by CJ Brightley
There was a barely audible click, and she breathed a quick sigh of relief as she turned the doorknob.
Too soon.
He spun her about and slammed her against the wall, one hand on her throat and the other pulling the card from her hand.
“Why are you here?” His voice growled into her ear, cold breath brushing against her cheek.
She thrashed, trying to kick him, but he evaded her efforts easily, barely acknowledging her effort. He loosened his hand, just a bit, and she gasped before he tightened it again. Sparkles swam before her eyes, dazzling in the darkness of the hallway. This had been a very bad idea indeed. How did he sneak up on me? I didn’t hear him at all.
“Why are you here?” He repeated his question, and she shook her head obstinately. She wouldn’t answer his question, not while he was choking her. She opened her mouth, trying to curse him, beg him, something, and no sound came out. The sparkles began to fade.
She could see nothing, but his breath moved gently against her face. He was staring at her as if the darkness meant nothing to him. I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me, and no one will even know. Suddenly he let go and pushed past her through the open door.
She fell to one knee and rubbed her neck, blinking back angry tears at the pain. It was her own fault. His hand had been as cold and hard as steel, and her breath burned in her throat.
She pulled the phone from her pocket and pointed the light at him through the doorway.
She hadn’t had a good look before, and even now, in her fear, the curiosity rose up. It’s going to get me killed someday. He wore well-worn dark trousers and a threadbare short-sleeved black shirt, perhaps the same one, so thin his pale skin showed through across the shoulders. His hair was black, or close to it; she couldn’t tell in the dim light. He moved with taut grace, an athlete or a soldier, perhaps. Of average height, with a slim, muscular build. Thirty? Perhaps younger? There was the slightest touch of gray in the hair near his temples, but his face was unlined. Sharp features, because he had no fat to soften them, but they were attractive, she had to admit that. An ancient oil lantern sat unlit on a wooden desk. He tossed a rucksack beside it and began packing with swift economy. Three more shirts. A pair of pants. She craned her neck to see more.
“Leave me alone,” he said without looking up.
She hesitated. “I only meant to see if anyone lived here.”
He grunted. It was an unfriendly sound. And why should he be friendly? She’d been trying to break into his apartment. But he could have killed her, and he didn’t.
She pressed her luck. “Well, I thought you might need something. Since the power is off.” She rubbed her throat again.
He didn’t answer. He picked up all six books from the desk and stacked them in the rucksack, then jerked the worn blanket off the cot, folded it, and tucked it in on top. He turned away for a moment and buckled something around his waist, and she frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.” His voice was cold.
“Because of me?”
He grunted again. He turned back to the cot and threw the rucksack over his shoulder. Her eyes widened. He was wearing a sword, a long straight blade with a worn, leather-wrapped scabbard. Another, shorter sword hung from his right hip. What kind of lunatic carries swords, as if we lived back in ye olden days? If he wanted to defend himself, a gun would be better, but if he wants to look intimidating, I guess this works.
He finally met her eyes, and she flinched at the icy blue stare. She took a step backward, and he walked past her into the hallway.
He dropped the key at her feet without looking back. “It’s yours now.”
Aria stared at his back. He disappeared at the end of the hallway, and she hesitated. She was almost crazy enough to go after him.
No, she would look in the room. She picked up the key and stepped inside his apartment.
He’d left the lamp, and she lit it with a match from the box sitting beside it. It was impossible to tell how long he’d been there. He’d packed little yet left nothing behind. The ancient wooden bureau was empty, the drawers loud as she tried them. There was a desk with a single drawer, also empty. Nothing in the trashcan. Nothing in the old wardrobe. There was a tiny refrigerator, but it was off. She opened the door, half-expecting some horrible rot to assault her nose, but there was nothing inside. It had been empty and cleaned before the power was turned off. He’d probably never used it then. She tried the light switch. Nothing. No hum of electric power or devices charging. It might have been a bank vault for how silent the room was.
She turned in a circle in the middle of the room. The cot was pushed against the wall, and she eyed it. A cheap camping cot, well-used, devoid of padding and comfort. He didn’t have a pillow. Odd. The room was a concrete box with nothing to see and nothing to recommend it.
Aria took the lantern with her when she left. She walked slowly down the hallway, thinking so hard she forgot the pain in her throat as she climbed the stairs toward the exit. The adventure had yielded little, and she felt the whole thing had been foolish. More than foolish. Idiotic. Some men would have done worse, you know. You’re not exactly imposing, and he did have reason to be angry with you. What did you expect?
She sniffed. There was an odd smell, musky and rank, and she caught her breath suddenly. It smelled dangerous. Big and dangerous. She pressed herself against the wall, her heart racing.
It was inside the building. She heard it, a rumbling growl, perhaps from the next hall. She swallowed hard. It was coming closer. Another growl, low and echoing in the concrete hallways.
Why did I decide this was a good idea? Aria tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. Was it between her and the exterior door? Could she make it outside without being seen? What good would that do, if it caught her scent? She found an open doorway and slid inside the darkened room, trembling, her back pressed against the concrete block wall. She turned the lantern down as far as it would go without going out completely. She pushed the door closed, wincing at a soft squeak. She turned the doorknob, her fingers trembling, trying to get the latch to catch without another sound.
