“In the south field, please hurry!” Her sagging face contorted with grief. “There was so much blood.”
“Catherine, go with her, and I will go see what can be done. If he is injured, I would not want you to see it.” His expression looked grim. What was he expecting to find? Accidents happened on farms; she’d heard enough stories. But Edward saw her as a delicate lady, not a woman who’d seen depraved things. She’d rather not shatter that illusion.
Edward took the time to help her out of the carriage. “Wait for me here. Do not go anywhere else, understand?” He fixed her with his gaze.
She nodded. Fear for the man and the unsettling, strange look in Edward’s eyes made her uneasy. He glanced once more at the sky then to the forest before flicking the reigns and heading off in the direction of the field the old woman had indicated.
“Come, my lady. Come in for some tea.” The old woman gestured up the road toward a cottage nestled against the forest. Clouds had rolled in and blotted out the sun. A shiver raced down Catherine’s spine. Edward had been insistent she not leave this spot.
“I should wait for my husband,” Catherine said.
Tears welled up in the woman’s eyes. “Please, I fear for my William. It would bring me comfort if you joined me in my cottage for tea.”
She couldn’t say no. The woman must have been sick with worry. And it wasn’t far, just a few feet away. She followed the old woman to her cottage. It had a thatched roof and worn, wood walls. Inside it was sparsely furnished with a double bed covered in a threadbare quilt and a wood table in the center worn smooth in places from years of use. A kettle over the fireplace whistled, and the old woman pulled it off the fire and filled two stone cups. The brew had a familiar scent, though she could not quite place it. Catherine wrinkled her nose.
“Oh. You should have something to eat. But my old legs aren’t what they used to be. Would you go around the back into the woods fetch a bit of bread and cheese from my cellar?” she asked.
The hairs stood up on the back of Catherine’s neck. The woman’s words were a simple enough request. But those woods made her uneasy. The last time she’d gotten close to them, she’d seen that doorway. But how could she deny a distressed old woman?
“Yes, ma’am.” Catherine stood up, and she thought from the corner of her eye the woman had changed. She looked younger, her skin a pale green. But when she looked again, she was the same old woman. Her head throbbed again, and the creeping feeling hadn’t gone away. She shoved those thoughts aside. It must be a trick of the light.
A well-worn path led into the forest and, at the end, a mound with a door placed over it. That had to be the cellar she’d mentioned. Music drifted on the wind. It tugged at her with invisible hands. She inched closer, her ears buzzing with it. Caught at once in its spell, she could not turn away. The world around her seemed to bend and warp as she got closer. The leaves on the trees had a richer hue, the air smelt sweeter, and a prickle raced over her skin. Catherine shook her head and turned away from the forest. Something told her she shouldn’t go here. Listening to these visions, these daydreams, was indulging them too much. She had to find the cellar and go back to the old woman and wait for Edward.
The doorto the cellar was open; something propped it up. As she inched closer, she found a wrinkled hand and nothing else attached to it but the bloody bone and sinew. She screamed and backed away.
A twig snapped behind her, and Catherine spun in place. The old woman strode toward her, head bowed.
“I scented the blood, but I did not know I would find fresh prey here.”
She lifted her head, revealing black pupil-less eyes and sickly green skin and hair.
“What are you?” Catherine screamed.
The creature only smiled as she revealed pointed teeth. Catherine turned and ran into the forest.
9
The forest was unerringly still. Each labored breath echoed back at Ray as he stepped out from the shade of the trees and surveyed the dirt road. The wind rolled leaves end over end, and branches hanging over it swayed in the breeze. Not a sign of life in either direction. He strained his ears for the creak of carriage wheels, the beat of horse hooves, or even the crack of the whip. Silence answered. He’d really lost them around that last bend. By the Great Tree, now what?
Following Lady Thornton’s carriage should have been easy. Among the trees, this close to the gateway between faery and the human realm, a glamour to disguise him in shadows and magic to make his footsteps swifter should have been effortless. If it were after the full moon, he might have used a tracking spell, or sent an ether messenger to follow her on his behalf. But he had precious little energy left before the full moon tonight. And he didn’t have enough to keep up with them. His magic should have lasted longer, but lately, it seemed to run out faster and faster.
He turned back to the still forest. Fog gathered, swirling between sentinel ash and oak. Not a single bird called. No animal rustled in the brush. Odd.
Ray leaned against the rough bark of a nearby ash tree.This single road led in and out of Thornwood, wending past farmland and the forest, which encircled the village. If they’d gone this way, they’d have to come back this way. What was the use in exhausting himself when he might as well wait here?
A breeze rustled through the trees, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He felt eyes on him, but he kept his shoulders relaxed, only his finger twitched to reach for the dagger hidden at his hip. It might be another of Father’s spies, come to watch him, make sure he wasn’t killing more girls. The wind changed directions. His nostrils flared. It was faint, but he smelled blood.Perhaps waiting around was the wrong strategy.
He ran along the road until he came upon a farmhouse set back from the road. Just as still and silent as the forest. Normally one would expect to hear animals, chickens, or penned animals. But he heard nothing at all. Just the faint creak of an open door in the wind. He grasped the hilt of his dagger and approached the cottage.
He eased open the door, ears pricked for the killer. Overturned tables blocked the entrance, and blood smeared the walls. The stench turned his stomach, but unlike the woman he’d found on the side of the road, there was no stench of arcane magic. Just a musky scent he couldn’t quite place.
He squeezed past the table and entered the room. No body. But a spilled pot, half-cooked carrots, and potatoes strewn onto the floor, chunks of rotting meat in gray broth. He wrinkled his nose. Not Lady Thornton then, and whoever had done this, was long gone. Not his problem. He sheathed his dagger and headed for the door.
A pool of congealed blood on the floor had tracks leading away from it. Animal prints. A wolf? But wolves had been gone from this area for centuries. He squatted down, much too big to be a wolf anyway. Ray’s eyes widened. Not wolf prints, they were much larger than any wolf. A werewolf. First, the blood magic and now werewolves?
They weren’t unheard of outside of Faery, but usually, they only crossed over during the full moon. At times when their bite didn’t kill, they turned their victims. That meant there was an infected hunting the farms. He ran out of the cottage, dagger drawn as he followed the trail of blood-flecked feathers. It had left a trail of paw prints in the soft earth, and he followed it past the pigpen where the partially devoured carcasses of pigs had begun to rot.
The tracks disappeared into the forest. Finding Lady Thornton would have to wait. Unless tamed, a werewolf would be a devouring force, and left unchecked, it would turn more humans until they were either dead or slathering blood-thirsty monsters. He followed the trail through the mist to where it abruptly ended in the middle of the forest. Ray turned slowly, dagger held out in front of him.
