Thief of Lives

by J. C.

  She lost her grip on his throat and screeched in surprise. As she jerked herself free of him, Leesil slashed downward across the top of her wrist. They stumbled apart, Leesil clutching only a severed sleeve cuff where he'd tried to take her entire hand.

  Chap and Magiere burst through the door behind them. Fright replaced the fury on Sapphire's face. Clutching her slashed wrist with her bloodied hand, she fled down the passage toward the end door. Chap shot past and out the door as well. Leesil started after them.

  "No!" Magiere yelled. "Let me."

  He ignored her and shoved the piece of fabric inside his shirt, bolting after Sapphire.

  * * * *

  Magiere's anger increased when Leesil ignored her order. She didn't even have her falchion, and all he carried were his stilettos. Fury fed her speed as she ran after him. She felt her eyeteeth elongate as the night around her brightened in her sight. The topaz amulet's light actually felt warm on her chest. Beneath rage, she remained focused—almost aware, almost controlled.

  Leesil gained distance ahead of her, and she heard a crack and a snarling yelp echo down the alleyway. Chap must have reached the undead harlot first.

  Magiere forced herself to run faster, anxious to reach the dog, and her body obeyed. Leesil reached a corner in the alley and was about to round it, when he suddenly threw himself to the ground in a roll, head over heels.

  From around the corner, a wood timber struck down and smashed into the empty space he'd just occupied. Leesil's roll continued toward the far alley wall. Magiere reached the corner, and the timber rose again. She snatched the protruding end.

  Holding the other end was the woman who'd been sitting in Leesil's lap. With a screech of frustration, she jerked the timber, but Magiere held on. Surprise and fear registered in the creature's bright blue eyes.

  Leesil came off the far wall, body whirling across the alley floor. Scarf fallen away, his hair was a wild cloud moving across the ground. His right foot hooked the undead's ankle, and his body twisted over with both hands slapping hard against the alley floor. His left leg shot up.

  The kick struck the woman's breastbone and ground its way up into her face. Magiere blinked as she felt the wood jerk harder in her hands. The undead arched backward, falling. Magiere toppled forward and threw her weight behind the timber.

  The timber's splintered end struck the woman's sternum. A muffled snap of bone sounded from inside her chest as ribs gave way and a dark stain raced through her silk bodice around the wood. She screamed louder than Chap's hunting wail.

  The sound pierced Magiere until she felt it inside her head. Heat and hunger answered it to rise up her throat. She shoved hard, and the timber drove through. When it struck the cobblestones beneath the undead, wood splintered in Magiere's grip.

  The creature sprawled limp and silent on the alley floor.

  Magiere dropped to her knees on top of the corpse, panting and regaining self-control. It came quickly this time, the ache washing from her jaw. She didn't have to slide fingers into her mouth to be certain.

  Leesil rolled to his feet and ran to where Chap lay against the alley wall. Magiere got up to follow him. He had a lot to answer for, and there would be no more evasions.

  Leesil gingerly touched Chap's legs and head.

  "Anything broken?" Magiere panted.

  "I don't think so, but he's still dazed. She must have hit him hard."

  Chap groaned—and then growled. Magiere took a deep breath of relief.

  This was what they did—always. They would speak of matters at hand and push aside all else. She was sick of it.

  "Are you sober?" she asked bluntly.

  "Yes, I…" He looked at her, amber eyes so sad that he seemed on the verge of pouring out words, but he simply looked away and said, "I am."

  Anger drained from Magiere. What good would lecturing him do? What good had it ever done? Leesil lived in the moment and did whatever he wanted at the time, never realizing what his own lack of awareness could cost him.

  Chap lifted his head with a rumble still in his throat. Magiere stroked him once and then rocked back on her heels.

  "I doubt anyone can dismiss this," she said wryly. "We have proof enough even for the council."

  They both turned toward the corpse. Leesil got quickly to his feet again.

  "What… ?"

  Magiere stood as well, panic taking hold as she looked both ways down the alley.

  The body was gone.