Maybe it won’t hear me.
Maybe it can smell me. It sounds big enough to break down the door.
It growled again, closer. A roar brought her heart to her throat. Terrible sounds came from the hallway; an inhuman shriek, thumps, crashes, and a deafening snarling that could be heard over it all. She sank down against the wall and tried to breathe silently. Be brave, Aria! Don’t lose it, girl.
Sudden silence. She caught her breath. Was it coming closer? Had it killed someone? What was it?
There was a faint thump, very different from the sounds before. Perhaps someone was alive and needed help. There were no cries of pain or shouts for help, but perhaps they couldn’t cry out. She waited.
Is it dead? Is it gone yet? What if someone needs help? She took a deep breath and rose from her hiding place. She unlatched the door and pulled it open to peek around the doorframe.
The flickering lamplight showed nothing, and she turned it up. She crept carefully down the hall, grateful for her soft, quiet shoes. The hall was short, and at the corner she gasped. The walls and floor were covered in blood, great streaks and smears of gore. There was no body. The blood led to the left, and she held her breath as she followed the trail.
The lamp flooded a room with yellow light and her mouth dropped open in horror. It might have been a classroom at some point; a blackboard was on one wall and a large desk stood to one side, though there were no small desks for children. A great hulk lay in the middle, the face turned away from her. Blood smeared the floor, the ceiling, and three of the four walls. Paw prints showed how the beast had fought, how it had leaped from the floor to a wall and back into the center of the room.
Her eyes rested on the creature, and she stayed well away from it, holding the lamp higher as she edged around to examine its head. A wolf of sorts, though not exactly. It was
easily three hundred pounds, perhaps more, lean and muscular. Long-legged. Its muzzle was shorter than a wolf’s should be, and the teeth were larger and more uneven. Its mouth gaped open, a slime of blood and saliva pooling beneath the tongue. Is it dead? It’s not moving.
“I told you to leave me alone.” The growl came from the other side of the beast’s body.
Aria started so badly she almost dropped the lamp.
“Are you hurt?” she managed. She could barely hear her voice over her own thudding heartbeat.
He must have been holding his breath, for he let it out in a rush. “It is none of your concern.”
She stepped closer anyway, giving the creature a wide berth. Her eyes were transfixed on its face for another long moment. It looked wrong.
Then she looked at him.
He was on his knees, sitting on his heels, the longer sword on the floor in front of him in easy reach. The hilt and blade were smeared with blood, and so was his face. She brought the lamp closer. He sighed in weary frustration, turning his face away from the light.
“Let me help you.”
He was covered in blood, the thin shirt sticking to him wetly. His shoulders dropped and he grunted again. “You should leave.” It wasn’t so unfriendly this time.
She didn’t answer. She reached forward to push his hands away from the wound. One of the wounds.
It looked like the creature had tried to gut him; his stomach was ravaged. She brought the lamp closer to see the damage, but it was hard to make out in the flickering light. Everything was red blood, soaked dark into the ripped fabric. He’d been trying to tie his extra pair of pants about his waist, but the fabric was difficult to knot tightly. Especially since one of his hands was badly mangled; a broken bone glistened white against the red flesh and blood.
She tried not to look at it, feeling bile rise in her throat.
“What is that thing?” she asked. She had to keep him talking. He would go into shock and die.
“A vertril.”
“Are there many of them in the city? I’ve never seen one before.” She felt panicky at the thought. Blood smeared her hands, and she stared at them, appalled. I have to stop the bleeding.
He snorted, and she looked up at his face. “You wouldn’t have,” he said.
“I’ll take you to the hospital. You need better care than I can give. And you need it soon.” He shouldn’t still be talking. He should be dead. How much of that blood on the floor is his? She pulled the knot tight, the fabric slick in her fingers.
“I’ll be fine.” He leaned forward and rested a moment on his right hand, holding his left close to his body, and then stood. He blinked, and swayed a moment, then focused on her. “You need to leave. It isn’t safe here.”
She reached out for his mangled left hand. “Let me bandage that.”
He ignored her, knelt to pick up his sword, and wiped it on his trousers.
“I don’t think that helped much,” she ventured. “You’re pretty gory.”
He slanted a look at her sideways. His mouth twitched as if he was going to say something, but then he only frowned and said nothing.
“I need to take you to the hospital,” she repeated. “If it doesn’t hurt too much now, it’s because you’re in shock. You need medical attention.”
He bent to pull his rucksack over one shoulder and straightened again, more steadily this time, and looked at her. “Thank you for your help. I hope I never see you again.” One corner of his mouth twitched upward in a ghost of a smile, and he turned away.
She let him go.
She stayed on her knees, too queasy to rise just yet. She stared at the great beast in horrified fascination. It was covered in grey-brown fur, layered as if it were a cold-weather creature. The teeth were white and sharp, and she peered at them in the lamplight. The largest was nearly as long as her hand. Bloody smears across the floor highlighted long gouges in the linoleum. Claw marks.
