“I used to have a bloodhound. Good for hunting.” Its last words dip into a horrifying rasp, but the Incarnate doesn’t seem to notice. “See, Norm? I told you we should have gotten another.”
“Prepared for winter?” I ask, slowly reaching for the vials at my waist. My fingers linger between two different ones. The first isCalvin’s. The blood I need to ignite the flame on my sword. The other…
It would be fruitless to test the second vial of blood on the Incarnate. Even if I discovered this Shade is one of the two I seek, it wouldn’t change a damn thing. Incarnates cannot shift back to their base form; they must be killed. For all I know, the remaining Shades I’ve spent years hunting have already become Incarnate and been killed by other Shadowbanes. It’s impossible to know for certain, and I must keep looking until the very end. Even if it’s hopeless.
Besides, any wrong move might trigger the Incarnate to attack. I can’t risk my Summoners’ lives just to answer a question that changes nothing.
I move my fingers back to Calvin’s vial.
“We’re more than prepared,” says the Incarnate. Its voice continues to dip between octaves, between smooth and sinister. “Hunting may be scarce for the next few months, but we’ve got plenty of pelts to sell from our last hunt. Plus, I make and sell these.”
It takes all my restraint not to flinch back as it extends the bone toward us, though none of us can bring ourselves to look closer. The creature’s too-round eyes flick between us, eyelids blinking one at a time. Its lips pull back from its teeth, and for the briefest moment I fear I’ve fucked up.
But then it dons a smile. Too much teeth and too wide for comfort, but a smile nonetheless. “Ah, right. This one ain’t finished. Not much to see.” It places the bone in its lap and reaches for something by its feet. As it extends the new piece, I see it’s an axe with an intricately carved handle. “Don’t be scared. It’s not art, it’s just a tool. Nothing wrong with making tools.”
My stomach sinks as understanding dawns. That’s why this campsite was attacked. Whoever this woman was before she was copied and consumed by a Shade, she dabbled too close to creativity. While it’s true that crafting tools is considered an essential trade and not close enough to art to draw a Shade’s interest, the intricate whorls and patterns she carved made these something new. Beautiful. Imaginative. Something so impressive a Shade took too much interest and sought to become her.
The Incarnate reaches farther. “Here, take a look.”
Bard accepts the tool, turning the bloodstained handle over in his lap.
“I’ll sell it for a gold piece.” The monster’s grin widens as it picks up the bone again and resumes carving.
I remove the vial of Calvin’s blood from my holster.
Uncap it.
Dab some onto my thumb.
“Though I’ll be done with this one in a few more hours, if you’d prefer a custom piece. What do you say? How do you want this one to look?”
I bring my thumb between my lips and feel the rush of energy course through me as the iron tang melts over my tongue.
“Come on, tell me,” the Incarnate says, demand in its voice. It lifts its gaze to Bard. “You want a wolf, like your face?”
“All right,” Bard says. “A wolf, then.”
The creature’s round eyes grow larger, focusing on Bard’s mask. Then Inana’s. “You’ve got strange faces.”
My pulse quickens all over again. Incarnates can’t usually distinguish between human faces and masks. It’s time to act. Carefully. Quickly.
I tip another smear of blood onto my thumb.
The Incarnate lowers its eyes back to the bone and carves again.
Scrape.
Drip.
Scrape.
Drip.
With my other hand, I reach behind me, gripping the hilt of my sword.
Scrape.
Drip.
