul Isa onto the platform.

As all four statues begin to glow in that strange, blue color, Thalia and I join Falco and Ferdinand in the middle of the chamber.

I get why Ferdy thinks he needs to be here, but I cannot fathom why Falco and Thalia have chosen to stay. There’s absolutely no reason for them to be here. They’re risking their lives for nothing.

I inhale a breath as the statues around the chamber begin to light up like blue suns, and the chamber begins to hum with power.

I really hope Aaron was embellishing when he said that it’s going to hurt Isa.

I also hope that this blue light only affects things on the platform, and not things outside of it. If it doesn’t, this isn’t going to be fun for anyone.

Everyone shields their eyes as the light in the chamber becomes unbearable, just before a gut-wrenching scream comes from the platform.

Isa’s awake.

On one hand, I’m glad that she seems to still have some life left in her.

On the other, I wished she’d stayed asleep for this.

The chamber’s vibrating now. It’s not enough to throw us off our feet or anything, but it’s still quite violent.

Soon, we’re not sure which of our senses to protect: our eyes from the light, or our ears from Isa’s squealing.

I uncover my eyes and look at Aaron to see if this is normal, but I can’t see him.

The chamber is utterly flooded with light now; I’m submerged in an ocean of white.

Just when I’m about to start feeling around for the kid, the world goes black.

The screaming stops.

All that’s left is the sound of rain hitting the ground outside the chamber, and the sound of everyone breathing.

“Isa?” I have to push my voice past the lump in my throat.

“Morgan?” Her voice is weak.

I move forward, into the darkness.

I feel around for her.

I find her hands, extended upward, like she’s feeling for me, too.

Sitting down beside her, I take one of her hands in my own and then bring her in underneath my shoulder.

I feel her face; her skin is smooth, unblemished.

Healed.

“What happened?” she asks.

“Lots,” I respond.

“Why is it so dark?”

“Because there’s no light.”

“Morgan…”

“We’re back in the chamber.”

“Aaron… He’s not… I remember…” She swallows. “He tried to kill me.”

“I know. But you’re safe now. Everything’s all better now.”

Someone – I think Falco – clears their throat.

“Well, it will be all better soon.”

“What do you mean?”

My eyes are starting to adjust to the sudden change from light to dark, and the concerned faces above me are coming into view.

“I think I know a way to save Aaron,” I tell her. “The real Aaron.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

“How?”

“I’ll explain soon, but first, we have two very important things to do.”

I place my arm under the woman’s shoulder and around her middle, then bring her to her feet.

“What important things do we have to do?” she asks, jumping slightly when she realizes that we’re not alone in here. I don’t think she’s seen Aaron yet; if she did, I think she would have jumped a whole hell of a lot more.

“First, we have to take care of something here.”

“Okay… And then?”

“Then we have a very important appointment, at the Heron’s Bluff pub, where we shall fill our bellies with food and drink, before making our way to our next stop, all on Falco’s dime.”

“All on my dime??” Falco’s voice is incredulous.

Supporting Isa on my shoulder, I escort her to the chamber’s entrance. “I figure it’s the least you can do.”

46

It took the better part of the afternoon to walk back to Heron’s Bluff.

It felt like it took a century to walk from Heron’s Bluff to Frostridge.

A big part of that is because I’ve had to listen to Karellius’ bleating the whole way.

You’d think getting healed and a second chance at life would make a guy more pleasant.

Not so with Karellius.

I turn around for the umpteenth time and look back at his lumbering form, trailing behind Thalia, Falco, Isa, Ferdy, and I in the dying evening light.

Everyone stops with me.

“I never should have made the kid heal him,” I mumble to the group.

“Morgan!” Falco sounds horrified.

“We would have arrived at our destination hours ago if it wasn’t for him.”

“Why is he coming with us, again?” Ferdy asks from behind his helmet, keeping a firm grasp on Aaron(?)’s shoulders.

“I don’t know,” I reply.

“Maybe he wanted the exercise?” Ferdinand ventures.

Thalia’s and my laughter tumbles out in all directions, and out into the night.

After ten minutes of ascending the grassy incline, we arrive on the plateau the people of Frostridge call home.

When Aaron’s eyes fall upon the church just up ahead of us, illuminated by the stunning full moon above the village, his body stiffens. “Where are you taking me?” he asks, venom in his high-pitched voice.

“To church.”

“Why?”

“Among other things, to show our support for a very promising new local business.”

Aaron blinks in bewilderment, but I’m pretty sure he knows why we’re here.

The kid’s face is covered in dried blood. If I work up the gumption to try and get that chamber working on my own at some point in the future and am successful, I’ll make sure I install a shower before opening it up to the public.

The church’s two large, wooden doors stand imperiously before us.

A piece of paper has been nailed in the middle of the door to the left. It’s covered in large, bold lettering.

‘Exorcisms here,’ Thalia reads, squinting at the notice in the twilight. ‘50% off introductory offer. Limited time only.’

She turns to me. “What the fuck?”

“You say that way too much,” I tell her. “You need to vary your response to confusing things a bit.”

“How about ‘what the hell?’”

“That’s better.”

She nods.

We go in.

The church is silent, save for the creaking of the oak tree outside in the wind.

A beam of moonlight cuts through the stained glass windows above, illuminating row after row of empty pews.

It’s creepy as hell in here.

Isa gives my hand a little squeeze. She’s been holding it for hours.

I look down to her, but she’s not looking at me.

I have no idea why she tightened her grip on my hand, but it’s good to get the occasional sign that she’s still alive.

She hasn’t said a word since she muttered her dinner order to me at the pub.

“Hello?” Falco calls, his voice coming back several times in echo.

“Hello,” I respond.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Morgan.”

“Hey, well, fuck you, then, Falco!”

A figure wanders out from the back of the church and into the moonlight.

When that figure moves into the moonlight, my jaw drops.

“What the hell are you doing here??”

Surfer Priest removes the hood from his head, and moves closer to us. “Welcome, children.” He strikes a match and lights a nearby candle, which promptly starts flickering in the draft.

I draw my gun from my pants and point it at him. “Start explaining, asshole. Where’s the real priest?”

“Ah!” A voice comes from the back of the church.

Another figure comes down the aisle between the pews. It’s the real priest.

He stands next to Surfer Priest, places his hand on the kid’s robed shoulder, and beams with pride. “I see you’ve met Bernard.”

I tentatively lower my weapon. “I’m confused.”

“Bernard is my new curate,” the real priest tells me.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I am not.” He turns to Bernard, and motions for him to explain.

“I was alone for hours, cold and alone in the snow after you left me,” Surfer Priest – Bernard – explains in his slow, slurred way. “I thought for sure I was going to die. I was bleeding profusely, and believed that a lynch mob was hot on my tail, all set to hang me.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

He brushes several blonde dreadlocks from his face and smiles. “Before I was rescued, I had a vision. A vision of the priest that I had attempted to rob and impersonate – the priest I believed I had killed.”

“Okay…”

“He told me that I needed to make amends. That, if I survived my wounds and the ire of my pursuers, I needed to renounce my life of greed and ecstasy, and devote my life to helping others, for the good of my soul. So, I came here, with the intention of running this church, and taking up the task of leading the members of this humble congregation to salvation. When I found Francis here, alive and well, he forgave me for the sins I had perpetrated on him, and here we are.”

Bernard places his arm around the real priest’s and the two men smile at one another.

“Watch your coffers,” I tell the real priest.

The two men’s stupid smiles don’t move.

Out of all the things that I’ve seen and heard over this past week, this is up there as one of the craziest. And you know what my week’s been like, so you know that that’s saying something.

“We need your help,” Falco says to Francis, the real priest.

Bernard, Francis, and Ferdinand… these guys all need to get a beer together. I’m sure there’d be a lot of shared childhood experiences in the schoolyard they could bond/weep over.

“Everyone needs help,” the priest returns.

“But we’re willing to pay for it,” I say.

I hold up a bag of Isa’s money in front of him. Ironically, the money came from the same $40,000 that Aaron gave Isa years ago.

