The door slid open to their carriage once again.

  This time Rill didn’t even bother to look up from his novel as he turned a page. “Full car, gentlefolk, please shut the door and move on.”

  “Kid, ya make rude sound so polite,” a woman said.

  Rill let out a huff and reached for a bookmark, setting it in his book. “Kind lady, I assure you I have no desire to be rude. However, my friend and I are entirely disinclined to share with a Hunter.”

  He shut his book with a snap and looked up. “Oh. My apologies.”

  The woman tapped her fingers on her guide dog’s harness, an amused smirk on her face. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or disappointed that ya think I may be a Hunter.”

  Pak said, “Why not both?”

  The dog, a gorgeous red setter, glanced up at where Pak lounged on the windowsill eating crackers. Rill noted an uncanny glint in its eyes.

  The woman turned her face in that direction. “I’ve had some professional encounters with Hunters. Enough to know there’s a breadth of quality, ya know? Like a tree, that guild. Many roots, some deep, some weak. And most quite unfriendly, particularly to folk like me.”

  “Blind?” Pak asked.

  “Pak!” Rill muttered, horrified.

  “Weird,” the woman said.

  Pak nodded sagely. “That would do it. Come, join us. One weird to another.”

  The woman tilted her face to Rill. “If ya don’t mind.”

  Rill gestured expansively. “Please, enter. Partake of our hospitality.”

  The dog led the woman to the bench across from Rill.

  She settled onto the plush cushions with a sigh, the dog settling by her feet with a yawn. “Thanks, friend. Who would have thought the one train today would be full of Hunters! Well, that’s neither here nor there. Where do ya find yarselves off to, young folk?”

  “Home, for me,” Rill said.

  “Galesvryg,” Pak added helpfully.

  The woman made a face like she’d swallowed something sour. “Of course ya are. Damn that place.”

  “You know it?” Rill asked.

  She huffed and leaned back, folding her arms. The dog sat up, looking up at Rill’s face with that uncanny glint in its eyes.

  The woman said. “Ach, I know it, and twice damned am I for it. I have the accursed feeling that ya belong to someone I know. Who do ya spring from, kiddo?”

  Rill said, “My dad’s Reeve Brody, if you know him?”

  She laughed, deep and throaty. “Aye, I know him. So he’s a Reeve now! That’s a hell of a promotion.”

  Rill’s attention sharpened. “Did you know him when he was a deputy?”

  She nodded. “Oh, aye. Brave lad, yar da. Hell of a circumstance he found himself dealing with when we met. Although I suppose he’s still dealing with it now, aye?”

  Rill stiffened. “What do you know of it?”

  She gave a weary grin. “Since my time in yar sleepy little murder village, it’s been my most unfortunate privilege to walk sideways on the paths of coincidence, particularly those paths found by banshees and their kin. Between ya, the Hunters, and myself on this train, I believe this is one such path.”

  Rill found himself a little lost. “Beg pardon?”

  She pulled out a Warden badge. “I’m a weirden, son. The weirden, if ya know yar history. And I’ve decided I’m going to visit yar hometown again. Is that nah grand?”

  Fasa found Merry and the Hunter standing together, heads bent over a map as they talked.

  “Sir!” she gasped, hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.

  “Ma’am Fasa?” Merry asked, looking up. “What’s wrong?”

  The Hunter glanced at Fasa. “Catch ya breath, lady, then try to talk.”

  Fasa sucked in a few deep breaths then stood upright. “Sir, the Reeve’s gone rogue. He’s aimin’ to end the hunt. I came to warn ye, sir. He’s goin’ arrest ye, soon as everyone heads on home.”

  The Hunter shook his head. “Ach. Some folks. They want all the glory and don’t care who dies for it. Thanks for the warning, ma’am. Merry, let’s go.”

  Merry looked startled. “Me?”

  The Hunter looked down at her, steadily meeting her gaze. “Aye. Ya got a good head on ya shoulders and a fine aim. And truth be told, and don’t repeat this-“ he glanced at Fasa, “On account of the Reeve made me swear not to say it, but as it seems he’s already betrayed us… he told me there are two banshees out here.”

  Fasa gasped. “Two! That bastard, how dare he hide that from us. We all coulda died!”

  Merry’s lips tightened. “Damn him,” she hissed.

  The Hunter her shoulder, bringing her gaze back to his. “That’s why I need ya, Merry. I can nah do this alone. And I think it only right that a soul from the village takes vengeance on at least one beast.”

  Merry nodded. “Yes. I’ll come with ye.”

  Fasa hovered. “Oh, Merry… take care now, ye hear? An’ kill one for all o’ us.”

