by TJ Nichols
But the scent was old, and that man was dead and buried.
How he’d known where this place was they hadn’t been able to get out of him. Jardin paced through the ruins. There was nothing left of the streets. Trees grew in what would’ve been houses.
As a child, Jardin and the other children had pretended they were the rulers of the forest. Those who couldn’t shift yet played the human guards who were loyal and gifted with wolf magic. The ruined city had only been shown to him when he became an adult and could be trusted to know the history and secrets.
They still had humans in their pack, men like Lyle, but none were gifted magic anymore. Everyone acted as though that were a myth. It was better that way; better people thought the wolves no longer existed.
The wolves walked to the center of the city that was marked by a few stone steps that went nowhere. The carving that had once decorated them had worn away so much that no one knew what it was. It was here that the human intruder had dug his holes, searching for something, his red hood stuffed in his bag as though he didn’t want anyone to know who he was. A human here was bad enough, but a hood? Why would a hood be there? More troubling, how did the king know where the city was?
As one, the pack shook off their shift and stood naked in what had been their city hundreds of years ago before the betrayal. Before they had been hunted for their magic and they’d retreated into the forest to become scavengers eking out an existence.
“Jardin, do you know who killed the hood you buried?” the leader asked
“Not one of us.”
He’d expected the questions before they’d shifted. But by the time he’d gotten back, everyone had been itching to go, their fur sprouting on their skin as the moon called to them. Being questioned in the old city held a certain weight he didn’t like the feel of. He glanced at the man he shared too many features with but who cared more about the pack than his son.
“Human?”
“Yes…I might be able to recognize his scent if I went to town.” He wouldn’t be allowed into town. Few wolves ever were, because humans noticed there was something just a little strange about them, and no one wanted a hunting party roaming the forest searching for werewolves. There were few enough of them already.
“No, too dangerous. I’ll send Lyle to poke around,” the leader said, dismissing Jardin.
Lyle wouldn’t be able to smell anything. But he knew how to drink beer and ask the right questions.
Jardin bowed his head in agreement. The night breeze chilled his skin; he wanted to go back to running through the forest and being free. He was tired of hiding in the forest. Soon he’d have enough coin that he and Lyle could leave, but that would mean leaving his pack and his family, and he wasn’t sure he could do that either.
Why couldn’t they build a proper town? Why did they have to be actual paupers, dependent on the forest? They could do better. They had been better. They had once ruled the southern part of this country.
“Has anyone found out more about the highwaymen?” The leader studied at his pack.
Jardin’s blood ran colder than a midwinter stream, but he didn’t move, didn’t glance away. Like the others, he shrugged. He’d be thrown out of the pack if his father knew he was attracting trouble.
Lyle followed the trails into town. The coins in his pouch jingled with every step. No blood remained on any of them—these coins could be accounted for. The rest…they were carefully hidden. Buying too much or having boots that were too well-made would draw attention from the pack and from the people in town. They expected forest folk to be poor.
For the most part, he was happy to wear that mask and let them think what they wanted. He was but a simple hunter who brought hides in for tanning. It was too soon to try to sell off the hood’s knife, though one of the wolves was wearing his fine boots.
While the leader wanted information, Lyle wanted to see the soothsayer.
Three hoods to hunt down a few highwaymen were too many. There was something else going on. He nodded a greeting to a few people then slipped into the neat shop that was always brimming with herbs and trinkets and charms. Jardin would scoff at him. And while he knew her wolf charms weren’t made of werewolf, he was sure there was something magical about them. He touched the disk hanging from his neck as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior.
He sneezed several times at the herb that was burning and wiped his eyes.
“Carrying secrets, are we?” The soothsayer added a few drops of something to the bowl and kept stirring, safe behind her workbench.
“Who isn’t?”
“Three sneezes, it’s a big one. A dangerous one.”
He had several he could choose from. He lived with wolves, stole from the rich, and loved a man. The wolves didn’t care about the last one, but the townspeople did. The second hood to visit had cut the index and middle finger off two men in traditional punishment. He liked his fingers on his hand, not in the stomach of the mayor’s dog.
Lyle shrugged. “I won’t reveal the location of the forest folk to you.”
She’d once lived with the forest folk but had fallen in love with a man and moved to town. He’d died last year, and she wanted to go home. The pack leader hadn’t given her permission to return. People who left didn’t get to return. She had children who would miss her, and the people here needed her. People might look for her and then find that werewolves still existed.
She grinned, revealing as many gaps as she had teeth. “Sit, Lyle. What do you need this time? Is it sickness?” She peered at him as though she expected him to be carrying harepox.
If it was illness, he wouldn’t have come to town. She’d learned her herbcraft from the forest folk and brought it here, one thing less the forest folk had to trade. The charms, however, were her own creation, and that was what he needed.
“Just a charm to ward away bad luck.” He smiled.
“Huh, you say that like it’s easy. Like it’s something I have on the shelf. Are you sure you don’t want a love charm? Or something to put more love in your staff?” She lifted her eyebrows.
