Page 36 of Beds and Blades

“It waited until the fighting was over.”

“Yes.”

“Until people were tired.”

“Yes.”

“Until the sun was coming up.”

Skip’s gaze remained on the broken door.

“Then it fed,” he said. “And went below.”

“To avoid the daylight.”

“Yes,” Skip said. “And to recover.”

Recover was an ugly word in this context.

It implied that whatever had gone below was not hiding.

It was improving.

Whatever had gone down those stairs had not gone to sleep in any human sense. It had gone into darkness with stolen blood inside it and stone above its head.

Flavia stepped past me. She had a sword in her hand.

“I’ll go,” she said.

“No,” Skip said.

She did not look at him. Her eyes were on the stairs.

“It is in the crypt.”

“I know where it is.”

“It is alone.”

“It has fed.”

“I am not afraid of darkness.”

“You should be.”

That made her look at him.

Skip’s voice did not rise. It did not need to.

“You would be going down a narrow stair into total darkness against an undead beast that drank blood only hours ago. You would not see it until it was already close enough to put fangs into your neck. It would see you. It would smell you. It would hear your breathing before your first foot reached the bottom.”

Flavia’s grip tightened around the sword.

“We cannot leave it there.”

“We cannot send people down to be needlessly killed.”

That silenced her.