Page 7 of Wraithwound

Deciding that it would be worth the risk to learn more, she nodded slowly, lifting the cape of her cloak. Leonid’s head fell.

“What do you know about wraiths?” she asked.

Leonid sighed, stretched his neck, and sank down to the forest floor. “Not enough.”

After a moment, Lena followed opposite him. They sat among the ferns and towering trees, their trunks as large as houses. The almost-bare limbs reached up to the brightening sky.

Leonid pulled out provisions from a small pack and started rummaging through a bag of dried fruit, skipping what she thought might be dried cherries for the apricots. She did the same but found her food tasted like rubber on her tongue. The saltiness of the dried meat was now reminiscent of disinfecting solution.

“Anything you could tell me would be helpful.” Lena swallowed the food quickly, trying not to gag.

“Of those that survive the initial attack, most die within days. If they don’t, they turn,” he said, a grim expression on his face.

Hearing it out loud made her situation feel all the more real, even if she’d already known. “What can you tell me about the timeline? Do you know anything about that?”

“It seems to be different for everyone. Since you’ve already started to turn, I would say you likely don’t have much time left. Two days, if that.”

Lena’s heart sank, and Leonid gave her a pitying look.

“To stay alive, you would have to keep the infection not hungry,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “which, from what I’ve seen, can delay the turn for a time. But if you are giving it what it needs, it gets stronger within you, decreasing your chances of fighting it.”

If what Leonid said was true, it was unlikely she would make it to Enora or survive long enough to figure out how to free Henry’s soul, but she had to know.

“How many did—how many souls—” Lena couldn’t finish her sentence.

“Well, there seem to be different types of wraiths. I’ve heard some speculate that it depends on how strong the infection is,” he said slowly, studying her face. “The logic behind it being that the stronger it is, the more it will require. The most I’ve heard a wraith consume is three souls, but in that case the person couldn’t fight it and was . . . lost.” Leonid got quiet, picking at the fruit now.

Lena was horrified at that thought. She couldn’t imagine actively working to feed the wraith. A part of her wondered how Leonid knew so much, but now was not the time to question it.

“Do you know anyone who has . . . ” Her voice trailed off.

A gleam of understanding lit his gaze, but he didn’t answer. Lena picked up the dried meat and ate a few more pieces. It settled like rocks in her stomach, but she needed the sustenance.

“Do you have a plan?” he asked tentatively.

“A plan?” Lena repeated.

“Yes, you know, what you plan to do before you turn fully,” he said.

A somber mood settled around them, the adrenaline from the morning’s escape a distant memory. Despair’s familiar hold began to tighten its grip on Lena, her thoughts beginning to race. If she couldn’t stop or delay the change medicinally, staying alive long enough to figure out how to free Henry’s soul would require feeding the infection.

Human souls.

No. She could never, would never, let it get to that. But also, she’d been so focused on making it to Enora, she hadn’t considered what would happen if she turned before then. Already having lost control once, it was a valid question.

“Many decide to end it before it’s too late,” he said, a little more quietly.

Lena nodded. It might be the best option. At least if she turned before reaching Enora. But as long as she was still human, she would keep going.

“ . . . go to next?” Leonid asked.

“Sorry?”

“Where are you headed next?” Leonid asked.

But Lena didn’t answer; she had already disclosed too much. And because heading to a city full of people with a wraithwound would be . . . risky.

He nodded once, face dire.