“If I’ll bet my life, I want something good on the other end of the scale.”
“Fine,” I mumbled, “but only because I know you’ll lose.”
“Deal.” His mouth curled into a grin, and he extended his hand across the desk.
“Deal.” I grasped it and shook.
7
THE POISONER
“Another one?” I poked the pale corpse with my boot. “This is the third one this month.”
“Unfortunately.” Rebecca adjusted her grip on the hilt of the hatchet.
The body still twitched, but it was undoubtedly dead. Its head was three meters away from where it was supposed to be attached to the torso, leaving a trail of black sludge in the snow from where it rolled.
The body was pale and skinny, even for a grown man. The feral corrupted had a very particular look, like their own body was eating away at them, their nerves fired up like they were made of gunpowder. Even with the head detached, his dried and curled lips twitched as the skin tightened around his skull.
Recently, we have had a problem with the corrupted. It was not until we settled here that we could see the full extent of how invasive a newly turned corrupted could be without accessible Dens to feed within. They were like animals looking to scavenge for anything they could. If a corrupted consumed blood every day in a Den, they could possibly be functioning members of society.
That is what the other Vipera claimed, at least. They say if a corrupted doesn’t eat, the lack of sustenance starts to eat away at their brain, wreaking havoc on their organs, driving them into a rabid state. Which is why it was rare that a well-fed corrupted lived past thirty—possibly to fifty if they took exceptional care of their condition. For this reason, Vipera preferred to behead the humans they killed during feeding if they weren’t Hosts, as Hosts don’t have this problem when they turn; they have all the right parts hidden deep within their bodies.
The hysteria is too much, and a low profile is paramount in their world.
The increase in incidents unnerved me. Especially with a house full of Hosts.
“Don’t mention this to anyone yet,” I muttered. “I will dig around. I don’t know which Guild these are coming from, but I will figure it out.”
“Are you sure you want to hide something like this?” Phoebe looked up at me as she crouched next to the body. “I can understand if it were just one every few months like before, but they’re becoming too frequent.”
“It could just be the same group; maybe this was the last of them.” I stepped over the body to get another look.
The two exchanged glances without a spoken word. I know they don’t like keeping things from the Nest, but it would hurt us more if we were too high-strung or lost our heads.
Rebecca frowned as she hoisted the hatchet over her shoulder, shifting on her heels as she waited for me to give instructions.
While everyone loved to tell me what they thought, they never had an actionable plan. It was of the utmost importance that we were able to think several steps ahead of an incident.
“Drag him to the river. This one isn’t ours, so no harm in sending him off the property.” I pushed the corpse’s languid shoulder with my shoe to see if it would move again.
Rebecca nodded, but the tension in her jaw told me we were not in agreement on the next steps.
Phoebe adjusted the strap of the shotgun over her shoulder, letting out a puff of frozen breath as thoughts knit at her taut brow.
“I’ll check with Henry today, see if the morgue was busier than usual.” I pressed the back of my neck in an attempt to release the knot in my shoulder.
“Have you told him yet?” Phoebe’s eyes snapped in my direction.
“Told him what?”
“About the corrupted, the Vipera. Has he not wondered what all these things are?”
“He wouldn’t believe me even if I told him.” I shrugged. “Henry is the practical type, too analytical for his own good.”
“That sounds familiar,” Rebecca snorted.
A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth before it disappeared again when I looked toward the head of our specimen.