The priest looks from the bag and to me, eyes twinkling. “How may I be of assistance??”

47

“Do you guys sleep in here?” I ask Surfer Priest, standing beside me as Falco, Thalia, Ferdy, and Francis get Aaron into position in front of the lectern.

“No,” the inexplicable new curate answers.

“Then what were you doing in here?”

“We were preparing for tomorrow’s service.”

“In the dark?”

“In the basement.”

“Oh. Why were you doing it in the basement? Shouldn’t you be preparing the place in, you know, the place that needs preparation?”

“Not at first.”

“Why?”

“We needed advice.”

“Advice?”

“Yeah.”

“From…?”

“Have patience, and you may see.”

I shake my head.

When Aaron begins to make a fuss, Isa tightens her grasp around my waist.

“Isa?”

“Mmm.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Aaron starts screaming and lashing out at everyone then, forcing Ferdy to hold him in position.

Isa doesn’t answer.

I try to pry her body from mine to meet her eyes, but she won’t budge. “Isa, sweetie, I need to know you’re on board with all this.”

A minute passes before she replies. “Please save my son.”

“Okay.”

Francis waves us over.

“Are you ready?” he asks when Isa and I approach.

The sound of the church’s wooden doors creaking open cuts me off.

A large, round figure stands in the doorway, silhouetted against the moonlit sky. “Wait!”

Karellius moves down the aisle toward us, using each pew as leverage on his way to the next.

“Will you tread more carefully!” I ask him, before a wave of b.o. hits us.

He looks at me, perplexed. “Why should I?”

“Because there’s a basement under this floor, and we don’t have time to get a structural engineer to do an assessment that’ll give you the O.K. to be here.”

He raises his arm to me, but only manages to lift it halfway before a coughing fit takes him.

I turn to the priest. “We’re ready.”

He nods, and then walks deeper into the church, into the shadows.

“Where is he going?”

“Patience,” Surfer Priest tells us.

A stream of golden light streaks from the floor in the back of the church, as Francis lifts a trap door.

The priest says something into the depths below.

We all hear footsteps then, ascending what sounds like a set of stairs near the light’s source.

A figure rises from out of the basement, and comes toward us.

Karellius is still panting to my left.

“Why do you want to see this so bad?” I ask him, before he loudly clears his throat.

“That little bastard shot me,” he replies.

“And?”

“And I’m here to make sure he doesn’t get away with it.”

“Fair enough.”

Francis is escorting yet another robed figure toward us.

When it steps into the light, I see that the figure is covered from head to toe in black silk, and that its face is shrouded in darkness.

Based on the figure’s size – a foot and a half shorter than Francis – and the way it walks, I’d say it’s a woman.

An old woman, if the hunch in her back is anything to go by.

“Everyone,” Francis says, stepping away from the figure and waving at it. “I would like to introduce Agatha, my mother. I think this exorcism is set to be a little tricky, so I’ve enlisted her aid. She taught me everything she knows about this business, so you can be sure that, together, we’ll get the job done.”

The woman lifts her hands to her hood, and slowly removes it.

When she does, I immediately wish she hadn’t.

This woman is hideous.

And I don’t mean just normal, insanely-old-lady hideous.

She looks like the witches from those storybooks that my mother perpetually meant to read to me.

I’d say she was in fancy dress, but Halloween’s months away.

Surely, this couldn’t be what this person really looks like.

Jesus, I’m an asshole.

She eyes me curiously. “Do you find my exterior distressing, child?”

“Uhh, yeah, a little bit,” I tell her, refusing to meet her eye line. “But I’m sure you have a beautiful personality.”

I shoot the woman the most convincing smile I can manage.

Thalia and Falco stuff their hands in their pockets and turn around to examine the stained-glass windows above, as if to pretend they don’t know me.

I don’t blame them.

“I am over two hundred years old,” the old woman reveals, her voice thin and gravelly.

That catches Aaron’s attention.

“You don’t look a day over a hundred and fifty.”

“Are you really two centuries old?” Ferdy asks. There’s interest in his muffled voice.

“I am.”

“How is that?”

“I have many secrets. Discovered many things over the course of my life.”

“I’m guessing beauty cream wasn’t one of them…”

Thalia turns to me, her eyes angry. “You need to stop, Morgan.”

I wave her off.

Ferdy continues his questioning. “What kind of things have you discovered?”

“A way to prevent the soul from escaping the body after death, and the secret to everlasting life. As you can see, it’s not what I thought it was going to be.”

“How do you discover something like that?” I ask her.

“I was studying immortality. To cheat death.”

Isa tightens her grip on my waist even further.

“What is it with everyone studying immortality around here? Why would you want to live forever? Have you seen this place??”

“I was encouraged down that academic path by my ex-husband, back when he and I were students at the Imperial University in Corinth.”

My stomach lurches upon hearing the institution’s name.

“Do you mean Alfred?” Falco asks, taking a step closer to her. “Alfred Hazelwood? The owner of the museum here??”

“I do.”

Falco looks at me. “Huh.”

“We broke up forty years ago,” she tells him.

“I can’t imagine why,” I drawl.

The woman steps around Francis and looks Aaron over. “Is this the child my son has told me about?”

“Sure is.”

Aaron looks at her, his round face contorted with rage.

“Then let us begin.”

48

Aaron’s not happy.

He’s thrashing around in Ferdinand’s metal-clad arms like he’s been possessed by an ancient murderer and rapist who’s about to be removed from the world for good. I guess that makes sense.

Agatha and Francis are preparing to do whatever the hell they’re going to do by lighting a circle of candles around him.

When they’re lit, Francis nods at Isa and me and comes over.

“Because you are returning customers, you may not take advantage of our introductory offer for this procedure.”

“Whatever.”

He extends an open hand to us. “That will be $1000.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I am.”

“What are those candles made of? God’s earwax?”

Everyone around me murmurs in disgust.

“You’re welcome to shop around for better prices,” the priest says, “you know, from all the other places on this island that will perform exorcisms.”

I shake my head and pull ten hundred dollar notes from Isa’s bag of money.

I look at her.

She nods into my shoulder.

The priest greedily takes the money and pockets it in his robe.

Then, he turns to his mother, who’s moving her arms this way and that, slowly, in the air around her.

When she starts standing on one leg and places her hands together in the prayer position, I feel I have to say something.

“I’m not paying you to do yoga.”

Surfer Priest puts his index finger to his mouth.

Falco’s trying to hide his smile.

Karellius is still recovering, loudly, from the walk up here in a nearby pew.

Thalia’s looking at me, from across the room.

“What?” I ask her.

“I’m not really up to speed on things, so forgive me if this is a stupid question, but, how do we know that Aaron’s still in there somewhere? Assuming you’re right and that this exorcism thing works, how do we know it’s going to restore Aaron to what he was before?”

The room goes quiet.

“I don’t think Aaron is still in there.”

Everyone’s eyes are drawn to me.

“Aaron was nothing before me!” the kid cries from Ferdy’s arms.

Huh. I was hoping we’d get some information before this ancient motherfucker leaves us for good.

I walk over to him, stopping just short of the glowing circle of candles.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Incubus. Incubus Sul.”

“Incubus?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that the word for a male demon that’s supposed to have sex with unsuspecting women at night while they sleep?”

“So I’ve heard.”

“And you’ve had that name your entire life? Since birth?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m not surprised by any of this.”

Isa pushes off me, then, and takes a step closer to the kid.

“Where is my son?”

“Your son never was.”

“What do you mean?”

Wow, Isa sounds pissed. The last time I heard her this angry was when I accidentally sat on her face as she dozed on the couch when we were still dating.

“Your son was never born,” the four-year-old, ancient cult leader tells her. “I was.”

Isa lunges at him, but I grab her and hold her. I don’t believe this asshole at all, and I didn’t heal him for Isa to damage her child’s body all over again. There’s no guarantee we’ll ever make that chamber work again, so there’ll be no quick fixes going forward.

