Thief of Lives

by J. C.

  Magiere had acquired separate rooms.

  Pulling on her hauberk, she buckled her sword belt across it, checking that the blade slipped smoothly from its sheath. She removed a brush and an extra leather hair thong from her pack and placed them on the table. It was her way now to make any space hers. He'd never realized this out on the open road, nor how important a sense of home was to her. Perhaps she wasn't aware of it herself. For Leesil, home was wherever she and Chap happened to be.

  "What are you thinking?" she asked.

  "That we're in over our heads, and we can't back out," he replied. "That pack of wolves on the council might share traits with village elders you've dazzled, but there are differences. They're landed gentry and wealthy merchants. Did you see their faces when we walked in?"

  "Yes." She stopped to pull the chest's lid closed. "But if I think like that, I won't be able to go on."

  "Then we avoid the council." He nodded, white-blond hair waving as he leaned against the doorway, reluctant to enter the room. "We go to Lanjov's, and maybe Chap picks up a scent from the dead girl's clothes. Then we start hunting. We're in the largest city in the country, and this won't be simple. We aren't trackers, but we'll have to play the part and hope for luck." He lifted his head with a narrow-lipped smile. "Maybe if we blunder along, the bloodthirsty little monster will panic and try to kill one of us. That would get things out in the open."

  "You're not funny," Magiere replied. "We've done this once. We can do it again."

  Leesil wanted to believe her.

  * * * *

  In spite of her attempted confidence, Magiere was overwhelmed as they stepped through the iron front gate at Lanjov's home. Constructed of finely masoned stone, the house was easily large enough for three families back in Miiska. When they climbed the three steps to the door, she grasped the large brass knocker, then paused and glanced at Leesil.

  "You need that shirt fixed. Or better, buy a new one. You look like a beggar."

  "I could pretend I'm in disguise."

  She glared at him and rapped the knocker against the door.

  Chap sniffed the front porch in some agitation. When Magiere looked to see what had captured his interest, she noticed that, unlike the clean stone in the walkway, the mortar between the left side porch stones was dark, as if stained.

  A young maid opened the door and peered out, wearing a simple muslin dress covered by a clean apron, her hair tucked completely under a white linen cap. She looked at Magiere and then Leesil, and her eyes widened with fright.

  "We have an appointment with Councilman Lanjov," Magiere said quickly. "He is expecting us."

  The maid nodded, half hiding behind the door as she stepped aside to let them enter.

  "H-he…" she stuttered, looking at Leesil, then quickly averting her nervous eyes, "he told me to have you wait in the lower study."

  She seemed even more flustered when Chap entered behind them. Leesil flashed her a smile, which only caused her skin to pale as she turned to lead them down a hall and through an open archway.

  "Please sit," she managed to say, motioning to a green velvet divan, and then she fled.

  "Don't smile at the help," Magiere said, settling on the divan. "They aren't used to it."

  Leesil rolled his eyes. Instead of taking a seat next to her, he peered about at luxurious knickknacks and bric-a-brac carefully placed about the room. A crystal vase and a silver inkwell held his attention for a short while, and then he stopped at an antique gold candleholder on the end table next to the divan.

  "Do you suppose this is genuine?" Leesil asked.

  "Stop it!" she warned.

  Leesil returned an innocent stare. "What?"

  "I know what you're doing."

  "What am I doing? I'm admiring the man's taste."

  "If anything comes up missing"—she grabbed for his arm, but he stepped out of reach—"I'll stuff you in our trunk and save them the trouble of arresting you."

  Before Magiere could force him to sit, a deep voice interrupted.

  "How kind. I see you can appreciate some of the finer things."

  Lanjov stood in the study's archway. Though he was still as freshly dressed as this afternoon, his expression was tired and worn. He'd obviously had a long day.

  "I'm sorry about the evening visit," Magiere replied. "But we need to know more of what happened. Your daughter was killed on the front porch? Who found the body?"

