Red liquid covered his face and hands and shirt, but he didn't care. The only thing on his mind was the pain in his back and wrists fading to a dull soreness as he dropped the dead carcass on the ground, leaving her there.
Cold never bothered the undead, but the luxury of warmth inside after feeding was a pleasure he never grew tired of, no matter how many times he felt it. It burned through him now, filling him up. It was more pleasure than he could ever remember, even when he'd been alive. And it washed away the hunger, killed the burning of his wounds, and he no longer felt his strength seeping from his body.
Sated and euphoric, he nearly lost track of the time, until a less pleasant tingle ran down the back side of his body across his skin.
There was a glow above the skyline to the east away from the ocean. Sunrise was coming.
Ratboy fled along the dock side of the town toward the warehouse. There would be a lot of explaining to do. Perhaps a little lying as well.
Leesil had managed to toss stray pieces of wood into the fire and kick it together, but it did little more than sputter a few small flames for the rest of the night. He couldn't afford to drink now, so that also meant no sleep. Not that he could sleep, as this night's events had been almost as unsettling as his never-ending dreams. It was not a hardship, as he'd gone as long as three sleepless nights before fatigue caught up with him. He remembered his mother could go even longer when the need arose, and likely his own ability was inherited from her. Something to do with her elven heritage that she'd so seldom discussed.
Chap had changed quickly back into his cheerful self, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Having found a comfortable spot on the ground near his master, he'd spent the night silently grooming himself and napping for short periods, only to stir occasionally at the forest sounds only he could hear.
Sitting quietly with Magiere sleeping in his lap, Leesil passed long, tense hours in the dark before he could look at her face without imagining it transformed into what he'd seen earlier that night. He had checked her for wounds, but she was uninjured as far as he could detect. By the time he could look at her face without flinching, morning twilight was just beginning. There should have been a black-and-blue patch and conceivably split skin with dried blood on the side of her face. He now saw only a light bruise on her left cheek. Instead of relief, he felt another surge of fear and confusion. As the sun rose just high enough that he could feel its warmth on his back, Magiere's eyelids quivered and opened.
"Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," she answered hesitantly, then added, "My jaw hurts."
"I'm not surprised," he said. Then he remembered she hadn't been hit in the jaw but on the side of her face.
Before he could ask another question, he felt her body tense. She blinked wide as she stared up at him, apparently now realizing she lay in his lap.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"Good question," he said, raising his eyebrows. "I like that question. I might even ask it myself."
Magiere rolled to sit up as quickly as she could without leaning on him for support, but her scowling eyes stayed fixed upon Leesil.
"You dropped in a heap last night and started shaking," he explained. "I didn't want you to get chilled in the night from exhaustion."
"I'm not exhausted," she muttered angrily, then climbed to her feet.
Her hand went instantly to the side of her face, and she wavered slightly where she stood. Leesil retrieved his wineskin and, taking a tin cup from his pack, he filled it with red wine.
"This is all we have for the pain. Drink it. All of it."
Magiere seldom drank anything besides water or spiced tea. She grabbed the cup too roughly and slopped part of it on to the ground. She sipped it, winced, and then rubbed at her jaw. Leesil watched suspiciously.
"Do you want to tell me what happened last night?" he asked.
She shook her head. "What is there to tell?"
Leesil crossed his arms. "Well, let's see now. We were attacked without reason. I shot him, and he pulled the quarrel out as if it were a splinter. Then he acted like Chap's bite was a mortal wound. Not to mention he seemed surprised that your sword could actually hurt him. And then you…" He paused only a moment, waiting for a response, but none came. "Let's see… loss of the power of speech, kicking a man into the air and onto his back almost faster than I could see… not to mention your drooling maniacal expression. What exactly do you think-"
"I don't know!" she shouted at him.
Magiere dropped to the ground next to the cart and leaned back against its wheel. Her head drooped until Leesil could no longer see her eyes. She let out a deep, angry sigh. Then a second sigh, weak and heavy.
In the years he'd known her, many words occurred to him that would have adequately described Magiere-strong, resourceful, heartless, manipulative, careful-but never lost or vulnerable.
"I don't know what happened," she said, almost too quietly for him to hear. "If I tell you something crazy, Leesil, you mustn't laugh."
"I wait in suspense," he said, not understanding why he suddenly felt angry instead of more sympathetic. He was worried about her, but still angry. Perhaps it was the long, edgy night of sitting with no answers.
"I think we've been on the game too long." She lifted her head, but did not look at him. "What's real and what's false are becoming blurred in my head. I don't want to fight anymore… or at all or… I don't know. All of this can stop if we just make a peaceful life. We'll run an honest business, keep to ourselves, and this will all go away."
"That's it?" Leesil's frustration was quickly fueling his anger.
"That's all I know." She finally looked at him, then away, shaking her head. "I don't know what else it could be."
That was no answer, just another evasion. She'd told him nothing. Or had she? Leesil's past had erased all desire to protect anyone besides himself. He wasn't certain now if he felt protective or simply puzzled. He only knew that Magiere's demeanor was at least changing back into the cold and moderately pleasant countenance he'd come to know and depend on. Perhaps it was just the years of living in lies and playing games that had finally caught up with her. That would have to be relief enough for now. But there would be more questions when another opportunity arose.
"All right," he said, throwing up his arms and letting them drop. "If you've no secrets to tell, we'll mark this one as another mad thief on the road. By midday, we'll be in Miiska."
"Yes." She half smiled. "Good enough for a new life."
"I'll make the tea," he grumbled, kneeling down to collect and fan the last embers of the fire. He looked at her and nodded. "A new life."
At the break of dawn, Rashed dragged Ratboy's bloody, struggling form into the underground drawing room and threw him up against a wall.
Teesha's eyes rose from her needlework in near alarm. "What is going on?"
"Look at him!" Rashed spit.
Half-dried blood covered Ratboy's chin and upper torso. Although Rashed thought the youngest member of their trio to be an impatient upstart, he'd never considered him a complete fool-until now.
"This witless whelp left a dead girl lying in her own yard with her throat torn open!"
Teesha stood and smoothed her blue satin dress. Her chocolate curls bounced slightly as she approached Ratboy, who was sprawled against the base of the room's back wall. She looked him over, and her head tilted ever so slightly to the side as her small face took on a disappointed expression.
"Is this true?" she asked.
"While you're staring so hard, take a look at my back," the dusty urchin answered, finding his voice. "That blackish stuff isn't human blood. It's my own." He held his wrists out. "And these scars were open wounds not long ago. You ever see one of our kind get scars before?"