“That ghost isn’t hanging around you by accident, Mr. Sul,” I tell him. “And I think I’ve realized what it actually is.”

His eyes narrow.

“That ghost is Aaron, isn’t it? The real Aaron. Your soul is in his body, and he can’t get back in. And so he is, understandably, pissed off. At anyone and everything.”

“You’re wrong.”

“More often than I care to admit, but I don’t think I am now.”

“You raped me!” Isa yells.

Incubus Sul smiles.

“You pretended to be my son!”

“The breastfeeding was particularly enjoyable. You have great tits.”

Isa’s trying to pry herself from my grasp now, kicking and screaming for me to let her go. If she keeps going this way, I’m gonna have to ask Ferdy for assistance.

Karellius’ at my side now, looking at Aaron like he was a piece of chicken that tasted like a pineapple.

“You were trying to kill him back there in that chamber,” I theorize to Incubus. “You were trying to destroy Aaron’s spirit so he’d leave you alone, but we interrupted you before you could finish the job.”

He elbows Ferdy’s leg and howls when bone hits metal. Then, he spits at Francis, who’s started doing yoga like his mother.

“Why me?” Isa roars. “Why the FUCK did you choose me?”

“Because you were hot and I wanted to see your tits.”

Isa’s entire body convulses with anger. “And the money??”

“Enough to give me a comfortable childhood, while you protected my vulnerable form until I grew strong enough to kill you and leave this depressing island forever.”

“And this sickness of yours?” I demand. “What the hell was that?”

“New bodies invariably reject foreign souls and become diseased. My chamber fixes that, and sets the new body on a development path to match my old body’s appearance. Thanks for moving somewhere near an old volcano, Aeterno; the geothermal activity made it very easy to power my machinery.”

“Why was your old body up in the Whiterock glacier?” Falco asks. “What were you doing there?”

“Ms. Aeterno was impregnated in such a way that it allowed my soul to enter her baby’s body. I followed her for nine months, from the moment she quit her job at the club to the moment her water broke in Northeim. Once the construction of my chamber was complete and my new body was born, I freed my soul up at the glacier and it found its way into its new home. I never intended for my old body to be found.”

My eyebrow raises. “Her job at the club?”

Incubus smiles, revealing that gap between his teeth. “At the gentleman’s club; Ms. Aeterno here used to be an exotic dancer.”

Shit. I didn’t expect that one.

“She also used to be straight, as far as I was aware. I think I might have turned her off men for a while.”

And I really didn’t expect that one. That revelation, for some reason, hits me right in the gut.

Isa’s fighting my grasp even harder now.

Incubus looks at Isa. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to fuck you all these years.”

Isa uses Incubus’ tactic from earlier and elbows me in the stomach.

She gets free and heads straight for the kid.

Ferdy draws his gun on her.

She stops, but stands her ground.

“Please step back, Ms. Aeterno.”

There’s an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Strangely, I’m not really surprised by anything I’ve heard here tonight. But, I am surprised about something.

“Why are you telling us this?” I ask Incubus, worry creeping up the lining of my stomach.

“What?”

“You’re about to die.”

“No, I am most certainly not.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do not think that you are especially intelligent for having caught me, Ms. Acacia. You are by no means the first that have.”

“Fine, I’m still dumb, and you’re still dying.”

The kid/man clears his throat and addresses the room. “I alone hold the secret to true immortality. Imagine what it would be like to never die; to be reborn over and over until you decide otherwise. To never have to worry about losing yourself or loved ones to death and disease. To know that, no matter what you do in this world, you can always start over again fresh.”

He eyes Falco and Thalia. “You could see the future, again and again.”

He looks at Francis. “You could help spread your God’s word until the end of time.”

At Agatha. “You could finally escape the husk that is your body and start life again as the child of beautiful, perfect parents.”

Up to Ferdinand. “You could choose to be reborn as the child of millionaires from Corinth, and enjoy an entire lifetime of luxury.”

At Karellius next to me. “You could escape whatever misery makes you eat, and start anew.”

At Surfer Priest. “You could be reborn as someone with less ridiculous hair.”

And then to me. “You could be with Isabella forever.”

I roll my eyes.

“You have no idea how much that woman really loves you, Morgan. How much she cried when you so callously broke up with her years ago, the week before my 2021st birthday. I know it happened because I was there. I had to listen to it, every morning, afternoon, and night for three days.”

Wow.

Isa’s silent in front of me, stiff as a board.

“And you, Isabella,” Incubus goes on. “You could be with Morgan forever. You both could start again somewhere far away. Another life. A better life. But together. As many times as you want.”

After Incubus gives us his sales pitch, Isa leans down, and meets his eyes. “You know what I want, asshole?”

His eyes roll. “You want your son. Next.”

Isa takes a step forward but Ferdy wiggles his gun, stopping her.

“I could teach any one of you how to use that machine out there in the wilderness. And I could teach you how to live forever. All that person has to do is save me. Who shall it be?”

The room is tense.

Everyone looks at everyone.

I now understand why Incubus is skeptical about dying here.

Even I’m considering his offer.

I’ll never tell anyone that when this is all over, but I am.

Minutes pass, with only the sound of boughs creaking outside to fill the silence, as everyone stands in a rather disquieting tableau.

“I will save you.”

Ferdinand takes a step back, dragging Incubus with him out of the circle, and extends his gun at me.

“Seriously, Ferdy? You really think you can trust this guy?”

The man says nothing, and his expression is unreadable because I can’t see it.

“I’m not going on another long chase through the snow, buddy. This ends now. Leave the kid in the circle and step away.”

He tightens his grip on Incubus’ shoulder. “You will really teach me the secret to immortality?”

“I will.”

“No tricks?”

“None.”

He nods.

“You are a fool, Ferdinand,” Falco tells him.

He turns to face him, just before Thalia throws herself at the guy’s armored legs.

I seize the opportunity to dive over the circle and right into him, toppling him over, and knocking the gun out of his hand.

He’s about to lay into me with a metallic fist when he sees Falco’s gun in his face.

I get up in time to see the kid running for the door, and Karellius dive after him, grabbing and pinning him to the ground under his enormous weight.

Thalia gets up off the floor and moves toward Ferdinand, where she leans over, and removes the Inquisitor’s mask.

Just as I’d expected, he’s ugly as fuck.

Little pasty bastard with long, black hair who wouldn’t even come close to filling out that armor.

I get up and move past a stunned Isa and to Karellius.

I point the barrel of my gun at the kid’s head.

“Good work,” I tell Karellius.

“Yes, yes,” he replies. “Just someone please help me up.”

I look back at everyone, staring at me from near the circle of candles.

“Any takers?”

No one replies.

With a sigh, I extend my hand to Karellius.

When he’s up, I shepherd Aaron back into the circle, while Thalia and Falco keep an eye on the Inquisitor.

Then, Francis and Agatha start their yoga again, and start earning their thousand dollars.

THREE WEEKS LATER

49

“What have you got?” Falco asks, taking a seat on the other side of the bar.

I pour myself a shot of vodka, throw my neck back, and down it in one, unpleasant gulp. “A distinct apathy toward catching a fatal disease.”

“No, I mean to drink.”

I motion to the wall of bottles behind me. “Take your pick.”

“Uhh, scotch on the rocks.”

“We’re all out of rocks.”

“Are you messing with me? Or do you really not know what ‘on the rocks’ means?”

“I haven’t a clue what it means.”

“Seriously? How did you get hired here??” He indicates the Heron’s Bluff tavern around us, mostly empty at this time of the afternoon, and completely silent.

“I applied. Apparently, that’s all it takes.”

“It means straight and with ice.”

I push off the bar and walk over to the taps. “Then why not just say ‘straight and with ice’?”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

I pour Falco’s drink, drop in some ice, and slide it across the bar’s wooden surface. Then, I pour myself another shot.

We drink at the same time, and return our glasses to the bar.

“Do you often drink on the job?”

“Why do you think I took the job?”

“Things haven’t been going well, I take it?”

I slur a negative reply.

“Why is that?”

