Traces of Death on Her Skin

The first sign of Louthe’s proximity was the sound of voices slithering between the trees. Reagan couldn’t make out any words, but the familiar hustle and bustle of a small town comforted him nonetheless.

Sunset cast deep shadows across the forest floor. Even in the dim light, Reagan could make out a trampled path leading to his right. He followed it forward to the edge of the forest and was greeted by a tall wooden fence with a narrow entrance guarded by two muscular men with claymores strapped to their backs. Beyond it, Reagan caught glimpses of Louthe.

Homes lined the outer edge of the town, complete with clotheslines spanning between them, burdened with the day’s washing. Children ran around on the paved paths, responding to voices Reagan was too far away to hear. While the town looked bigger than his small village, it didn’t seem all that different at a glance.

He exchanged a look with Liam before approaching the entrance, wary of the mercenaries standing guard. Both men looked him up and down, but neither made any move to stop him, and he walked through the narrow opening without interference.

Once inside, he noted how much warmer the town was. Where the forest had been cool and clammy, the town maintained a pleasant level of heat, even as the sun set. With it, however, came a damp humidity that seeped through his clothes.

“We should head for the inn,” Liam said, walking beside Reagan. He looked down at Reagan’s arm, which Reagan had bandaged tightly beneath the torn coat. “And seek an apothecary first thing in the morning.”

Reagan glanced around to make sure nobody was looking directly at him, then nodded but resisted the urge to speak. It’s disorienting how ‘alive’ he looks when he walks beside me.

“I’ll go scout ahead,” Liam said and gave up on walking. Watching him fly away like a bird broke Reagan’s illusions.

He had no time to protest being left alone on the outskirts of town before Liam had disappeared between two squat brick homes. One of them had its front door open, an inviting warmth glowing in the living room. Reagan smelled a hint of cooked beef wafting through the street, and his mouth watered in response.

He reached into his satchel and pulled out the last chunk of bread, now hardened, and chewed methodically to keep his mind off the enticing aromas mingling in the space between homes.

Liam returned with a smile on his face. “The inn’s around the corner, at the other end of this street, and most of the rooms looked unoccupied. The beds looked pretty comfortable, too, so you’ll be able to get a proper night’s rest this time, Reagan.” He glanced at something behind Reagan, then turned to lead the way forward.

Reagan’s exhaustion answered Liam before he could. He yawned and walked to the inn with sluggish, slow steps. He barely saw the rest of Louthe, barely heard the innkeeper’s response to his greeting, barely felt the coins as he pulled them out of the inner pocket of his satchel.

By the time his head hit the pillow, sleep had already claimed him.

Sunlight stroked Reagan’s closed eyelids, coaxing him awake. He opened his eyes to a tall ceiling with beech crossbeams and Liam measuring the room with his steps.

“This one room is almost as big as our home,” he said. “And this inn has six other rooms! It’s huge!”

The excitement sparkling in Liam’s eyes made Reagan smile. “I bet this town is at least six times bigger than our village, too,” he said. And soon, you’ll be able to experience it properly.

He took that thought with him as he rolled out of bed, ignoring the throbbing in his arm and the ache in his legs.

The inn was as spacious as Liam said. Reagan walked down the short carpeted hallway, passing three doors on each side, and entered the lobby where an innkeeper stood behind the desk. The middle-aged man greeted him with a nod, then asked, “Staying another night? The rooms book up quickly.”

Reagan checked his funds and found only one silver and three copper coins left -- two coppers short of the quoted price.

“Is there a marketplace where I may sell some items to make up the rest of the fare?” Reagan asked. Subconsciously, he reached for the beast’s materials -- the hide he’d skinned, the fangs he’d broken off, the claws he’d ripped out before leaving the carcass in the woods.

The innkeeper paused, looked Reagan up and down, then said, “How much do you have?” Upon hearing Reagan’s response, he said, “That’ll suffice for another night,” with a kind smile.

After he accepted Reagan’s deposit for the night, he gave directions to the shop lined street in the center of town. “You can sell almost anything over there, especially at Kilian’s shop. You’ll recognize him by his beard.” He gestured far below his chin and gave Reagan a friendly wink.

Thanking him, Reagan left the inn with Liam in tow. The late afternoon sunlight greeted him with a wash of warmth over his face. Several townspeople passed by the inn and cast a glance in Reagan’s direction, but none spoke to him.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He looked around, fearing the worst, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Mothers and children milled about outside of the homes, men chatted near alleyways, and a few birds perched on the edges of water-damaged rooftops. A peaceful, average town scene.

“I can’t shake the feeling that somebody’s following us,” he said in a low voice, hardly moving his lips.

Liam, looking behind Reagan, said, “That’s because somebody is.”

It took all of Reagan’s self-control to stop himself from shouting, “What?!” Instead the word came out as a low hiss.

“I spotted her outside the inn last night, and she’s behind you now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Anger bubbled under Reagan’s skin. He forced his gaze to stay straight ahead, even though all he wanted to do was glare at Liam.

“You would’ve stayed up all night, staring out the window, instead of sleeping. Besides, she doesn’t seem to recognize you.”

Reagan grumbled, “Keep an eye on her and warn me if she gets any closer.” The anger faded, but he refused to admit Liam was right.

Liam nodded and walked backward beside Reagan, keeping his eyes on the unseen stalker as they approached the street the innkeeper had mentioned. “Reagan, I swear she’s looking right at me,” Liam said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody can see you but me.”

“I know, but still. It’s unsettling.”

Killian’s shop was easy to spot even without the shopkeeper. It was a short building with tall glass windows packed with miscellaneous items -- from gently used crockery to worn clothing to monster byproducts to baby bottles and canned foods. The window displays were overflowing, the shelves packed tight and faded by the sun.

Inside the shop, it was equally eclectic. Mismatched tables and cabinets were piled almost to the ceiling with items, leaving only a small path for the customer to walk in and out. A man stood behind the counter, and his beard was twice as long as the innkeeper had gestured. It swept back and forth across the wood surface as he fiddled with the oil lamp hanging above his head.

“You’re a new face,” he said to Reagan by way of greeting. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Alois,” Reagan said, ignoring the look Liam shot him. He offered a hand, but the shopkeeper made no move to shake it. Withdrawing, Reagan said, “I was told you might be willing to buy some wares from me.”

“Depends on what it is.”

Does it really? Reagan had to stop himself from raising an eyebrow as he withdrew the hide, fangs, and claws from his bag.

Killian looked it over and gave a low whistle. “Quite the hunter, are ya? I’ll take all that for five silvers and three coppers.” When Reagan accepted, Killian took the items below the counter and started counting out the coins, only to pause and frown at something behind Reagan.

Reagan turned and caught a glimpse of purple hair in the doorway.

“That’s her,” Liam said from beside him. “She was looking at me again.” Fear tinged his voice, but Reagan couldn’t respond.

“Do me a favor,” Killian said gruffly, slamming a jar of salt on the counter beside the coins. “Sprinkle some of this in the doorway on your way out. She’s got the mark of death on her. Can’t be having that inside this shop.”

Reagan complied, taking a handful of salt. As he turned the corner away from the shop and into a narrow alleyway, he saw no trace of the purple hair, and assumed the girl had disappeared.

Until she reached directly for Liam.