“No, just a good luck token.”
“They aren’t cheap.”
“We both know you won’t charge me what you charge those who wear expensive baubles.”
“Maybe not, but it’ll be a full crown.”
He considered arguing, but he had the coins. He and Jardin had taken back a far fatter purse than what the hood had actually carried. It was their way of spreading the wealth they took from the coaches. Their cache had more than they could easily share without it being called into question by the leader. They had been ready to tell the leader they wanted to leave, but then the first hood had arrived and found his way to the wolves’ most secret site. A place not even he had been.
“Three quarters,” he countered. A full crown was far too much, but she knew he had no other options.
Jardin would be howling with laughter that he was paying a crown for a luck charm that would be made out of herbs and rabbit fluff. But her charms always worked.
She ignored him and went back to stirring. Lyle sat quietly. The stool rocked each time he fidgeted, the legs uneven. He tried to balance the stool, but it somehow managed to move anyway.
Eventually she sighed. “Three hoods have come here and asked me questions about wolves. I kept my silence. You will pay the full amount and take a message to the leader.”
Lyle swallowed. The hoods had been asking about wolves. Did the king no longer believe them extinct? That was not good. “Very well.”
“Tell him I will not lie to the next hood. I want to die at home. They can send another here, I will train another. Another set of ears for you in town.” Her smile was wide, but her eyes were cold and calculating.
If she started to talk about wolves, would she be believed? The townsfolk took her work seriously, and if they thought there were wolves on their doorstep, they might reach for the pitchforks and swords.
“I will take back your words and brin
g an answer.”
“Make sure you do. I read entrails this morning. There will be another.”
“Another hood?”
She nodded. “You can’t kill hoods without someone noticing. They have noble blood and the king’s own color.”
“I didn’t kill them.” He hadn’t killed a single hood, but he knew how the first one had died.
Jardin hadn’t been able to keep that a secret.
“But you know who did.”
“No.” He didn’t know which wolf had made the fatal bite. “How do you know they are dead?”
“They wouldn’t keep coming if they were alive. Now your charm…is your bad luck hood related?”
Was it? “No, it’s more a general feeling that something bad is going on.”
“Good thing you aren’t a hood. You’d never solve anything with that sense of trouble.”
“Thanks.” He pressed his lips together in a thin smile. “Why did the first hood come?”
She glanced at him as she bustled around behind her workbench—making his charm, or adding to her bowl the gods only knew what? “The only person who knows why they were sent is the king.”
“He must have had a reason.” Why had the hoods asked about wolves?
“Perhaps the nobles complained about the highwaymen.” Her gaze was sharp, as though she knew what no one else did.
“Perhaps.”
But Jardin and he had been active for close to a year. Small spurts, then they’d vanish. They sometimes prowled different roads if they were taking goods to another town for trade. He didn’t want to believe they had drawn the hoods here. They hadn’t stopped a carriage in a while, or even a rich rider. Not here anyway.
They should make sure the next hood didn’t get killed. Four dead hoods would surely bring the army, and then there would be no hiding in the forest. The king would probably throw out the forest folk—and the wolves that hid among them—and reclaim it, which would annoy the mayor as he made money from having it included in his town.
He rocked on the stool, its uneven legs tapping on the floor.
There was no reason for the hoods to have been killed, except the first one. What he’d been searching for in the ancient city Jardin hadn’t said. Maybe he didn’t know.
“I need to know more about your bad luck,” the soothsayer said.
“If hoods keep on getting killed, we’ll all be having a lot of very bad luck.”
“True.” She pulled out a piece of tin and started hammering, muttering as she worked.
The scent of the shop tickled his nose again, and he sneezed. The next one he held in, but it came out as a snort.
“You can’t fight sneezing. Oldest magic there is.”
“Making someone sneeze isn’t magic.”
“Says the man looking for good luck like it hides under rocks waiting to be uncovered.” She tossed the stamped disk at him.
Lyle caught it one-handed. There was a stylized hand and a feather in the middle, and the outside was decorated with the phases of the moon. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “What does this mean?”
“Nightlark, hoods, and one month to sort out your bad luck.”
“I asked for a charm to turn my luck around.”
“And you have it. You help the hood, you’ll also help the town, and your luck will turn.”
He bit back a curse, simply because he didn’t want her to change her mind and give him more bad luck. “And if I don’t?”
“Then your bad luck is here to stay.” She grinned and held out her hand. “Crown.”
Lyle slapped the coin onto the bench and put the token into his pouch. Now all he had to do was keep an eye out for a man in red.
Chapter 2
Aubrey wrapped the thin brown cloak around himself. It wasn’t cold, but with night fast approaching, the temperature fell this deep in the woods. Already long shadows were stretching over the ground. The trees and buildings hemmed him in on all sides.
It was claustrophobic, if one was that way inclined. Aubrey wasn’t, mostly. Though he didn’t like being locked in cellars. He’d learned how to pick locks and escape quite young. His father’s acknowledged sons had not been impressed.