I hesitate for a few moments, before answering. “I’m lonely.”

“You are?”

“I am.”

Falco moves his stool closer to me. “I noticed that Isabella hasn’t been at work since we got back from Frostridge.”

“Isabella hasn’t been out of her house since we got back from Frostridge. The only reason I know she’s not dead is that the food I leave on her doorstep every morning is gone when I pass by on the way home.”

“Oh. Shit.” Falco takes another swig. “Do you think she’s alright?”

“Would you be?”

“Well, her son’s no longer possessed, and she’s no longer being stalked by an angry ghost…”

“I think she’ll need some time.”

I cross my arms and lean into the bar.

“Where’s your daughter, then? I thought having kids was sort of an insurance against loneliness.”

I snort. “Thalia’s not speaking to me. She’s been at her girlfriend’s place since the day after we got back.”

“Really? Why?”

“We had a fight.”

“About…?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I have time.”

“I lied. The reason’s actually quite simple; I just can’t be fucked explaining.”

“Fair enough.”

A man and a woman come up to the bar and order a drink. Once I take care of them, our conversation continues.

“What about you?” I ask him. “How have you been?”

“The ETC’s decided not to close the mine.”

“That’s good news,” I monotone.

“It is for me. Now, I won’t have to sleep in a box behind your house.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t let you stay in my house?”

“Forever?”

“I can think of worse things.” I grab a beer and pop the cap.

Falco’s eyes follow the bottle to my lips. “How much have you drunk today?”

“I lost count after the third shot.”

“When was that?”

“Couple of hours ago.”

“Morgan…”

“Don’t start with me, Falco. It’s 3pm. Why are you drinking?”

“I’m celebrating.”

A laugh escapes my lips. “Celebrating what?”

“My last few days as a free man.”

“Are the ETC gonna sell you into slavery as penance for losing two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of their gold?”

“No. Ferdinand and I managed to convince them that it wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

“You and Ferdinand? I thought you had him locked up? What was he doing talking to the investigators?”

“He’s not locked up anymore.”

“What? Why??”

“There’s no law against almost accepting immortality from an ancient cult leader posing as a four-year-old kid.”

“Well, maybe there should be!”

“I’ll talk to some people.”

“Good.”

We both drink.

I notice that the world’s started rotating after this swig, indicating that I should probably start pacing myself.

“So what’s this ‘free man’ crap about then?”

“I’m getting married.”

“You are? Who the fuck would marry you??”

“Gee, thanks, Morgan.”

“No, I mean here, in this place. There’s like five people here. Are you marrying a pine tree?”

“No.”

“Larry?”

“No!”

“Then who?”

“Sheryl.”

“Who?”

He opens his mouth to explain, but then I remember. “Hang on, do you mean Gwapo? That chick from the ‘Great Museum of Northeim’??”

“I do indeed. Why do you call her that?”

“That was the first thing I ever heard her say.”

“And so you thought that would be a good name for her…?”

“Yes.”

Forty seconds have gone by since my last swig, so I figure it’s probably safe to take another.

I put the drink down, lean both hands on the bar, and train my eyes on Falco. “What the hell?”

“You drew my attention to the fact the woman was into me, so I thought I’d talk to her just before we left Frostridge. I ended up asking her out. Then one thing led to another and–“

“Here you are, three weeks later, about to marry her…”

He nods, grinning like I was last night in the seconds before I fell asleep on my bathroom floor.

I stare at my beer. “I think I’ve drunk too much…”

“Why?”

“Maybe that’s what all this has been. A dream. A nightmare. One of those horrible winemares I get after emptying a cask.” I put my hand to my temple. “There were babies crying in the wilderness. A guy floating around in ice. I called Karellius a fat-ass and lost my job. Thalia was going to Uni. I threw myself through a door. Pissed myself in the forest. Got accused of murder. Found a weird chamber. Isa’s kid was a two thousand year old dead guy. I witnessed the soul of Isa’s real kid returning to his body after getting the dead guy out. And now Falco’s getting married to some chick he’s dated for three weeks who doesn’t even speak English.”

Falco reaches over the counter, and slaps me in the face.

“Hey!”

“Still think this is a dream?”

“No.”

Shit.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” Falco continues.

I apply pressure to my burning cheek. “Is it to not come over there and stab you in the eye?!”

“I barely touched you…”

“Tell that to my nerve endings!”

“Morgan.”

I hold the side of my cold beer to my cheek. “What?”

“I want you to be my best man.”

I put the beer down. “Huh?”

He speaks slowly. “I want you to be my best man.”

“Little problem there, Falco.” I point at the two, large mounds sticking out of my flannelette shirt.

“Even so.”

Falco’s looking at me hopefully, waiting for an answer.

“Will there be alcohol?”

“No.”

“You fucking serious?”

“Sheryl has a problem with alcohol.”

“Was she once insulted by a bottle of brandy?”

“No, she used to have a drinking problem.”

“Well, so will I if there’s no alcohol there. What the hell will I have to drink?”

“Water. Juice. Lemonade…”

I could probably sneak something in and mix it with the lemonade. “Fine.”

“Haha!” Falco slaps the table, and grins again. Then, he rounds the bar, and plows into me, wrapping his arms around me.

When he withdraws, he gives me a playful punch. “Thanks, Morgan.”

I pick up my beer and grunt at him. “You’re helping me write the speech.”

“I can do that.”

“And it’s on you to find me something to wear.”

“I have a frilly, blue dress for you, all ready to go.”

I extend my hand to him. “Hi, I’m Morgan. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I’ll get a tux.”

“Perfect.”

We shake hands, just before I empty the bottle.

50

Jennifer got her man.

Harry got his girl.

And the two of them lived happily ever after.

I snap the romance novel I’m reading shut, and throw it into the fireplace.

From the couch, I watch its pages blacken and shrivel, as the flames turn the legacy of Jennifer and Harry’s fictional love into ashes.

Then, I finish off my whiskey.

Alcohol’s stopped working, unfortunately.

Instead of giving me that light, pleasant feeling it usually does, now I just feel like shit.

This is a problem because it’s only seven-thirty, I’m not tired, and the only other thing left in the house that I haven’t read yet is Thalia’s book on psychology. I’m in no way in the mood to read my biography on page ten, so I’m gonna need to find something else to do before bed.

I look around my candle-lit living room.

It’s quiet and empty.

Maybe I need a change of scenery.

I haul my ass up, move around the coffee table, and sit on the couch opposite my original position.

I can see the kitchen now.

Riveting.

Hmm.

I could go up to Threkald and take another crack at trying to get that chamber to light up again, but, after spending two days pressing buttons there, I’m sick of that. Also, the idea of extending my life no longer really holds any interest.

I’m depressing as fuck.

I know that.

But what do you want me to do?

Why don’t you tell me a story?

I’ve had to explain this whole thing to you, while you just sit there reading it.

Why do I have to do all the work?

Why don’t you do some work for a change?

How has your day been?

How has your life been?

What have you done that’s so…

The latch on my door flicks.

I hear it creak open.

Footsteps coming inside.

“Hello?” Thalia’s voice sounds from behind me, just before the door closes.

I lift my hand up to indicate my location.

“Hey,” she says. Her tone is curt. “Just came back to get one of my books.”

“Okay.”

The sounds of feet shuffling this way and that comes from behind.

“Have you seen it?”

“What’s it called?”

“Songs of Love.”

My eyes flick over to the charred rectangle sitting in the fireplace. I swallow. “Never heard of it.”

Her footsteps get closer.

She rounds the couch and sits opposite me, putting her feet up on the table.

She’s wearing jeans and a brown, leather jacket, in case that’s something you wanted to know.

Living among the rich is definitely taking its toll on her.

Her cool, ragamuffin appearance is being slowly replaced by a neater, more grown-up look.

I hate that I just used the word ragamuffin. What am I? Eighty?

“How was work?” Thalia asks.

“Jeff Donavon threw up in a pot-plant and I had to clean it up.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Not really. It could have been worse, though.”

“How?”

“After I’d cleaned it, he could have thrown up in it again.”