  The Hunter smiled at Fasa, who felt her face flush. “Aye, she’ll do just that. Now, I’ve a job for ya too, ma’am. Think ya can stall the Reeve for us?”

  Brody crossed his arms and watched the villagers head for home. He ignored the disgruntled muttering and sideways glares best he could as he tried to account for everyone filing past him onto one of the disused shrine paths. He glanced at the clearing to check on Barry’s progress in packing up lunch through the crowd but couldn’t quite see.

  When the end of the queue came, he realized there were two people unaccounted for: Fasa, notable for her disgruntled nature towards him, and Merry, notable in that she was the youngest one here.

  Barry came over, brow furrowed with anxiety as he shouldered his pack on more securely.

  “Reeve,” Barry said.

  Brody nodded, lips tight. “Yes. Yer sister. Fasa, too. Gone with the Hunter, ye think?”

  Barry swallowed. “Reeve, don’t send me away yet. Let me come find her,” he pleaded.

  Brody hesitated. “Well, alright. But ye better run on home when I tell ye. Can’t stay out past sunset, just in case. Hear?”

  “Heard.”

  The demon’s voice from overhead said, “Precious.”

  Barry startled badly and looked up, head whipping around to find the source. “What in hell’s name…!”

  The demon chuckled, dark as pitch. “Only occasionally, and never on even years.”

  Brody sighed. “Barry, meet the weirden’s demon. Demon, meet Barry.”

  The demon landed on Brody’s shoulder as something nearly a cardinal but not quite. “Call me Chatter, Barry.”

  “Don’t,” Brody said warningly.

  The demon said, “Don’t be so rude, Reeve.”

  Brody rolled his shoulder once in protest. The demon squawked and clung to his sleeve, talons gently digging in.

  It said, “Fine!”

  Barry seemed stunned. “Ah. Um. Pleased to met ye? Do ye like bread?”

  The demon said, “My, look at his manners. Exquisite, young man. I am pleased as well. And I quite enjoy bread, yes.”

  Brody said, “Now that all are acquainted, perhaps we might move on?”

  The demon said, “And where might we be going, Reeve?”

  Brody hesitated. “Barry, any thought on where yer sister went?”

  Barry shook his head.

  The demon snorted. “How competent you are.”

  Brody grimaced. “Well, alright, we’ll just do this the long way an’ hope we find her along the journey. Demon, the Hunter has a stone to lead him towards weird. I say we head for the banshees usin’ whatever powers are at yer disposal. Mayhaps we can turn them back afore they go too far.”

  The demon flung itself off his shoulder, its shape unwinding and expanding with explosive twirling into the humanoid form with red fur and horsey ears and sharp teeth.

  Barry flinched back, a startled yelp dying in his throat.

  The demon plucked a stone as though from thin air and looked at it.

  “Well?” Brody asked, folding his arms.

  “Coordinates,” the demon said, a hint of sincere relief leaking through its snappy exterior. “Reeve, you can do hexes. Are you capable of an orienteering spell?”

  Brody nodded. “That much, I can do. Though it’s right on the edge of my specialty. I’ll not be able to do more than the one.”

  He pulled out a scrap of paper, cast the spell with a mutter, a wave, and a rush of mana, and got the reading print out. He looked at Barry. “Appears to be towards the old fort.”

  Barry looked puzzled. “Odd. Naught out there nowadays. Shouldn’t it want to murder people?”

  “What was it in the past?” the demon asked, idly combing out the fur on its ruff.

  Brody said, “What’s that got to do with anythin’? We got the coordinates, let’s go.”

  He chose the path that would get them close to a trail out to the fort and started down it, the demon on his heels and the kid following behind.

  “I merely ask for clarity, Reeve,” the demon said near the nape of his neck.

  Brody shuddered and snapped over his shoulder, “Don’t do that.”

  Barry snorted. “Clarity? Why for? Are banshees students of history?”

  The demon laughed. “What a delightful idea. Yes, you could think of them as such. It’s easier for you.”

  Alsom lounged in the shade cast by one of the still standing fort walls. The banshees snoozed away next to him, one on either side, safe in the arms of the darkness. He gazed up at the clear blue summer skies, full of afternoon sunlight and not much else. He inhaled the soft scent of violets and minty plants, chewing idly on a blade of dry grass. He felt strangely serene in the quiet, though he knew it was the kind of silence that came from predators being nearby. He figured the two next to him might be the cause just as much as the one somewhere among the stony ruins.

  He was debating whether he might be allowed to keep his hand if he ran his fingers through the banshees’ downy coats when he heard a scuff on the wall above his head. He looked up at the weirden, standing on the wall looking about. He wished he knew enough sign to ask what she was doing. He’d had a chance to learn it once as a young man. A recruiter in the market at Hammerset said he had enough weird sense to do well in service to the Wardens. But it would have meant going to Selton and he was needed at home.

