the town of ichbarrow isone unbroken line of squat buildings situated half a mile from a mine shaft. It’s a cold, desolate sort of place, even in springtime, with homes made of tin and windows so small they barely let in any light at all. There’s a silence here, a lack of soul that Brielle finds unnerving, and she instructs Dreska to remain close. These places, sprung from nothing but a merchant’s hunt for metals in the ground are not real communities. They live to serve the greed of men, and the children grow up either compliant or with so much fire in their chests that they burn themselves from the inside out.
‘Are you a hunter?’ a man asks before sucking in a lungful of air and hacking into his scrunched fist. He blinks up at Brielle, the crevices of his face accentuated with the dirt from the mine, as if the clouds of it have marked him, claimed him for the unlit world below. ‘We have no coin.’
Brielle glances at Dreska, then back at the man. ‘I am. But if it’s sprites or knockers your mine owner should pay to have them cleared—’
‘No,’ a woman cuts in, wiping her hands on an apron tied at her waist. ‘’Tis a haunting. A ghostly creature. A wraith.’
‘From a local family?’ Brielle asks quietly. There are eyes all around her, skimming over her blades, assessing.
‘A lost daughter,’ the woman says. ‘My sister’s girl. Things always were a little strange, a littledifferenthere since she was born. Doors that locked on their own, hail in the summer months, loaves of bread baked with coppers flowing from the middle when cut open.’
‘Expect you all liked that,’ Dreska says, squinting at her.
She shrugs. ‘Some things were good, some bad. Just enough good, though, to stop anyone mentioning it to the mine owner.’
‘Then what happened?’ Brielle prompts.
‘She turned seventeen. One day a girl, the next a phantom,’ the man says. ‘There was this thin wail of misery, like she was being burned alive. It shook the roofs of every home in Ichbarrow and now … Well, the bread is dry as dust. No coppers to be had. No more seams to follow for the prospectors, and it’s cold all the while. Even now it’s springtime.’
‘And the family?’ Brielle asks, scanning the homes surrounding them.
‘My sister keeps to herself,’ the woman says. ‘Herhusband and eldest boy are down the mine on longer shifts. Owner working us all to death for his profits.’
A common story, Nova purrs, meowing in that strange, unconvincing way before idling towards the drabbest tin-roofed home.I can sense a presence in this one.
‘Lead us to the inn,’ Brielle says to the woman, stalling for time while Nova searches for the wraith. ‘Find us food and lodgings, and I’ll give you my answer.’
They’re offered a room with bunk beds and a chipped basin and Brielle advises Dreska to drink only what is boiled. They have tea next to a warm fire downstairs, a local kind infused with black, bitter leaves, which the other patrons enjoy with tiny, fermented cherries. Brielle asks for two plates of whatever is good and gets out a stack of cards that she sometimes uses on assignment to loosen up a gathering. Dreska seems anxious and it occurs to Brielle that this is her first time away from home, let alone in a new territory. She and Dreska play Kill or Crown, eat potatoes and mutton, then order more black tea as Nova appears at Brielle’s side, tail twitching.
It’s a wraith, all right.
Brielle nods, murmuring from the corner of her mouth. ‘And the family?’
They need to leave the home before we attempt a reversal. Three of them, all with eyes dipped in charcoal.
‘They’re tired?’
Nova gives her an un-catlike stare.They’re haunted, Hunter.
Brielle heaves a breath and turns to Dreska. ‘Ready for our first assignment?’
‘I think so,’ Dreska replies, piling up the cards neatly, biting her lip.
‘It’s a girl, already a wraith. Family suffering from it.’
Dreska winces. ‘It’s what could have happened to me. To my family.’
‘It was not your fault,’ Brielle reminds her softly.
‘Thank you,’ Dreska says, and raises her chin, a hint of her stubborn wilfulness shining through. ‘But all I want now is to help as many as I can. I want to feel worthy of my sister when I next see her.’
Brielle’s heart twists, but she says nothing, rising from her chair. She has an awful feeling that Dreska will always want to atone simply for being who she is. They follow Nova out into the gathering dark.
The family live on the outskirts of Ichbarrow, mountains rearing up in the distance behind their home, the howl of grindlewolves like some discordant chant, eddying and echoing over the plains. Brielle smells coal and ash before they step inside, but in the sitting room the fire is unlit. The temperature drops, cool air slipping over her neck, and she wonders if the family have not been able to light a fire in some time.
The mother rises, her sister – the woman from before – is sitting with her. ‘Men are at the mine still,’ she says, taking her sister’s hand. ‘The girl is upstairs. She won’t … You might not be able to see her. She drifts in and out of focus.’
Brielle licks her lips, listening to the creak of floorboards from above. ‘Her name?’