  "I did," he answered with difficulty, staring at Leesil's torn shirt. He studied Magiere's partner for a moment, and a narrow-eyed expression passed over his face that she couldn't fathom. It was most certainly time to change Leesil's look, if they were to continue dealing with the councilman and his kind. Lanjov's gaze lifted to Leesil's face, or perhaps his hair, and Magiere grew more puzzled. The councilman's observation moved back downward to where Chap sniffed at the divan's legs.

  "Then you weren't home?" Magiere asked. "Where were you?"

  "At the Knight's House playing cards. I came home quite late and she…" His gaze grew unfocused, until he finally closed his eyes.

  Magiere waited, allowing Lanjov to compose himself. "Was anyone else at home?"

  He paused in thought. "Only my cook, who also serves as housekeeper. My coachman was with me. I was unaware that my maid and my houseboy were missing. When I questioned them later, I learned that Chesna had been giving them the same midweek night off for nearly a year. I always go to the Knight's House on the same evenings."

  Leesil stepped away from the candlesticks and spoke to Lanjov for the first time.

  "You leave the house on the same nights, and your daughter had a habit of letting the servants off for those evenings?"

  Lanjov seemed disturbed at being addressed directly by Leesil, but he tightened his jaw and nodded. "Yes, but I did not find this out until after Chesna's death."

  Leesil glanced at Magiere, and she knew his mind was now busy. That was what she needed. This one connection was easy to spot, but he often picked up on things she didn't.

  "We'll need to speak with the servants," Magiere said quietly.

  "Why?" Lanjov was back on his guard. "I've told you everything they told me. They feel guilty enough about their betrayal. What possible reason is there for upsetting them further?"

  Betrayal? This man thought a few servants indulging in a night off was betrayal?

  "You said the cook was at home," Magiere pressed. "I at least need to speak with her."

  With his jaw still tight, Lanjov backed through the archway to speak low and harshly to the young maid. Soon after, a portly woman in her mid-fifties appeared.

  Unlike the maid, she didn't appear frightened. Her red-and-gray hair was bound in a bun, and her apron, although clean, bore a few faded stains. She sized up Magiere.

  "So you're the hunter. You're not what anyone expected."

  Magiere almost smiled. "Apparently not." She turned to Lanjov. "Could we speak with her alone?"

  "No," he said flatly. "Any questioning will take place in my presence."

  It became clear to Magiere that for all his words to the council concerning cooperation, he had little intention of doing so himself. He probably expected her to stay far from him and his home, and use some mystical power to track down Chesna's killer. Then he would expect proof for the council, so they could pat her on the head, give her a bank draft, and send her out of sight.

  "What's your name?" Magiere asked the cook.

  "Dyta."

  "Tell us what happened the night Chesna was killed."

  "I already told the master everything. I didn't know the poor mistress had even opened the front door. I never heard the knock."

  Magiere nodded. "No one is blaming you, but I need you to tell us exactly what you did that night. It might help us find her killer."

  Dyta pursed her lips. "Chesna was a sweet girl. Always sent Hedi and young Andrey out for a little amusement whenever the master was off to the cards. She stayed home and read or visited with me. That night, I wa
s busy in the kitchen, storing up dried plums for winter. I didn't hear no knocking. I didn't hear no voices, because the kitchen is out back of the house. But I did catch a sharp draft when I opened the back door for a bit of air. I thought maybe a window out front might have been left open. So I went to see and found the front door ajar."

  She stopped. Before tears could get the better of her, Dyta scowled hard, anger replacing anguish.

  "I closed it. The poor lamb was lying out on the steps, and I never saw her or thought for a moment she'd be anywhere but in her room. I just closed the door."

  Lanjov listened attentively, but at those words his head dropped slightly.

  "Wasn't until later," Dyta continued, "past midnight, I heard the master shouting. I was already settled in bed in my room out back, so I found my robe and ran out. I heard him outside and opened the door as Lord Kushev came running up the front walk."

  "Who's Kushev?" Leesil asked.

  "A neighbor," Lanjov answered. "He was playing cards at the Knight's House with me."

  "The saddest sight," Dyta whispered, "with her dress all torn, and throat so—"

  "Enough," Lanjov ordered in a ragged voice. "I don't see how any of this will help."