He glanced at the sky, reassuring himself that he wasn’t trapped. It was only a town, and not even a big one. But three hoods had died here. Aubrey didn’t understand why such a small town was attracting so much attention, even if they did have a highwayman problem—which from his research wasn’t even that much of a problem. Other stretches of road had worse troubles.
He strolled through the town, trying to wake up his ass after sitting on the back of a cart full of bags of wheat for most of the way in. He would’ve preferred to ride, but he didn’t want to show up as a hood or as a noble bastard. Both would draw too much attention in a place like this.
While none of the buildings were in disrepair, no one was dressed up in bright silks. His clothes blended in…but he didn’t. Gazes followed him. They didn’t know who he was. Perhaps it wasn’t just hoods who’d been killed. Perhaps it was all strangers—which wasn’t a comforting thought at all.
An old woman watched him from the doorway of her shop. Herbs and trinkets hung over her head. Soothsayer. Aubrey walked past. How did she stay in business in such a small town? Perhaps old superstitions still thrived. The king’s warning about werewolves echoed in his ears. Did the people here still believe?
For a heartbeat he wondered if werewolves could be real. If they did exist, it would be in a town like this. He glanced at the mayor’s house, the grandest building here. Surely the mayor would report such a thing?
But he wasn’t about to run the mayor’s doorstep and ask. For one, he would sound like a babbling idiot talking about werewolves, and for two, he’d be tossed onto the street dressed like this. He was a no one, a stranger, and the mayor owed him nothing.
He turned and bumped into a lanky man with dark hair. Aubrey almost scowled then remembered he carried no signs of rank, so he ducked his head and apologized. “Sorry.”
The man stared at him. “Are you lost?”
“Just looking for the tavern.”
“I’m heading that way.” The man hooked his thumb at a wooden building with black trim, which was the second-best building in town, and led the way.
With nothing better to do, Aubrey followed. He’d need a place to stay while he was in Nightlark. Hopefully they’d let him a room. If they didn’t, he was going to have to beg for a bed in a hayloft from one of the cart owners. Their horses and carts provided the transport for much of the trade, their stables the resting place for horses and drivers.
Conversation hushed but didn’t stop as he entered. Aubrey’s ears heated. The topic of chat would now be him. He let the man lead the way to the bar.
The thin woman behind the bar came over. She nodded to the dark-haired man but served Aubrey first. “What can I get you?”
“Dinner and a dark ale.” He’d prefer wine, but even if they had some it wouldn’t be good quality.
“That all?” She watched him like he was trouble.
“A room?”
“I’ll check.”
Aubrey didn’t believe she needed to check; she was just stalling until someone could find out who he was and why he was there. He wasn’t going to be telling the truth—he didn’t want to be the fourth hood to vanish.
He took a table so he could keep his back to the wall and waited with his bag at his feet. His red cloak was in there, bundled up in case he needed to show his authority, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. A few questions, and maybe he could unravel what had happened.
The woman and the dark-haired man had a chat and a laugh. Her gaze darted to Aubrey. The man’s didn’t.
The man stepped away from the bar and glanced around. There were tables he could sit at, and no doubt he had friends that would make room, but instead he made his way over to Aubrey. Aubrey wasn’t the only one hoping for answers today.
He tucked his legs unde
r the table as the other man joined him, drink already in his hand. For several heartbeats they stared at each other, but Aubrey made the deliberate effort to break eye contact first. He couldn’t act like a hood on a trail.
“You arrived today?” the man asked.
“Yes.” That was no secret. “Looking for work.”
“Not much here.”
Aubrey shrugged. He hadn’t expected a warm welcome. “Have you been sent to scare off visitors?”
The man laughed. “Hardly. I don’t live in town.”
Ah…so he lived in the forest. He’d always been told that the forest folk were short and ugly trolls. This man was neither. His lips had a constant turn-up as though he were about to smile. “No work in the woods either?”
“No.” The response was as sharp as a well-honed sword.
A plate was slapped on the table with enough force that the pie on it almost bounced off and onto the floor. The ale was put down a little more gently. “My husband will see you about the room.”
That didn’t sound promising. “Thank you.”
If he had ridden in as a hood, the mayor would’ve had to offer him hospitality, but no one would talk to him if he was swathed in red. He had no doubt that the previous hoods had arrived and demanded their rights. Most did.
At some point he would need to speak with the mayor, but it could wait. If he wanted to solve this, he had to be everything the three other hoods hadn’t been. Gus was known for being brutal, never giving the benefit of the doubt. Etienne for always grasping—much like his family, a little wealth was never enough. Kerman had been fairly new. He hadn’t been corrupted yet, and he’d appeared to follow the rules to the letter.
Aubrey leaned forward. “So why talk to me when everyone else is watching?”
“Because it’s quicker to talk to someone than to wait for gossip. I’m Lyle.”
“Aubrey.” It was a very common name. Lyle less so, but then no city dweller would give themselves a forest folk name. He picked up the pie and started eating while Lyle observed him.
