She nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“Then she screamed.”
“So, you didn’t see?”
Fynn took a deep breath. “I ran through here. I saw…”
“What?” she prompted.
“A shadow. It seemed… human. But it was so dark, I can’t be sure. I don’t know what I saw, Lis. When I finally found the matches and lit the candle, she was… And whoever did this was gone.”
“A shadow?”
Fynn met her gaze. “Someone, or something, was in here. How did they escape, when I was here and you were at the door, and the door was locked…?”
Aloisia regarded the kitchen window. It was closed and the shutters outside drawn. In the moments between Brighde’s scream and Fynn lighting the candle, there was no way anyone would have time to dash out of it and replace everything.
“It’s as if they just vanished.” He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving a streak of blood behind.
She turned her attention to the floor around Brighde. There was no weapon, no sign of what caused the wound. Whoever did this must have taken it with them.
“Lis,” Tristan said, hesitant, “did you see those shadows outside? Like humans pulled out of shape.”
“Yes.” At least it hadn’t been her imagination. At least someone else had seen those gruesome forms, too. “Was that like what you saw, Fynn?”
He bobbed his head in a nod, focusing on Brighde again.
“Now we know a little more, I’ll go find someone.” Tristan rose, stepping towards the door. “You stay here—”
His words cut off as Brighde’s skin began to glow a deep orange, as if someone had filled her with molten metal.
Fynn still clutched onto her, his face stricken.
Aloisia drew back. “What’s happening?”
Inky black markings bloomed across her skin, climbing across her jaw and down her wrists to her fingertips. They swirled and wound about her, like a pattern charred into wood, until it seemed every inch of her was covered.
“By the Divines,” Tristan uttered, reaching for his pendant.
A knock came from the door, and they gawped at the doorway where two guards now stood.
“We heard reports of a commotion over this way,” one guard said. “Your door was open, so we assumed it was here, is everything—”
His voice stopped abruptly as he took in the scene. The molten glow of Brighde’s skin, the blood, and the three of them gathered around her.
The other taller guard entered the room. “What’s going on here?” He paled as he studied Brighde. “Witchcraft.” He drew his sword, the first guard advancing behind him with a hand on the hilt of his own. “You are all under arrest.”
“Hold on.” Tristan held his palms up. “Please, first listen to us. None of us are responsible for this, much less understand what is happening.”
The guard held his blade steady, his dark gaze raking over Tristan and catching at the pendant about his throat. “Speak then, Priest.”
“We do not know what did this to her. However, there has been something of the supernatural happening this night.”
The guard scoffed. “You are a priest. You do not believe in such things.”
The first guard seized his arm, lowering the blade a little. “Hear him out, Jarkko. We need to learn as much as we can.”
Jarkko pursed his lips and withdrew.