  Leesil raised his eyebrows, but Magiere couldn't tell what he was thinking.

  "I assume you saved the dress?" she asked.

  "Yes," Lanjov answered. "Captain Chetnik of the city guard told me that I must keep it, even after she was buried."

  Magiere committed the name to memory. So far, few people in this had shown much sense, but this captain apparently had, and it might be worth the time to speak with him.

  "I'll need to see it." She paused and felt some embarrassment. "Actually"—she pointed to Chap—"our tracker needs to smell it."

  Lanjov's face paled again. The thought of a dog sniffing over his dead daughter's clothing was pushing this evening past his tolerance. To his credit, he simply said, "It's in her room. Follow me."

  As Dyta left, Magiere, Leesil, and Chap followed Lanjov back into the hallway and to the right. The hall opened up in a wider area with a curved staircase. Lanjov led them up to the third floor and into a bedroom.

  Cream draperies hung from a four-poster bed with a matching comforter. Small whitewashed shelves were attached to the walls at heights low enough for a young girl to reach, and the number of dolls that filled them surprised Magiere. Leesil looked at them too. At least a score of dolls, intermingled with occasional toy animals or a foppish marionette, were displayed along one wall alone. Some were blond, some had dark ringlets, and one had hair of auburn red. All of their heads were porcelain and most wore pink, lavender, or yellow lace dresses.

  "How old was your daughter?" Magiere asked.

  "Sixteen," Lanjov answered.

  At that, Leesil's eyebrows rose, and he rolled his eyes as well.

  "Where is her mother?" Leesil asked.

  Again, Lanjov paused as if the question were not only irrelevant but impertinent.

  "She died the night Chesna was born," he answered.

  Magiere couldn't help pitying this arrogant man. He'd lost his wife in childbirth, and now lost his only child. Perhaps he'd been in no hurry to see his daughter grow into a life of her own.

  Lanjov opened the doors of a tall wardrobe and removed a cloth-wrapped bundle. He carried it to bed as if it were both precious and horrifying to the touch. Inside was what had once been an elegant day dress of lavender with saffron trim. The neckline and left shoulder were stained with dried blood.

  Chap trotted to the bed and looked up at Lanjov expectantly, but the councilman merely stepped back. Leesil reached out and took the dress, letting it unfold until the skirt hem touched the floor.

  From its size, the girl would have stood no taller than Magiere's shoulder, but what caught her attention most was its condition. The front was shredded and torn open from bodice to hem. Magiere's stomach began to burn, accompanied by a familiar ache in her jaw that she quickly suppressed. But anger still crawled up her throat and into her head.

  Those lower slashes hadn't been done to feed or kill. An ugly question needed to be asked, but when she looked at Lanjov's face, she couldn't voice it.

  Lanjov stood silent and never blinked as he stared at the dress. His hands were tightly closed at his sides, and Magiere saw his throat clench as he swallowed.

  Chap started at the hem of the torn skirt, pushing at it with his nose. As he worked upward, Leesil dropped down until the hound could reach the collar. Chap looked up at Leesil and back to Magiere and whined. Magiere knelt down next to the hound.

  "Nothing?" Grabbing the shredded fabric in her fist, she shoved it at Chap, nearly jerking the dress out of Leesil's hands. "Again… pay attention!"

  It wasn't that Chap understood her words, but Magiere had come to recognize that he knew exactly what his role was in their trio.

  Chap looked into her eyes for a moment, and Magiere felt as if he returned her own dissatisfaction with a faint rumble in his throat. He again breathed in the dress, working along the folds and up to the bodice and shoulders. He finished and then whined.

  "That's enough," Leesil said. "He's not getting anything. Perhaps it's been too long."

  "Well?" Lanjov demanded, as if expecting them to have some new dram of insight after this painful indignity.

  "We need to take it with us," Leesil said. He stood to face the councilman, leaving the dress in Magiere's hands. "Chap might not know what he's scenting yet."

