The big ring of old keys that hung heavy in his hand and smelled like a prison—layers of sweat and piss and fear.
A brown bottle, no bigger than Ledger’s thumb, that had the dregs of something thick and sludgy in the bottom. It smelled like salted potatoes, hot and roasted from the oven.
Nothing.
Nothing.
A shrug.
The back of Ledger’s neck itched with panic, and his head throbbed sickly every time he moved it. He was still seeing double and depending mostly on his nose. He scrabbled through the bottom of the chest as he tried to work faster and only managed to slice his hand open on a sliver of glass from something that had broken years ago.
He picked up an old spearhead, the broken shaft wrapped in darkened, decorated leather, faded blue lines worked into curls and knots. The spear end was dark metal, scuffed and dinged, with grime worked into the grooves.
All it smelled of was salt—a lot of salt—and something about that made the back of Ledger’s neck itch. He held it out toward Dale, who cringed back from it.
“That’s it,” he said as he looked away. He put his hands behind him as if to make absolutely sure he wouldn’t touch the thing.“I don’t know what it is, but… if it’s anything, it’s that. It makes me remember what it’s like to feel cold.”
They had time.
“OK,” Ledger said. He put the chest lid down and used it as a prop to get back to his feet. The world tilted unceremoniously under him. He buckled but caught himself on the curved lid, fingers digging into the old wood as the pain spun him like a centrifuge. Sickness washed over him, but he couldn’t vomit.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dale asked.
Ledger dug his nails deeper into the wood, splinters gouged up into the beds, and blood dripped onto the back of his hand. “Look at me,” he said. It hurt to move his jaw. He looked up and slowly pushed himself upright again. “What do you think?”
Dale looked away. “You forget,” he said. “At first, you miss it—pain, pleasure, comfort—but afterward, you forget. It’s just a thing you remember… Do you need anything?”
Ledger wiped his hand on the torn T-shirt. “A hospital, probably,” he said. “But if I die tonight, it won’t be of this. So let’s go.”
He grabbed the spear, gritted his teeth, and headed for the door.
“Why do I have to go?” Dale asked. “You have what you wanted. Take it with my compliments. Leave me out of it.”
“Property law and ritual law aren’t that different,” Ledger said. He held the spear out. “It’s yours now, sealed and signed for. So you get to be the one to use it. That and… again… look at me.”
“You said he wanted to die. It wouldn’t be a fight.”
“So did he,” Ledger said. He held out the spear. “But I’ve pissed him off, and monsters lie. Take it, and let’s go.”
Dale clenched his hands into fists, relaxed them, and then repeated. He took the spear and hefted it clumsily. He took a deep breath that made his chest audibly creak as the stiff tendons adjusted to the unusual expansion.
“Let’s go,” he agreed.
* * *
Ledger saw the bird first.It was perched on the tailgate of the truck, a tiny, dusty gray-brown thing with a sharp beak and stubby tail. Ledger stopped in the middle of the road to stare at it while the bird flicked its tail and preened a feather nearly as long as itself out of its wing. It dropped it into the bed of the truck.
A second later, Dale grabbed his forearm and squeezed. “Look,” he said, his voice drawn thin and thready as he jerked at Ledger’s arm.
Ledger did as he was told.
At the far end of the street, a man stood, silhouetted by the glow of the streetlights. The sky was black overhead, and the air around him was full of birds. A vast flock filled the sky, twisting and turning in intricate, panicky patterns. Ledger could hear the sound of their wings, like a rustle of dry leaves.
For a moment, they were the only things moving on the street. Then Earl started to walk toward them at a slow, inexorable pace.
“Get in the truck,” Ledger said. The words felt sticky in his mouth. “Now.”
“Why?” Dale protested. “Mr. King’s here. Now. Either this thing can kill him, or it can’t. Why wait? What does it matter where we do it?”