He should have been dead. It had bitten him, savaged him. The beast, too, should have been dead two or three times over. It was cut and stabbed in twelve or thirteen places. Two sword strokes went deep into its gut, but she guessed the throat wound had killed it.
She startled at the sounds in the hallway. The Imperial Police Force was here. The IPF was reassuringly competent, and they would handle this.
“What happened here, ma’am?” the corporal at the front asked. “Are you injured?”
“No.” She gestured helplessly toward the beast.
“Yes, I see it. What do you know about it?” He didn’t seem as surprised as she’d expected. Has he seen one of these before?
Aria licked her lips. “I think he said it was a ‘vertril’? Is that a word?”
He looked at her sharply. “Who said that?”
“The man who killed it. You didn’t think I did, did you?”
He blinked at her. “Wait a moment.” He pulled an electronic tablet from his pocket and tapped the screen a few times. A light pulsed softly on the end pointed toward her. “Start at the beginning.”
She hesitated. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not exactly. “I was here because, well, I heard a sound, and I thought it was suspicious. It wasn’t loud. It might have been only a cat or something. But I was just trying to do my duty, and check to see if anything was wrong, so I came in. And I was walking through the hall there when I heard a growl.”
The man stared at her. “Wait a moment.” He tapped on the screen a few times, and then frowned. “Continue.”
“Well, it sounded big. And I was frightened. So I waited in that room and when it sounded like everything was over, I came out to see if everything was okay. It sounded like it might have killed someone.” She felt panic rising up again at the thought. The smell. The sound of the fight. What if it had found her first?
“Breathe, miss. Take a deep breath. Continue.” The man was looking at her with a combination of compassion, disbelief, and suspicion.
“This man had killed it. With a sword.” She heard her own choppy language and thought distantly, I think I’m in shock. “He was hurt, and I tried to take him to a hospital, but he refused. He left.”
“Did you see where he went?” The man’s eyes were sharp on her face.
“Down the hall.” She waved vaguely.
He called out over his shoulder, eyes not leaving her face. “Teams one and two, ready for retrieval ops. Direction unknown. One target, armed and dangerous. Standby.” Then, to Aria, “What did he look like?”
She blinked. “He’s not a criminal. He killed it. That’s a heroic thing, I’d think.”
“What did he look like?” He barked the question at her.
“Medium height. Dark hair. Blue eyes.” She felt obstinately unwilling to help them. What did they want with him anyway? He hadn’t done anything wrong. If anything, they needed to find him to save his life. He’d be bleeding out now if she guessed right. Probably no more than a block away.
“Anything else? Distinguishing marks?”
“He’s hurt.” She stared at him sullenly, wishing she’d lied.
“Medium height, dark hair, blue eyes, wounded. Go!”
All but three of the IPF squad sprinted away.
“Is that all you know?”
“I… think so?”
He studied her for a moment and said carefully, “I’m not questioning your truthfulness, but in cases like this, there is often some… confusion… in the witnesses. I’m going to prompt you a little where things don’t seem to make sense. Just tell me what you actually remember, not what you think I want to hear. If you can’t remember, you can’t remember. But don’t be afraid to add things or change your story if you think of something you didn’t say before. If you realize you were confused and said something that wasn’t true, now is the time to tell me.”
She licked her lips.
“So, you hadn’t seen the man before? You just came in here because of a strange noise?”
Aria swallowed. It wasn’t really believ
able, was it? If they thought she was lying, or even just not telling everything she knew, she could be arrested. Kicked out of school. Who knew what else?
“Um. Well, actually I saw the man earlier, in a bookstore. I thought he was… odd, somehow. He didn’t do anything wrong. He just caught my interest, I guess. Maybe he reminded me of someone?”
The man’s gaze sharpened at this.
“So I guess I followed him here without really thinking much about it. I was out walking, and this was as good a way as any. It’s not that far out of my way. I didn’t think much of it before…” she gestured at the vertril corpse on the floor.
“He reminded you of someone? Who?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t at all. Maybe it was something else about him. He just seemed a little strange somehow, and we’re supposed to pay attention and report strange things, aren’t we?”
He relaxed a little and glanced at the screen before him. “Where did you first see him? Did you speak with him?”
Oh. They thought she might be associated with him somehow. That was not good at all.
“No, not really. I saw him, just for a minute, in a bookstore where I do homework. It’s called Dandra’s. He was looking for something and I asked if I could help him, but he turned and left without answering me. I hadn’t seen him before that. I left the store a few minutes later and happened to see him again on the street while I was walking around, and I guess I just followed him here without meaning to. Then I heard the noises.” That was a better story. They could verify with Dandra that she’d been at the shop, and hadn’t seemed to know the man. And she hadn’t really said anything that would help them catch him.
“Is any of this blood his?”
She nodded uncertainly. “Take samples,” he said over his shoulder to the other men. “Your name? Age? Address?”
“Aria Forsyth. Twenty-four. 19 McKenna Walk.”
“That’s North Quadrant. Why are you here?”