“That would have been worse.”

“I’m glad we agree on something.”

She throws her wavy, blonde mane over her shoulder, and looks at me. “You drunk?”

“Are you?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I’m not drunk. If you don’t believe me, I’ll look you right in all six of your eyes and tell you again.”

She shakes her head.

“Why are you talking to me?” I ask her.

“Because I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to see if you’d changed your mind.”

“I’ve changed my underwear. Does that count?”

“I mean about telling me who that woman was. Why you’ve had fifty thousand dollars lying around while we’ve gone hungry some nights. What it was that woman was about to tell me that was worth parting with that fifty thousand dollars to you for me not to hear.”

“I know what you meant.”

Silence falls between us.

“Well?” Thalia asks.

“How’s Laura?”

“This is your last chance, Morgan. I’ve given you too many of them as it is. This. Is. It.”

Beats pass.

“I know.”

Thalia’s eyes narrow.

Then, she gets up off the couch, and leaves without a word.

The door slams behind her.

51

It’s been an hour since Thalia left.

That means it’s eight-thirty.

You know how you feel when you’re starting a project you know is going to take months or even years to finish? When you’re staring at the blank page or the path ahead knowing that it’s going to take so much work and time to get to the finish line that it almost makes you physically sick to think about it?

That’s how I feel thinking about how long it’s gonna be until bedtime.

I’m going to go talk to Isa.

Even just the possibility of having some positive human contact tonight is enough to make the oppressive weight that’s been crushing me lately lift a little.

I don’t care if she doesn’t want to see me, or needs not to see me.

This is literally life or death stuff.

I’ve just locked my front door.

I’m turning and walking over to her house, and you can’t stop me.

I should hope you don’t want to stop me.

I’ve been operating under the impression that we have something good going here.

I’m at her door now.

Wish me luck.

Two, loud taps announce my arrival.

Her lights are on.

They don’t go off.

I pocket my hands, and wait patiently.

After two minutes, I start to wait impatiently.

I knock again.

I hope she responds this time, because there won’t be a third. If that’s the case, I’ll have to go knock on someone else’s door around the place. I won’t be bothered as to whose. Since Falco’s away in Frostridge, I’ll have to get creative. Fuck Will and the boys for deciding to take a vacation.

“Who is it?” Isa’s voice calls from inside.

“The woman’s who’s kept you fed for the last few weeks,” I respond.

“This isn’t a good time, Morgan.”

“So I should come back never?”

“No… Just…”

I hear her sigh.

She throws the lock, opens the door, and peeks her head out. “Hey.”

She’s not looking at me. That’s probably for the best; I forgot to fix my hair before I came here. “Hey, Isa. How are you?”

“Good.”

“Great, uhh, weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

Sheet lightning flashes over the town.

“If you like dry storms,” I continue.

She squeezes her eyes shut for a second, then opens them. “What do you want?”

“Weed, quite frankly.”

“Why?”

“Things haven’t been so good with me lately, since we got back.”

She does the eye thing again. “Do you think drugs will really solve all your problems?”

“They’ll definitely solve some.”

“Well, if you find some, let me know.” She starts to close the door.

I put my foot in it before it closes.

She’s still staring at the ground. She’s not blinking.

“How’s Aaron?”

It takes her twenty seconds to reply. “He’s good.”

Another lightning flash.

“So, he’s all fixed up?”

“Yeah.”

“No unfortunate side-effects from everything that happened?”

Thirty seconds go by this time. “He’s very young.”

“What does that mean?”

“He doesn’t remember anything.”

“That’s probably for the best, don’t you reckon?”

“No, I mean he doesn’t remember anything. Not even how to walk. I have to teach him how to walk.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Mmm.”

Crickets.

Literally, there’s a couple of crickets chirping in a hedge against Isa’s house.

She’s standing there, waiting for me to either say something or get the hell out.

“I need someone to talk to,” I tell her, just before I feel the last of my pride travel down my esophagus and into my stomach, where it can stay forever for all the fucking good it’s done me.

Finally, she meets my eyes. “I can’t, Morgan.”

I take a couple of steps closer to her.

Reach out to her.

She flinches and recoils from my outstretched hand.

“You’re not ready yet…”

She nods once.

“Okay.”

She shuts the door.

52

Dad’s drinking again.

Well, I say ‘again’, but that implies that he stopped at some point, which isn’t accurate.

Let me rephrase:

Dad’s drinking.

He told me he was gonna go spend the evening down at the local markets.

That trip requires a suitcase full of clothing, apparently.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Chloe, be a dear and answer that.”

I hear what my dad asks.

But I don’t do it.

Because I’m done pretending I’m a dear.

He answers it instead.

A woman in an aqua-colored shirt that stops well above her midriff is on the other side.

She taps her cigarette with her index finger, sending ashes onto the wooden porch.

She blows smoke out of a pair of red, rounded lips, and then kisses my father on the mouth.

The woman eyes me distastefully.

I eye her the same way.

Two weeks ago, this woman stole every cent I had out of my purse.

Two days ago, my best friend stole every cent her husband had in his wallet.

I got half.

I definitely came out ahead.

My father comes over and hugs me.

Then, he messes up my hair.

He smiles and tells me he’ll be back soon.

I smile and tell him I love him.

We’re both liars tonight.

He picks up his suitcase and lugs it to the door.

The door closes.

And I’m alone.

I walk over to the kitchen and pour myself a shot of whiskey.

It’s a little trick my brother and I learned a long time ago from our mother to get through a hard night.

It works well for me.

It didn’t work too well for her, if her obituary is anything to go by.

It’s stuck up there on the corkboard above the countertop, right next to the notice of foreclosure we got from the bank this morning, and a picture of my brother, smiling at the camera as though he wasn’t intending on washing down his undercooked dinner with hemlock three days later.

There’s a storm outside.

It’s raining.

But I think I’m still gonna stick my original plan and go down to Mr. Campbell’s ranch and ask him for a job.

Maybe ask if I can stay there for a while.

Work.

Make an honest living.

Get older.

Meet a nice boy.

Get married.

Have a kid or five.

Be happy.

And not screw it up like these assholes did.

I nod.

That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.

So I do.

Thunder wakes me from my dream.

Fucking thunder.

I was enjoying that dream.

It reminded me what it was like to still have them.

It’s pitch black in my bedroom.

Which means it’s still night.

Which means I can still sleep.

Thank God.

I’m awake.

But I can hear myself snoring.

That can’t be good.

Am I having an out-of-body experience?

Or is my body having an out-of-Morgan experience?

I’m not even sure that makes sense.

I’m cold and I can feel the sheets and blankets over me.

I can feel my body.

So I know I’m not dead.

Hurray.

I can feel a weight spread out over me, weighing me down.

This weight wasn’t there when I went to bed.

The weight is warm.

This is weird, because literally everything else is cold.

It’s not me snoring, I now realize.

It’s a person.

A person with hair that smells like lavender.

A person with boobs and no pants.

I reach over to my bedside table.

Grab a lighter.

Flick a flame into existence.

And hold it over me.

It’s Isa.

Isa’s in my bed.

Her face is on my chest.

Arms around my middle.

Legs intertwined with mine.

Asleep.

Imitating a buzz saw.

I let the flame die, and put the lighter back on the table.

Then, I close my eyes.

Rest my arms around her.

And go back to sleep.

53

I’m sitting at my dinner table, bent over a piece of paper, with a pen in my hand.

I’m writing a letter.

It’s not going too well, though, because I’m stuck trying to remember how to spell the word ‘beautiful’.

I know there’s an ‘e’, an ‘a’ and a ‘u’ in there somewhere, but I can’t for the life of me remember which order they go in.

I could get up and grab the dictionary.

But it’s all the way over there.

Fuck it, I’ll just spell it how it sounds.

Footsteps sound on my floorboards from the direction of the hall.

Isa stumbles out of the bedroom looking like she just woke up, which makes sense, given that she just did.

She notices me sitting at the table, and heads over to me.

