Page 16 of Stalk the Dark
Something was outside my window. Three stories up.
Scalp tight, I padded around the bed, keeping to the gloom outside moonlight’s reach, attention on the winged shadow filling the silvery arch cast by the window on the wooden floor.
Tap, tap, tap.
Insistent but polite, when it could easily smash through the glass, which meant whatever wards were on the house were either down or didn’t affect the creature at my window.
I took a deep breath and swung around to face it, sword at the ready.
Godor glared at me, snout wrinkling. He clung to the window frame with his feet and the tips of his wings, his hands occupied with holding a box.
“For you.” He held it out.
It looked like an old-fashioned hat box—red velvet with a black ribbon tied around it.
“You take.” He held it out. “Please.”
This creature had done me a solid earlier. But if he was here now, then it meant that Ezekiel had sent him. “Does Ezekiel know you saved me?”
He canted his head, beady eyes glistening in the moonlight. “Godor would never disobey Master. Disobeying means death.”
But he had disobeyed, which meant I might have an ally in him. “Understood.”
“Good.” The wind buffeted him, howling as it tried to tear him from the frame, but he held firm, his form solid and unmovable. “Please take.”
I set the sword down and opened the window to take the box. It was heavy enough for me to have to adjust my grip to hold it carefully.
“Glad you not dead,” Godor said, his gaze dropping to the box. “Sorry.” He pushed away from the window,leaping and twisting in the air, wings flaring to catch the night and rise toward the stars.
I closed the window and carried the box to the dresser. Whatever was inside couldn’t kill me, because Ezekiel had sent it, but it might hurt me.
I pressed my ear to it. Silence. But what was that smell? That iron tang…My heart sank.
Blood.
I grabbed my sword and sliced off the ribbon, then slowly raised the lid.
Silken, golden strands of hair dappled with red filled the box.
My pulse thudded hard in my throat because the hair was attached to a head.
I carefully lifted it out.
Mary stared at me with dead eyes, mouth unhinged and wide. Cold now. Dead now. But she’d been filled with life not too long ago. A wife and a mother. A person worthy of living and now…I closed my eyes against the threat of tears, breathing past the tightness in my throat. “I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.” I sucked in several breaths, drawing on the words of the high chaplain, words said to us during ordination. Words I carried with me like an anchor when the storm that was our world threatened to sweep me away:There will be death. Some you won’t be able to avoid. Some you will not be able to save. But you must persevere. Contain your emotions. Do not show fear. Do not show weakness or the powers of darkness will use it against you.
I would not show weakness. Not here. Not now. I opened my eyes and examined the head, just a head because Mary was gone. It was bloodless at the stump, which meant that Ezekiel had drained it.
Drained it and sent to me. Why? Because he was sick.
Because he believed I’d survived the toxin and now he wanted to mess with me.
I made to put it back, but there was something else in the box. A neat envelope containing a card. I set the head down on the dresser, carefully retrieved the card, and scanned the elegant script.
You’re hardier than I thought, little silver.
Dinner at midnight or someone else loses their head.
E.H.T.