  Chapter 9

  A long, wailing cry rang out in the distance, and Toret's fingers dug into the coach seat. The sound brought a flash of memory.

  He'd fled through the woods outside of Miiska from the half-blood and the dhampir, with a silvery hound leading their hunt. No other animal ever made such a sound.

  Sapphire was out there alone. There couldn't be anyone else the beast hunted.

  "Stop the coach!" he yelled at the driver.

  The instant his feet touched cobblestone, he bolted, hearing Chane close behind. They wove through the streets faster than harnessed horses pulling a burden and neared the Rowanwood, but the hound's cry seemed to come from several directions.

  "Which way?" Toret demanded.

  Chane closed his eyes to listen, but the wailing had stopped.

  "Chane!" Toret demanded. Helplessness mounted inside him, seeding anger within it.

  "I hear nothing. She went to the Rowanwood. We will start from there."

  "You don't know what that dog can do," Toret said, and reflexively touched the scars on his face as guilt and fear muddled his thoughts. "She doesn't know what's happening. I didn't even warn her."

  "We will find her," Chane insisted, "but we must slow down. Gentlemen do not run through the streets attracting attention. She will try to get out of sight, taking to back roads and alleys."

  "No!" Toret shouted. "She could get trapped in a dead end, or penned in some narrow way."

  "I did not say it was wise," Chane answered, reaching out to pull Toret back. "I said it was what she would do."

  For a moment, Chane sounded so much like Rashed that resentment passed through Toret. Always so calculating and focused, coldly thoughtful. Did Chane feel anything? For all Toret's immortality and cunning, he would never be tall and imposing like Rashed or Chane. But he had Sapphire, who loved and needed him, and now she was hunted.

  Toret pressed on, but the drag of Chane's grip reduced him to a hurried walk. Peering into each empty side street and alley, he hastened to the next.

  "Wait." Chane's grip tightened on his shoulder. "Can you feel her?"

  Toret stopped, casting about for any hint of Sapphire's presence. When opened wide, his senses were more powerful than those of most of his kind. And he'd made Sapphire, so he could always feel her presence when she was near.

  "Nothing," Toret answered. "It's like she isn't…" He couldn't bear to finish the thought as he looked to Chane.

  His companion scanned about quickly and returned Toret's own puzzled expression. Neither Chane nor Sapphire was developing anything close to the mental abilities Teesha or Rashed had possessed. But Chane had other powers natural to him.

  "Get that damn bird of yours," Toret commanded, "and find her."

  Chane closed his eyes and stood still as a statue poised upon the street corner.

  "Hurry up!" Toret urged.

  "Be quiet," Chane said, only his mouth moving. His eyes snapped open, and he drew his sword.

  "Did you find her?"

  "Perhaps," he said, and he headed down the nearest side street at a trot.

  Toret followed, so angry now that he wanted blood. He wanted to find the half-elf or the dhampir, or even the dog trying to get his Sapphire—something to take the brunt of his panicked rage. As they passed an open alleyway, he heard sobbing and shuffling footsteps.

  "This way!" he shouted, not caring who might hear.

  As he bolted down the alley, Chane turned back to catch up. The narrow way was cluttered with refuse, crates, and other o
dds and ends left behind the shops that the alley served. Toret darted around obstacles or kicked them out of his way.

  A shadow wavered to his right. What he saw wrenched a moan from him.

  Sapphire struggled along a side alley wall, supporting herself with her hands. One hand was coated in red blood. The right sleeve of her gown was sheared away below the cuff. Her own fluids trickled from a circle around her wrist, and also leaked from her mouth, down her chin and throat, to blacken her bodice and chest.

  But the worst of it made him hesitate as she lifted her eyes to him.

  A long, splintered timber protruded from the center of her chest. Her expression twisted up in fear and confusion.

  Toret rushed forward to grab her as she collapsed. He lowered her to the alley floor, supporting her shoulders.

  "Sapphire! Stay with me!" he ordered, his tone vicious with demand. "Chane!"

  Chane already knelt beside him, studying the timber through Sapphire's chest with cold composure. Sapphire mouthed something, but all that came out was a gargled choking.