She pulls the chair out opposite me and sits down.

Doesn’t say anything, though.

Just sits there, staring at the table.

It’s quiet enough to hear her breathing.

“What’cha writing?” she asks.

I point my pen at the barely-comprehensible scratchings on the page. “I think ‘writing’ is a relative term.”

She sighs.

“I’m writing a letter.”

“To whom?”

“An old friend.”

“Okay.”

We observe five minutes of silence, like we’re paying tribute to all the animals that have been eaten on this table.

“You working today?” Isa’s small voice asks.

“No.”

“Oh, I thought you would have been.”

“I should be.”

“But?”

“I have other things to do.”

“Such as?”

“Getting my affairs in order.”

“Are you dying?”

“We’re all dying.”

“I know, but are you planning on doing it quicker than everyone else?”

“Are you?”

More silence.

“I’ve definitely thought about it.”

She looks at me for the first time this morning.

“Me, too,” I admit.

“But you’re not…?”

“No.”

“So this ‘getting your affairs in order’ thing…”

“I’m leaving, Isa.”

She rests both her hands, close together, on the table. “Where are you going?”

“Ashenweir. Where else would I go?”

“Uhh, Corinth. With your daughter.”

I laugh.

“What are you gonna do in Ashenweir?”

“I was thinking of opening a barber shop, where non-haircut-related conversation is explicitly banned. I’m gonna call it ‘The Silent Barber’. I think it’s a great idea.”

“Huh. Do you know anything about cutting hair?”

“I know it’s hard and involves scissors.”

She shakes her head. “How much does a ticket cost?”

“Way more than I can afford.”

“So how are you gonna buy one?”

“Who said I was?”

She nods absently, then goes quiet.

I’ve finished my letter and slid it into its envelope by the time she speaks again.

“I want to come with you.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll buy the tickets. When does the boat leave?”

“In four days. Friday. 8pm.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Sounds good.”

She leaves.

FOUR DAYS LATER

54

“And while I, personally, have absolutely no idea what these two see in one another, or why they’re getting married, or anything about them as a couple at all, really, I will admit, they do seem happy.”

I turn to look at Falco and Gwapo, beaming at each other in the seats next to me, and raise my glass in the air. “To Falco and Gwapo!”

Falco clears his throat.

“Sorry. To Falco and… Sheryl.”

Cheers erupt from the crowd before us. Considering that more or less the entire population of Heron’s Bluff is in this tavern, it’s quite a din.

The dancing starts.

That’s my cue to leave.

I tap Falco on the shoulder.

He looks at me. “You off then?”

“I am.”

He stands along with Gwapo, strapped into an elaborate, white dress.

He extends his hand.

I take it.

“It’s been a pleasure, Morgan.”

“Which part?”

“The part between when I saved that attractive new arrival to Northeim from having her teeth knocked out by a drunk Bradley Cooper and now.”

“Shame that attractive new arrival turned out to be a lesbian, aye?”

Falco shrugs. “Could’ve been worse.”

“Yeah, she could have turned out to be a murderer or something.”

He chuckles.

I turn my attention to Gwapo. She’s got her arm entwined with Falco’s, and is grinning proudly. “Gwapo, I wish you all the best.”

“Do you know what Gwapo means, Morgan?” Falco asks.

“Not a clue.”

“It means ‘hello’.”

“Huh. What does ‘goodbye’ mean?”

“Nomeneth.”

“Right. Uhh, well: nomeneth, Falco.”

He nods.

We shake hands one last time.

Then, I start making my way toward the exit.

“Oh and I want that tux back!” Falco calls as I weave my way through the crowd.

“Yeah, yeah.”

55

I’ve changed.

My clothes, I mean.

Not in like a philosophical sense.

I’m back in my regular flannelette/jeans combo.

I’ve also packed my bags.

It’s seven-thirty.

My ticket says that I need to be on the ship by eight.

So, I should have plenty of time to drop off this tux and letter to where they need to go.

I drag my suitcase to the door, and turn to look at the house I’ve called home for the last five years one last time.

Then, I blow out the last candle, burning bright next to the door, and turn to leave.

It’s snowing.

I’ll miss that.

It’s also dark.

I won’t miss that, since it gets dark everywhere.

Amongst the falling, patterned stars, I trudge my way over to Falco’s house.

I leave the tux in a bag by the door.

I walk further then, past the tavern.

Past the music and the dancing.

Past the sound of fifty pairs of feet all hitting the floor as Insufficient Cutlery plays the soundtrack to my final half-hour in Northeim.

That soundtrack could use less banjo.

I head further east, deeper into the town.

Through the path flanked by houses.

Past the warm, glowing windows.

And to the largest house.

Laura’s.

Or, more precisely, Laura’s parents’.

I walk up to their letterbox.

In the space between Laura’s house and their neighbors’, I can see a large transport ship and its crew preparing for a long trip back to Ashenweir.

I raise the lid of the letterbox, wincing as it squeaks.

Then, I shove the envelope containing the letter I wrote and the deed to my house inside, blow out a breath, and hustle down to my ride.

56

There’s a crowd of people on the pier, waiting to board the transport ship.

I pick out Isa’s face among them.

She waves and smiles when she sees me.

It’s nice to have someone wave and smile when they see me.

I walk down to her.

Kiss her on the cheek.

She looks beautiful, her red hair glistening in a nearby lantern’s golden light.

Aaron’s with her.

He’s in a pram.

Sleeping.

I remember this pram.

I’ve pushed this pram, back when Aaron was still a little kid.

With Isa.

In the evenings.

I miss that.

“You ready?” Isa asks me.

“I was ready weeks ago.”

She nods. “Why are we doing this?”

I look back up the hill.

To Heron’s Bluff.

To the houses.

The tavern.

The entrance to the mine.

I inhale a deep breath of piney air, blow it out, and answer:

“Because I hate this place.”

“Same here.”

I rest my hand on the small of her back, and turn my attention to the large vessel before us.

“Let’s go.”

“Okay.”

57

Eventually, Isa and I make it through the hustle and bustle.

We flash our tickets at the guy whose job it is to check them.

We’re permitted on board.

He wishes us a safe trip.

I tell him we’re counting on him for that.

We walk the wooden deck.

Underneath the fabric sails.

Down the stairs.

Through a candlelit hallway.

Ignoring the fact that so many candles in a wooden hall is a serious fire hazard.

And find our room.

It’s large and spacious.

Antique furniture everywhere.

Gold plating on the doorknobs.

It’s certainly better than the inside of a crate.

Much better.

Way better.

I could get used to this.

Isa sits on the bed.

Brings the pram close to her.

I sit next to her.

We don’t say anything.

She rests her head on my shoulder.

As we wait for the ship to depart.

So that we can get the hell out of here.

58

It’s been half an hour, and we still haven’t got the hell out of here.

“What do you suppose is wrong?” Isa asks, removing her face from my neck and looking at me.

I sit up from the bed and rub my heavy eyes. “I don’t know.”

She rolls onto her back and looks up at me. “Should we ask what’s happening?”

She makes no indication that she intends to get up. “Or, in other words: Morgan, go ask what’s happening…”

She smiles. “Yes.”

My boots are on the floor next to the bed.

I grab them, pull them over my feet, and start lacing them up.

Then, I stand.

“You’re a darl,” Isa tells me.

“But not an adorable one…”

“Eh, you have your moments.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll be back soon.”

“You’d better be.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll be asleep when you get back, and you won’t get to wish me a good night.”

“I can live with that.”

I manage to get out of the room just before a pillow strikes the door.

I start up the hallway.

Up the path lined with flickering candles.

Past an elderly couple who look so apathetic toward one another that it takes any optimism I had for the future and sprays it with pesticide.

I hit the stairs.

Then something hits me.

I hear the elderly woman scream.

The world goes silent.

Pain flares in the back of my skull.

The ceiling whirls around before me.

And then there’s nothing but black.

59

My head is throbbing.

It’s throbbing in time to a slow, dull beat of which I do not know the source.

