When they reached their first large city, a new possibility occurred to him as he saw a fat purse hanging from the belt of a nobleman.
Picking pockets would be as easy as breathing for him. He cut the purse in a heartbeat and disappeared into a crowd. Half-starved, he went directly to an inn and ordered food. Upon seeing the half-elf's money, the innkeeper smiled.
"You'll be wanting something to wash that down with," he said.
"Tea will be fine," Leesil answered.
The innkeeper laughed and brought him a large goblet of red wine. Neither of Leesil's parents ever drank alcohol, so he'd never given it much thought. The path they walked required a keen mind fully alert at all times. The wine tasted good, so he drank it. He ordered another goblet and then another.
That same night he experienced his first wave of numbed forgetfulness, not stirring to a dream until nearly the whole night had passed. The sickness and headache the following morning were a small price to pay for one sound night's sleep-and another, and another.
A new life began for Leesil the Pickpocket, who drank himself into numbed slumber each night. Frequenting taverns and inns and other similar places exposed him to cards and games of chance, and he learned to supplement his light-fingered livelihood with gambling. Of course, it was risky-especially if he were cheating and drinking at the same time. He was actually caught and arrested twice, but neither jail held him for long, even without the tools he'd stored away before going out for the evening's business. Years passed.
He lived nowhere, claimed no one but Chap as a friend, and just as this life was beginning to seem as pointless as his previous one, he saw a tall, young woman with black hair that sparked red in the street lanterns. A strange desire to pick her pocket filled his mind.
It was a bad idea, but he wavered as he tried to walk away. Young women in leather armor who carried swords offered little wealth. And uncommon as they were, they would have to be skilled to survive and might prove more trouble than he wanted should something go wrong. This one's armor was weatherworn and sun bleached, so she was likely not fresh off the farm looking for a life better than marriage and milking the cows. He never approached her type, but the voice in his mind became impossible to ignore, nagging at him over and over and over…
It would be easy. It would be quick. And this one might actually have something worth taking. Silently, he moved up behind her.
She had no visible purse, but carried a large pouch over one shoulder. Carefully matching pace with her, he watched the oversize pouch swing slightly from side to side and out from her back. It was little trouble to time his move. He reached out, poised as the bag bounced quietly against her back, and when it left contact with her body, his hand slipped inside. He was careful not to disturb its swing and rhythm as he fished slowly and carefully about the inside. It bounced twice more against her back without her noticing he was there.
The woman whirled around, grabbing his wrist in the same movement.
"Hey, what are you…?" she started to say.
He could have easily jerked away and run, but her dark eyes caught him. For a blink, she looked enraged, then stood there taking in the sight of him as well. He knew for a fact he'd never seen her before, but for some reason, he didn't run, and she didn't call for the guard. Neither spoke at first.
"You're pretty good," she said finally.
"Not good enough," he answered.
That was how he met Magiere and began what he considered to be the third and best of his lives. He didn't exactly remember at what point they came up with his involvement in the "hunter" game, but Magiere's restrained approval after the first practice run gave him a strange feeling of satisfaction he'd never experienced. After that, he had few responsibilities beyond playing a vampire several times each moon and traveling in Magiere's comfortable, capable company.
Memory ebbed away..
Leesil knelt on the floor of his room, staring at the metal remnants of his first life, the life no one present knew about.
How many years had it been? He honestly couldn't remember. And he realized that his once honed and hated skills would now be needed again if he were to help Magiere at all, perhaps for her life's sake.
He snapped the box closed and shoved it inside his shirt. A soft scratching and whining at the door caught his attention.
"Chap?" He walked over and opened the door. "Come on in, boy."
Looking down, he saw the dog held a piece of the bloody shawl Caleb had removed from Beth-rae before dressing her for visitors and burial. Chap's transparent blue eyes shone with misery. He whined again and pushed at Leesil's foot with his paw.
Leesil crouched down, examining Chap in confusion. He knew dogs were capable of mourning in a fashion for people they had lost, but Chap had come to him with a specific piece of a dead woman's clothing.
"What is it? What do you want?"
It seemed ridiculous to ask a question of an animal. Then he realized that he didn't need to ask. He knew what the dog wanted. Chap wanted to hunt down Beth-rae's killer.
Footsteps on the stairs made both dog and half-elf look up.
"What's wrong with him?" Magiere asked, stepping off the stairs into the hallway, looking clean, calm, and in charge again.
Leesil ignored the question. "Where have you been?"
"Getting some answers." Then she noticed the scrap of cloth in Chap's jaws. Her brow wrinkled in confusion and revulsion. "Is that Beth-rae's shawl?"
"Yes." Leesil nodded. "He carried it up from the kitchen."
"Did the creature that killed Beth-rae touch it?"
"I don't know, but…"
Leesil hesitated. For whatever reason, Magiere was thinking along the same path that had occurred to him. Perhaps it was time to try what he'd had in the back of his mind since he'd first hidden away Ratboy's dagger, deciding not to turn it over to Ellinwood. He returned to his chest and picked up the blade Beth-rae's killer had left behind, careful not to touch the handle and foul any lingering scent.
"Here Chap, try this."
"Where did you find that?" Magiere snapped at him, reaching out for the blade. "And why didn't you show it to Ellinwood?"
Leesil pushed her hand away, shaking his head. "We know that little beggar boy certainly touched this, and Ellinwood doesn't have anyone like Chap."
"You should have told me," Magiere said. Following Leesil, she crouched down next to the dog.
"It was a gamble-my gamble," Leesil answered. "And what you didn't know, you couldn't be held accountable for."
He held out the dagger's handle, and Chap eagerly sniffed every inch of it.
"Do you think he can track for us?" Magiere asked.
"I don't know for certain," Leesil answered. "But, yes, I think he can."
She breathed in once. "Let's get ready as well. We don't have much time."
Leesil looked at her, puzzled.
"The sun will be setting soon," was the answer she gave to his unasked question.
Neither one of them said the word "vampire." While Magiere went to get her sword, Leesil broke his bedroom chair and fashioned the legs into makeshift stakes. He put them in the sack with his box and headed downstairs to gather further necessities for battle.
For quite a while after Magiere had left him, Welstiel remained sitting in his chair, searching mentally to pinpoint an uninvited presence. He had slowly studied every inch of the room, but so far only books and shelves and his table registered in his sharp eyes.
"I know you are here," he murmured, more to himself than the presence.
He sensed it. Why was it here, and what did it want? The three sparks of his orb cast a satisfactory amount of illumination. Perhaps more than that was needed.
"Darkness," Welstiel said, and the orb's sparks immediately extinguished.