  "Again," Toret urged. "Say it again, slowly." He watched her mouth this time to read the words from her lips.

  Can't get it out.

  Toret grabbed the timber.

  "No," Chane said, catching his wrist and pulling his hand away. "She's weak and half-drained." He paused. "It's in her heart."

  Renewed panic gripped Toret. "I won't lose her!"

  "She still moves," Chane whispered in puzzlement. "A wooden stake through the heart should destroy one of our kind."

  Help me, Sapphire mouthed.

  "What do I do?" Toret pleaded.

  Toret's dread mounted as Chane remained passively contemplative.

  "Tear your wrist open—down to veins," Chane instructed. "As I pull the strut out, you must feed her. There is no life in our fluids, but perhaps it will keep her body whole long enough to take her back to the house. Then we must find her blood as quickly as possible."

  Toret hesitated. "I haven't fed for days. I can't… you feed her. I'll pull the timber."

  Chane jerked upright with an expression close to revulsion. Just as quickly, his features smoothed back to calm indifference. He put the edge of his sword to his wrist and sliced deeply, and his own fluids began dripping to the ground. Dropping the sword, he forced the base of his hand into Sapphire's mouth.

  "Bite down," he ordered, and then to Toret, "Now."

  Toret wrenched the timber out, wincing as it ground against the bones of Sapphire's rib cage. Her eyes and mouth opened wide as she tried to scream. Chane held fast, forcing his wrist between her teeth, smothering any outcry.

  "Quiet, and drink," Chane ordered.

  His words cut through to Sapphire, and she bit down, swallowing mouthfuls. Chane's upper lip trembled once in a snarl, but he neither recoiled nor cried out. Toret felt a strange rush of gratitude and was ashamed of the emotion.

  The seepage in Sapphire's chest slowed and stopped. Finally, Chane put his free hand on her forehead and jerked his wrist away with effort.

  "More!" she wailed at him.

  "No," Toret said. "We must get you home. I'll bring you life to feed on."

  Sapphire grabbed Toret's shoulders and snapped at his throat, but he held her down until she calmed and simply lay in his arms, twitching.

  Chane tore a strip of silk from the hem of Sapphire's dress and bound up his wrist. He shredded more fabric to wrap her torso.

  "I will find us a coach," he said. "Once back on the open street, we must get her out of sight quickly."

  Without further comment, he headed down the narrow side alley.

  Toret rocked Sapphire gently, understanding for the first time exactly how Rashed had felt and why he refused to run from Miiska.

  "It's all right," he crooned. "I'll have you home soon."

  He wouldn't wait for the hunter and her minions to find one of them alone again. He would find her first.

  * * * *

  "I pierced its heart," Magiere whispered.

  Leesil watched her pace in his room at the Burdock, her falchion leaning in the corner. He'd waited in the coach with Chap while she'd gone back into the Rowan wood to retrieve it. Sooner or later, they were going to catch hell for what had happened there tonight, but he couldn't imagine it would be any worse than dealing with Magiere at the moment.

  "That timber went right through her," she insisted, clenching her hands as if she still felt the wood in her grip.

  "I know," Leesil said. "I saw it."

  Chap rested on the bed as Leesil's mind worked over what had happened—and what hadn't happened, it seemed. At the very least, his idiocy at the Rowanwood was put aside. He carefully ran his fingers through Chap's fur, feeling for injuries. His fingertips passed across a swelling on the side of the dog's head. There was no blood, but Chap had been struck down too hard for him to track tonight, so they'd returned to their rooms. On the small table near Magiere's sword rested two burning candles and a tin basin of water they'd procured from the innkeeper.

  Leesil pointed to the basin. "Hand me that."

  Startled from her thoughts, Magiere passed him the basin as she sat down on the bed's far side. Leesil dipped a folded rag in the water to make a cool compress and placed it gently against Chap's head.

  "How could that thing have gotten away?" she asked.

  Uncertain, Leesil shook his head. "There are only two possibilities. One, you missed the heart."

  "I didn't."