  He’d wondered sometimes if he was the cause of the incident. If maybe someone had heard the name of the village, realized he’d rejected them, and sent the Reeve of the time on a wild hunt through bureaucracy out of spite. If maybe he’d been why so many had died.

  He tilted his head back against the hard stone and threaded his fingers into the grass beside him. He let himself breath. He was helping the weirden now. Surely that counted for something.

  Trish made a few final marks on her notepad, finishing up a brief map of the ruins. She ran a hand over her hair absently. Alsom said it had been a fort once. That made sense. She’d parsed out an inner keep and two outer fortifications from the rubble and few standing walls. The question was, where was the banshee?

  She dropped down to sit on the wall, then slid down the side next to one of the banshees, her slate jouncing uncomfortably against her chest. She went to Alsom with the notepad. She gestured for him to take it.

  He did, a questioning look on his face.

  She wrote on her slate, “Check this for me. Add anything I missed.”

  He looked over the schematic before adding a few lines here and there. Then, after some thought, drew a square towards the north edge of the inner keep.

  Trish pointed at it and handed him the slate, slipping it off her neck.

  Alsom wrote, “Underground passage.”

  Trish nodded once. She took the slate back and wrote, “Seems likely. What’s in it?”

  “Skeletons.”

  Trish tilted her head and gestured for him to continue.

  He glanced at their allies then back at her with a meaningful expression.

  She stared at him, a sinking feeling in her stomach. She looked out over the sunny ruins, fresh flower scent in her nose, the wind blowing over her face. She considered the dead below her feet and the lessons of history.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I feel I ought to warn ya,” the Hunter said as they walked through the forest, following the glow of his stone.

  “'bout?” Merry asked, ducking under an errant branch.

  “We may find ourselves confronting a weirden.”

  “Reeve said as much.”

  The Hunter said, “Weirden‘s job is to not let us kill the banshees.”

  Merry’s head jerked up. “What? But they’ll kill us!”

  The Hunter shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. They’d rather we die than the banshees. They’ll do anything in their power to prevent it.”

  “Would the weirden kill us?”

  The Hunter nodded gravely. “I’ve seen it before.”

  Merry spat. “Despicable. Traitors! They’re supposed to protect us, not the weird! How could they?”

  The Hunter sighed. “It’s a question I often ask myself in this job. And I’ve realized something.”

  “Yes?”

  He leaned in conspiratorially. “I'm only telling ya this because ya're not like the others. Ya're like me, Merry. Lone wolf. Just look how ya're keeping up with me. I know I can trust ya."

  She nodded, a little starstruck. "Yes, course."

  He whispered into her ear, "They’re not like us, ya know? The weirdens. It’s in the name.”

  “They’re weird too? Like the banshees?” she whispered back, feeling uncomfortable with the proximity but not wanting to show it. What if he thought her rude?

  “Oh aye." He pulled back from her, still very close. "Think about it. How else do they do what they do?”

  Merry thought about it. It made sense… “But aren’t they human still? Isn’t that the point of them?”

  He snorted and pulled away. “Oh, sure. They contract demons and smell magic, Merry! What human does that! Some of them even see through dogs.”

  Merry’s eyes were wide, following him. “I did see a demon in town the other day.”

  “Exactly. And ya know what demons are good for?”

  “I heard they drink blood,” she volunteered.

  “Oh aye. Fresh from the source. Officially, it’s all voluntarily donated, but sometimes…”

  “Sometimes?”

  He leaned in. “Sometimes they eat babies.”

  She gasped, her mind spinning up wild paths. “Orphan babies! So nobody would miss them!”

  The Hunter snorted. “So now ya understand the power we’re up against, aye?”

  Merry nodded hesitantly after a moment. He had no reason to lie to her, right? She didn’t really know much about the world, and he had the Guild badge, after all. He had to be good. And everything he was saying kinda did make sense. Especially the baby eating bit. She’d always suspected the demons were eating babies in Selton. And besides, if she didn't agree, he'd leave her behind. She couldn't let that happen. She had her mama's bow and the village's vengeance in her heart.

  The Hunter said gruffly, “Are ya with me, Merry? Ya don’t have to kill them. I can do that. Just need ya to corroborate that the weirden tried to kill me first, when it comes down to it.”

  She swallowed down her uncertainty and squared her shoulders. “Yes. I’m with ye. I’ll say it if ye need it.”

  The Hunter smiled. “Then let’s go weird hunting. And if the weird happens to be a Warden?”

  “Self-defense, Reeve, I swear,” Merry said, and ignored the pit in her stomach best she could.