Nothing. Nothing. Something. A thin wisp of smoke, followed by a small, pale flame dancing above his palm.
He began to laugh. She hadn’t cut him off permanently. He didn’t even know if that was possible, but the relief he felt was overwhelming. He let the flame grow larger, until it was a ball as big as his head.
Thaddeus watched it turn, the flames coiling about each other and his shivering began to stop. Warmth seeped into his bones and he climbed wearily to his feet.
When he turned to the building he saw movement. There, in one of the windows stood Malachi, watching him.
He let the flame go out, put his head down and trudged to the door that led underground. Back to the caves where novice members like him belonged.
♦ ♦ ♦
“I’m sorry,” he said, for what felt like the hundredth time. Melanie still didn’t look at him. She lay in bed, her back to him, reading from an old text. “Come on, talk to me.”
“What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry for almost frying your brains? Well, I’m not. And next time, I’ll do worse.”
Her voice was cold, with an edge to it that Thaddeus hadn’t heard before.
“I was a jerk. Again. I’m sorry. I’m just having a hard time adjusting to all this.”
“Sounds like that’s your problem.”
For as angry as she was at him, she hadn’t stopped him when he came to her chamber and climbed into her bed. She wouldn’t touch him, and recoiled when he tried to touch her, but she hadn’t told him to leave either.
“I guess it is,” he said. He kept his voice calm, but inside his temper was beginning to build.
Yes, it was his problem. What did she know of it? She didn’t have the comfort of a Great House taken from her. She wasn’t held in a rotting tree by living nightmares. And she wasn’t suddenly thrust into a servile role.
She still didn’t turn around.
“You know, I don’t get you,” he said, letting some of his anger creep into his voice. “I’m the one who should be angry. If you remember, you attacked me.”
Melanie said nothing.
“All right,” he said after a moment. “I’ll go back to my own chambers. When you want to talk this out, let me know.”
Now she did turn, her eyes burning brighter than the ball of fire in his hand earlier. But what shocked him were the tears on her cheeks.
“What?” He suddenly felt disoriented. His anger gone, replaced by a gnawing sense of guilt over something he hadn’t even done. “Why are you crying?”
“Because I love you, you idiot!”
She threw the covers back, jumped from the bed, and ran from the room, leaving Thaddeus gaping.
He recovered his composure and swung his legs out of bed, standing slowly. She loved him? But they were only…weren’t they? And what was with this guilt? Could it be that…
Leaving the bedroom, he found her sitting her on a couch, her face buried in her hands. Thaddeus sat beside her and pulled her to him. She leaned into him, sniffling.
“I don’t, you know,” she said. “Not really.”
“I know,” he replied. “Me neither.” He knew they were both lying.
They sat like that for several minutes, not saying anything, until there was a knock on the door.
“Who the hell is that?” Melanie said, getting up and cinching a robe around her.
She went to answer the door while Thaddeus eased back further into the room. Malachi knew of their relationship, but no one else did, and they both agreed it was better that way. He couldn’t hear the muffled conversation, but when Melanie returned, her face was pale.
“What is it?” Thaddeus asked.
“Malachi. He wants to see us.”
“Now? It’s the middle of the night.”
She shrugged. “The messenger said now.”
Chapter 22
Celia left the thin bed she was lying in and returned to the main room of Greta and Friedrich’s house. They were already up, and she wondered how many others woke this early, sitting in the low light of a candle, listening in vain for any noise from outside.
It was still dawn, the time when the hunters would be prowling the streets, seeking victims for whatever mysterious purpose they had. They never entered a house or building so far as anyone knew, but that didn’t stop the fear that permeated the city at dawn and dusk.
“Good morning,” she said quietly, taking a seat at the table with them.
Greta got her a mug of tea and then retook her seat, Friedrich’s hand coming over to cover hers. They sat in silence for the next hour, until a thin shaft of sunlight fell through a gap in the shutters, dust motes sparkling as it struck the floor.
With a heavy sigh, Friedrich got up and opened the shutter fully, letting the light in. In comparison to the gloom of the room a moment ago, it seemed bright. But Dunfield had a permanent pall over it that made the sun weak.
“I’m going to go take a look at that manor you told me about last night,” Celia said.
Friedrich turned to look at her, eyebrows raised.
“I didn’t question it last night, girl. But why? What good will it do you, or anyone?”
Celia shrugged. “I’m not sure. But if that’s really where the hunters are coming from, I want to know.”
“Again, why?”
“I’m going to stop them.”
“Don’t be silly, dear,” Greta said, moving to start preparing a breakfast of gruel and tea. “You’re not even from here.”
“I admire your resolve,” Friedrich added, “but it’s foolhardy. Others have tried, and they’ve disappeared too. I don’t want you to be the next one to go.”
“I don’t, either,” she admitted, “but I have to do something.”
“Then again I