  "Then… it's not the first thing we've tried that turned out to be nothing but superstition."

  "Fine," Magiere grumbled at him. "That means we're back to taking heads."

  "Or ashes," he added.

  "Don't get any ideas," she warned.

  An edgy silence passed that left Leesil wondering if it was now time for her to turn on him. She sat quietly, watching him refresh the compress for Chap's head.

  "Besides," she continued, "ashes won't prove anything to the council. We've nothing to show for tonight. There's no way to track this thing, unless Chap heals fast enough to pick up a trail. I didn't get anything from her for him to smell."

  Leesil hesitated. "I did."

  Maigere's eyes narrowed as her lips pressed into a flat line, but she didn't look up at him.

  "Well, you had more opportunity, didn't you?" Her voice held a cold bite. "Perhaps this is how we should hunt now. Turn you loose in the nearest brothel with a card table and a goblet of wine, and just wait for the first undead slut to drop into your lap."

  Leesil tried not to flinch and failed. He actually bit his tongue, knowing anything he said now was just fuel for her fire. For that matter, he'd no idea what to say.

  He felt as if he'd been unfaithful—but unfaithful to what? Everything he'd done, every gentle ploy he'd tried to get close to her, had failed. She pushed him away again and again. So why feel ashamed? Well, there was the drinking and gambling. But he wasn't drunk, and he hadn't lost, and that left one thing to be ashamed about, and that he hadn't even wanted. He hadn't even thought of such things since settling in Miiska.

  He'd thought only of Magiere.

  And the worst, most infuriating and confusing part was that of all the things he'd done tonight, the one she fixed upon was that thing sitting in his lap.

  A deep sigh from Magiere caught Leesil's attention. When he looked up, she was gazing at his white hair hanging past his shoulders.

  "You lost your scarf," she said. "We'll have to get you a new one."

  Leesil reached into his pocket and pulled out an entire handful of coins, which he poured onto the bed in front of her.

  "Here. I won back most of what I lost on the ship, but I doubt the scarf makes much difference anymore."

  He felt thankful for the change of topic. But when she saw the coins, he realized too late that it was another mistake. He quickly rambled on before she could cut into him.

  "A scarf won't hide my eyes or skin. It seems my people are more of an oddity here than I reali
zed."

  Her attention pulled from the coins. "Your people?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "No, I don't," she answered with an abrupt shake of her head that whipped wisps of black hair about her pale face. "I didn't forget what you did back in the alley. You didn't learn that in a month of mornings out in the woods."

  Leesil busied himself with Chap again. This wasn't what he'd expected. Now was not the time. But she leaned in toward him across the bed.

  "Look at me!" she snapped. "We're in a bad way, and I don't know what to do next. The only two things I've ever counted on besides myself are you and this dog. You changed when we settled in Miiska, for the better, but now… now you're starting to act like the old Leesil from our days on the road—or worse. Drinking, gambling, and—"

  "And nothing," he cut in. "That wasn't what it looked like."

  "This isn't about that whorish little monster you let dazzle your wits."

  "I wasn't dazzled!"

  "I don't want to fight with you—but I will. Now, tell me, what's wrong?"

  His jaw tightened. This was going to be bad, and worse for the timing—worse than being caught with an undead trollop in his lap.

  "I promise I'll never touch a drop of wine again. I will always be sharp, in control. And I'll stay that way."

  Candlelight flickered upon Magiere's face, and Leesil could see his response wasn't enough. Chap's breathing deepened into a light snore as he rested comfortably between them, and Leesil set the basin out of the way on the floor.

  "I need more than promises," Magiere said.

  "What do you mean?" Futile as it was, Leesil still hoped there was a way out of this.

  Magiere let out a sigh. "I don't talk about my past because there's little to tell and even less that I know for certain." She looked him directly in the eyes. "But I would tell you anything of it… anything you asked, if I knew the answer. So why won't you tell about your life before we met?"

  "There's nothing you want to hear, and it doesn't matter anymore." For all his usual guile, this came out as a blatant evasion, and she ignored it.