Seconds pass, and the throbbing stays at the same pace, but that beating sound speeds up.

Then I hear the crowd sounds.

Someone doesn’t sound happy.

Twenty people don’t sound happy.

I open my eyes.

I’m in a bathroom.

I know this because my head’s next to a toilet.

I need to stop waking up like this.

There’s someone standing over me.

When I see who it is, I groan.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask the blonde above me.

“I could ask the same question of you!” Thalia replies, staring down at me like she’d just caught me trying to steal her liver. “What the fuck are you doing??”

“At the moment: lying on a bathroom floor…” Pain starts pulsing through my brain. “…and nursing my assailed head. I have you to thank for that, right?”

“Yeah. Well, me and this…” She holds up a baseball bat so I can see it.

“You’re meant to aim for the ball, not someone’s head.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t aim for the face.”

“And ruin this?” I indicate my face and produce an exaggerated smile.

“Happily.”

“Hey!”

The beating outside stops, but the commotion is still as loud as ever. “What’s going out there?” I ask her.

“Some old chick saw me hit you. I think they’re trying to save you.”

“Do they need to?”

“We’ll see.”

Thalia straightens up and leans the bat against the wall. Then, she takes up position beside it, leaning her back into the wall with her hands in her jeans’ pockets. “What are you doing here, Morgan?”

“I’m leaving. And, if you’re not careful, you will, too. This ship is due to depart at any minute.”

“I seriously doubt that, given the presence of a dangerous intruder on board.” She pats the bat.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I check on you, all the time. I saw you walking down here with luggage and came straight over.”

“You check on me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because someone has to, with the way you spend your evenings.”

“You should have left me be, Thalia. You have no obligation to me anymore.”

“Oh, you are so wrong about that.”

“Huh?”

She pushes off the wall and leans over me. “You may think we’re done here, but we’re not.”

“You want a fucking bet?”

“You killed some guy that night,” Thalia tells me, yelling over the chaos outside. “When he found you in the living room, about to steal his money, when he was meant to be fucking that friend of yours, you panicked and killed him. And then you panicked and took the money. And then you ran away from everything, and from her. You never spent it because you felt guilty about it all. Does that about sum it up?”

I swallow. “Yeah, that sums it up.”

“You really killed someone?”

“It was an accident. I just wanted to knock him down, but he hit his head on the mantelpiece.”

“So why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t…” I shake my head.

She picks up the baseball bat and extends it to my face. “There’s more to this than you’re telling me.”

“There isn’t. I just didn’t want to say.”

“I’m not letting you leave here until we’ve had a real conversation.”

Something hits the door.

Something big.

“Little problem there…” I tell her.

She turns and looks at the door. “Fuck!”

She glances at the window above the sink before twisting back to me. “I want to know what’s really eating you, Morgan.” She extends the bat again, so that I’m looking right up its length. “Tell me. Tell me now!”

The door shakes as whatever it is they’re using as a battering ram strikes it again.

“Mom, please!”

The wood bows inward, just as the rage hits me.

My eyes widen.

Thalia’s reddened eyes do the same.

She takes a step away from me. “Morgan…”

I stand and walk over to the door. “Get away from the door, you stupid motherfuckers. Everything’s fine, and nothing’s wrong, but there most certainly will be if anyone comes in here before I’m done.”

Silence.

“Someone saw somebody get hit and dragged in there,” a woman from out in the hall says.

“Then someone needs to dial up their dose of antipsychotics.”

“Why did you wait until we ruined the door??” a gruff, male voice cries.

“I was scared. Now fuck off.”

They do.

The commotion dies down.

Then I round upon Thalia.

I grab the bat out of her hand.

She lets me have it.

I take it to the window, and throw it outside.

I hear the splash a second later.

I then turn back to her, inhale some salt water from my eyes, and start.

“You wanna know what all this shit is about Thalia?” My voice vibrates the floor.

“What tipped you off?”

“It’s about the fact that you’re leaving Northeim.”

She face-palms. “Mom…”

“And I want you to do that, because Northeim is a shit-hole and there’s no way you can do all the amazing things I want you to be able to do that I never could here.”

That gets her attention.

“But I also don’t want you to leave, because I’m a lonely and pathetic middle-aged woman who never had anything in her life worth living for until you came along.”

That really gets her attention.

“And I knew that, if you and I sat down, and had a real conversation about this as you put it, then I would have told you that I wanted you to stay, and you would have, because you’re a good kid.”

She runs both her hands through her hair, taking in my words.

“And I’d never forgive myself for that. Because I want more than this for you.”

I motion in the general direction of the town.

“So I did what I always do,” I continue. “I fucked things up. I didn’t choose to fuck things up, I didn’t even know I was fucking things up, but I ended up doing it just as well as if I had.”

I walk over to the sink and lean over it, in case the sick feeling in my stomach manifests into something unfortunate. “And now we’re done. And now you’re free. And now I need to find a way to be okay with that. And you’re not helping.”

The bell rings somewhere outside. This ship is leaving imminently.

I turn to her. “Leave, Thalia.”

She crosses her arms. “No.”

“You need to leave this ship, or you’ll be stuck here.”

“Still no.”

I stop myself from breaking my toe on the bottom of the sink. “This tub is leaving with me on it.”

“Then it’s leaving with me, too.”

“Why do you care? You’ve got Laura. You’ve got money. You don’t need me.”

“That’s debatable, but, on the whole, I agree. I don’t need you.”

“Okay…”

“But I want you.”

I look at her.

“Again, not in a weird, perverted way.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I want you in my life.”

I snort. “Why?”

“Well, for starters, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes I do. If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be a petty thief, living in a cave somewhere.”

“I’m sure you would have managed.”

“I didn’t want to manage. I was a kid. I wanted to have fun, not worry about where dinner was gonna come from. I had fun. Lots of fun. And that was all you.”

I’m still bent over the sink.

I hear her come up behind me.

Feel her hand on my shoulder.

“I like you,” she tells me. “Even though you make it really hard sometimes.”

Despite everything, I smile.

I feel the ship lurch into motion.

“You’re not leaving.”

I turn around and meet her gaze.

“What do you want me to do? Stick around until you decide to leave?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“When and if I decide to go, I want you to come. Your life’s not over, Morgs; not even close. Let’s go somewhere. Get jobs. Make a good living. Make something of ourselves. Break some hearts. Piss off a city or two. Make some memories. What do you say?”

I watch the headland slide past us, as the ship pulls out of the bay.

On top of that headland is a tiny collection of lights that can only be the tiny town of Frostridge.

I once described that place as the ‘ass-end of nowhere.’

That description has never felt more apt than it does tonight.

I exhale a sigh. “Is that really what you want, Thalia?”

“More than anything in the world.”

“What about Laura?”

“What about her?”

“Will she be there, too?”

“Maybe. Have to see.”

“Fair enough.” I nod. “Okay, then.”

I grab her hand, and pull her toward the door.

Into the hall.

Through a collection of onlookers with nothing better to do.

Up the stairs.

Out into the cool, night air on deck.

To the rail on starboard.

I point at the grassy shore a quarter of a mile across the ocean.

The same shore near where I parked the Neridia and wrote that song about Karellius weeks ago.

“Think we can make it?” I ask Thalia, who’s standing by my side.

“No,” she says.

“I agree.”

I look around and see a lifeboat, just a few meters away.

I toss my thumb toward it. “We could steal that.”

“We could,” Thalia says. “But, uhh, let’s not.”

“You are no fun at all, Thalia Blackwood.”

“Well, get used to it, Morgan Acacia. You’re gonna be stuck with me for a while.”

“You’re right. It’s a week from here to Ashenweir.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

I raise an imaginary glass in the air. “To a life of unhealthy co-dependency.”

She taps my non-existent glass with one of her own. “Cheers.”

THREE YEARS LATER

Epilogue

Ugh.

Someone stick a fork in my eye.

This guy hasn’t shut up for the last hour, and I’ve had to sit here and listen to it.

And you wanna know what the worst part is?

I paid to sit here and listen to it.