  Magiere knew well enough that her partner was now telling tales. She bunched the lavender dress in both hands. Part of her didn't want to know what had been done to this girl as she bled to death. She suddenly envisioned the mother she'd never seen being taken away in the dark to a fief keep. Rumors passed among the villagers of a woman glimpsed on rare nights, wandering, full with a child sired by what Magiere now had accepted was a walking abomination masquerading as a man. Just before her mother died, Magiere was born, unnatural and half-tied to the world of the undead. She squeezed Chesna's dress between her fingers and closed her eyes.

  Teeth clamped down on her wrist, and Magiere's eyes snapped open.

  Chap had her wrist wrapped in his jaws, and he tugged at her as he backed toward the door. She pulled out of his grip and looked at Leesil.

  "I don't know." He shook his head. "Just follow him."

  At that, Chap whirled about, trotting out of the bedroom door. With dress still in hand, Magiere went after him, Leesil following, and from behind, she heard the breathy irritation of Lanjov. Chap stayed well ahead and, upon reaching the main floor, bolted toward the front of the house. Magiere chased him, coming to a stop in the main entryway. Chap stood grunting and growling as he pawed at the front door.

  "It appears your dog needs to go outside," Lanjov said coldly. "Perhaps you gave him too much water before coming."

  Leesil turned on the councilman and was about to spit something out, when Magiere interceded. "He wants to see the front porch again."

  Lanjov blinked. With a deep sigh of resignation, he opened the door.

  Chap lunged out and did exactly as Magiere had expected. He stopped with nose down, sniffing the dark-stained grout between the porch stones.

  Stepping out, Magiere studied the spot that Chap inspected. In the low light of the porch lanterns, it was hard to see it clearly. Her gaze still on the porch stones, she reached for the left-side lantern to turn up its knob and extend the wick for more light. Instead of growing brighter, the light dimmed.

  Magiere looked to see if she'd mistakenly turned the wick down and snuffed it out. The wick was fully extended, and the flame burned wildly, licking the top of the lantern. The light was so bright that she pulled her gloved hand back to shield her eyes.

  Her gloved hand. She didn't wear gloves.

  Chap yipped, leaping aside as Magiere stumbled down the porch steps. She stood in the walkway, hand held before her, and stared at her fingers.

  There was no glove on her hand.
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  "Magiere?" Leesil asked hesitantly. "What's wrong?"

  "It's nothing," Magiere muttered.

  When she pulled her awareness back to the moment, Leesil stood before her, studying her face with wide-eyed puzzlement.

  "I'm…" she began. "It's nothing."

  She glanced once more at her hand, the right empty and the left still clutching the bloodstained dress, and shook her head. Stepping around Leesil, she headed purposefully up the right side of the steps, watching the left-side lantern suspiciously. A trick of the light was all it had been, and she grabbed the railing to steady herself.

  The porch was empty and silent.

  Magiere stared at the closed front door with its outer carved panels of detailed doves and vines. She tried to look about and find where Leesil or Chap or even Lanjov had disappeared to, but her head wouldn't turn.

  Her hand reached for the door's side lanterns, first the right and then the left, turning down the wicks until then-light dimmed just short of going out. Her hand wore a well-tailored, tight-fitting, black leather glove. The hand itself was wrong, wider than it should be. It grasped the brass knocker, clacked it twice against the door, but there was no sound. Magiere tried to back away but couldn't move.

  Moments passed. The door cracked open. A fresh young face peered out.

  She was a pretty girl with dark ringlets of hair that hung to her shoulders. The girl released a smile, as if knowing Magiere as a familiar acquaintance. Magiere had no recollection of ever seeing or meeting her before, but something about her appearance was familiar. When the girl spoke, Magiere couldn't hear the words, but dark ringlets swayed across the shoulders of her lavender gown with its saffron trim.

  "Chesna?" Magiere whispered, or thought she had. The sound never reached her ears. The only thing she heard was her heart hammering.

  Jaw now aching, Magiere felt her canines elongate, pushing against the clench of her teeth. Her gloved hand snatched the girl's neck and wrenched the young woman closer. When her mouth clamped around the girl's throat, lips sealing across smooth, warm skin, there came the scent of lilac from perfume or soap. Chesna's throat collapsed between Magiere's teeth as blood seeped into her mouth.