There are ten people sitting in this classroom along with me.

I’m the oldest student here by like ten years.

I’m surrounded by kids.

But I feel like I’m the most immature out of all of them.

I just want to get up and walk over to that blonde chick up the front who keeps answering questions and give her one across the face with my book.

Jesus Christ.

Someone make it all end!

The class, I mean.

Not life.

I have way too much stuff to do before I check out of this plane of existence.

Assignments to write.

Books to read.

Places to go.

Bacons to eat.

Way too much.

There’s something to be said for not carrying around fifty thousand excuses to run anymore.

It’s not the kick to the groin I thought it’d be.

It’s actually pretty cool.

Huh.

Finally, the bell rings.

It’s not the school bell.

I’m not in high-school.

It’s the bell for the scheduled fire drill.

I get out of class either way.

Yay.

The crowd outside the Thea Vocational Academy disperses.

The fire drill is over.

Hypothetical tragedy averted.

I head to the front of the ornate, stone building and head over to the steps where my girl is waiting for me.

“Hey, gorgeous,” she says to me, drawing me close to her and grabbing my butt.

“Hey… uhh… you…” I reply.

Isa pulls away, crosses her arms, and pushes her lips into a pout. “You’re an asshole, Morgan.”

I pull her back into me and kiss her. “I know.”

I take her shopping bags from her.

Then I take her hand.

And we start up the cobblestone path.

Through the busy streets.

Past a group of kids who seem just as happy school is over as I am.

And under the clear blue sky.

Thea is very different from anywhere I’ve lived before.

There’s music.

There’s life.

There’s sun.

And there’s warmth.

So much warmth.

It’s so warm I could wear a skirt if I wanted to.

I don’t, though.

Neither does Isa, despite my frequent requests.

An extremely attractive brunette woman passes us by on our way through town.

I can’t help but check her out, because I have a functioning set of eyeballs.

When I’m done, Isa’s looking at me.

“What?”

“Had a good gawk, Morgan?”

“I did, thank you. You?”

“No.”

“Why not? What’s wrong with you?”

“I never really saw the appeal.”

“Of that type of woman?”

“No, of women.”

“The fuck?”

Her hazel eyes meet mine. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever been attracted to.”

“That’s weird.”

“So are you.”

“Can’t argue there.”

We keep walking.

“You serious about that?” I ask her. “About what you just said?”

“I am.”

“We’ll definitely talk about that one later.”

“No problem.”

She squeezes my hand.

We keep walking.

A large cottage framed by two tall oak trees is just up ahead of us.

It’s in a quiet spot in front of the forest, on the outskirts of town.

We walk through the gap in the fence.

Up the path.

Through the flowers.

Past my garden.

Up the weathered steps.

And through the door of the biggest perk of having a fairly wealthy wife.

Aaron’s lying on the couch, reading a comic.

He waves at me.

Endures Isa’s brief embrace.

And tells me I’ve got mail.

It’s on the coffee table, next to the remnants of this morning’s coffee.

I give Isa the grocery bags, and she heads to the kitchen to deal with them.

I collapse onto the couch opposite Aaron, and open the letter.

Isa’s arms coil around my neck, and she leans over me. “Who’s it from?”

The senders’ names surprise me.

“It’s from Falco and Gwapo.”

She points at the female name on the envelope. “Doesn’t that say…”

“Sheryl. Yes. I know.”

Isa’s arms gently tighten around my neck.

I push my thumb into the envelope, and try to slide it along the top in such a way that it produces a nice, neat cut like I’ve seen Isa do.

It doesn’t end up working out.

Never saw that coming.

I skim the letter.

Apparently, the gold’s run out and the ETC’s packing it in.

Falco’s retiring.

Gwapo’s still living with Alfred.

He’s very happy.

What the fuck.

Isa, still draped over my shoulders, kisses me on the cheek, and speaks into my ear. “You should get ready.”

“I’m aware.”

I give my horse a not-so-gentle kick in its sides. I do this to hurry it up, and not in retaliation for its apparent desire to kill me.

This chestnut prick has veered into literally every low-hanging tree branch between Thea and here, and I’m not happy about it.

Finally, after two hours of harrowing riding, I’m here.

Kingston.

A small, walled town in the shadow of the mountains that run through the middle of Corinth from coast to coast.

I can see her from here, leaning against the rickety fence around the stables next to her backpack, arms crossed.

She spots me as I draw near, and waves me over.

I pull the horse up next to her. “Morning.”

She doesn’t move from the fence. “Morning ended twenty minutes ago, Morgan.”

“It did?” I ask innocently.

“It did,” Thalia replies.

Her eyes narrow at me.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I still can’t time this ride properly.”

They’re still narrow.

“Would you like a kidney to make up for it?”

“No.”

“Lung?”

“Nope.”

“Liver?”

“Ha. Not from you.”

“Just get on.”

She pushes off the fence, grabs her backpack, pushes her aviators up the bridge of her nose, and comes over.

She looks older, I notice. She’s aged a lot in the six months since I last saw her. She looks happier, too, which is good to see.

I take a foot out of a stirrup and Thalia throws a denim-covered leg over the saddle and comes to rest behind me.

Then, I flick the reins, turn us around, and we’re off.

“How’s Uni?” I ask her, as we start down the hill and back toward Thea at a leisurely trot.

“Hard.”

“How are things with Laura?”

“Hard.”

“What’s a common synonym for the word ‘solid’?”

“Hard.” She adjusts her position, and wraps her arms around my middle for balance. “How are things with Isa?”

“Hard.”

“Really?”

“No. They’re great. Better than ever. I made the mistake of drinking her coffee a couple of weeks back, but we’re doing our best to work past that – together.”

She chuckles. “And Aaron? How is my little bro?”

“Pain the ass.”

“So, the usual?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I look forward to seeing them.”

“They’re looking forward to seeing you. Isa’s so excited that she’s decided to make a special celebratory dinner for your first night back.”

Thalia goes quiet for a few seconds, then laughs nervously. “Great.”

“I’ll intervene where I can during the preparation, but, after that, you’re on your own.”

She doesn’t respond.

I take the opportunity to feel the cool breeze on my face. To listen to the birds chirping in the trees around us.

“So, what are we doing during my two weeks of freedom?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“We’re not going camping again, are we?”

“No.”

“Good, cos I don’t think I can go through that again.”

“When are you gonna shut up about that, Thalia?”

“When Alzheimer’s destroys my mind, and takes the memories of that week with it.”

I grumble incomprehensibly.

She taps me repeatedly on the shoulder. “Fortnight, Morgs… what are we doing??”

“I have no idea. You got any?”

She thinks for a bit. “Wanna go fishing?”

“No, I really don’t.”

“Why not? Are you afraid we’ll get lost after dark in a blizzard, hear a baby crying, and spark a chain of events that ends with us finding out that your ex-girlfriend’s child is actually a two thousand year old dead guy?”

“You caught me.”

“I seriously doubt that will happen.”

“You never know.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I know.”

“You’re pretty sure you know everything, Thalia.”

“I don’t know everything.”

“Tell me one thing you don’t know.”

“If I knew what I didn’t know then I’d know it already.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is.”

“Is it?”

“It is.”

It’s gonna be a long two weeks.

Note from the Author

Hi. This is Holly Sharp, the author of The Other Mother. Before you go, I’d like to say thank you for buying and reading my story. I hope you enjoyed reading about Morgan and the gang as much as I enjoyed writing about them. If you did enjoy the tale, please consider leaving a review on Amazon.com. Not only does it help other readers decide if they want to take the plunge and buy the book, I also love hearing what readers of the story have to say – whether it be good or bad.

If you would like to tell me, personally, what you thought of the book, or if you’d like to hear about new releases of similar books to this one, I encourage you to drop me an email at my website, www.the-black-widows.com, sign up to receive my newsletter, or connect with me on Twitter at: @blackwidowfics.

Cheers,

Holly

Table of Contents

PART I

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

PART II

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

50

51

52

53

54

55

56

57

58

59

Epilogue

Note from the Author