“Harvey, wait,” I said as he stumbled to his feet.
He shot me with a fake finger gun. “Don’t leave before I get back.”
A hint of a smile crossed Mr. Black’s face as he watched Harvey meander toward the kitchen whistling “Dixie”—literally. He turned back to Prudence. “Your opinion aside, Rogue, the new Scharfrichter accomplishes tasks presented to her, and whether she is disciplined or not is of no importance. I’ve learned over the withering effect of time to never underestimate the strength and cunning of your kind.” He clasped his hands together. “Let us continue.”
I still wanted to know more about Ms. Zuckerman, but I kept my lips closed for the time being.
“There has been a resurgence of a pestilence that once threatened this region.”
Pestilence? I doubted he was referring to the mountain pine beetle that had killed many of the pine trees in the Hills over the last decade or so.
“Caper-sus,” Prudence said knowingly.
Now where had I heard that word before?
Mr. Black’s solemn nod made me chew my lower lip. Of the three of us, I had a feeling exterminating this “pestilence” was going to fall mainly on my shoulders, and I already had a lidérc, a Duzarx, Lord only knew how many Nachzehrer, and an imp to corral.
“What’s a caper-sus?” I asked.
“What evidence do you have that this resurgence is occurring?” Prudence ignored my question. “More branding? Rings?”
“Tattoos have been observed on multiple occasions.”
“I have seen some as well. We shall need to cull the herd once again.”
I moved to the edge of the cushions, leaning my elbows on my knees. “So, you two have had problems with these caper-sus creatures before?”
“Caper-sus does not refer to a creature,” Mr. Black explained, “but rather a following of crusaders bent on usurping the old order.”
“When I was still of the flesh,” Prudence said, “I purged many from their ranks—both human and others—throughout the Black Hills. Eradicating this pestilence is in part why I came to this land.”
“What was the other part?” I asked.
“That is no business of yours.”
Sheesh. And here I thought we were on our way to being best friends forever. I turned back to Mr. Black. “Is there more to your message?”
He gave a slight nod. “You will need to exterminate the pestilence before it spreads beyond your capabilities to do so.”
Fuck. I knew I’d end up drawing the short straw. “Then why did you require both of us to hear this message?”
“The Rogue will act as your mentor in this campaign.”
Both Prudence and I scoffed in sync.
“I cannot teach her.” Her chin jutted. “She is a simpleton.”
“And she’s impossible to work with,” I told him. “I’d sooner spoon with a lidérc.”
Something crashed in the kitchen, drawing Prudence’s attention.
Mr. Black focused on me. “Have you determined where the lidérc hides?”
How did he know it was loose or that I was on the hunt for it? “Not yet.”
“You need to watch for subtle signs of death. A lidérc will draw the life from all it touches.”
I nodded, trying not to frown. Subtle signs of death? It was winter. Weren’t there “subtle signs of death” all around right now?
“And know this,” he continued. “Its preference to hide in plain sight is its weakness.”
Prudence made a sound of disgust, her attention back on me. “Why would you attempt to catch a devil of smoke and shadow? Have you no concept of the dangers a lidérc presents to our kind?”
Oh, I’d heard all about how a lidérc can be deadly for an Executioner, thanks to my family history books.
“To my knowledge, there has been only one of your kind who has succeeded in slaying a lidérc,” Mr. Black said.
I leaned forward. “How did she catch it?”
“I do not know, but she did not catch it. She slew it.”
“I told you not to dig up more snakes than you can kill, Sparky,” Harvey called from the kitchen.
“We are not born to catch,” Prudence said. “We are born to slay. Why must you resist what is innate to your lineage?”
“Because I’m different, okay? Not all of us are content to kill, kill, kill.”
“If I want more to drink, old woman,” Harvey hollered, “I’m gonna have it!” I heard a cupboard door slam. “Now where’d you hide the gut warmer?”
Who was he talking to? What was in that whiskey?
“That compassion will be the death of you,” Prudence told me, her voice tight with fervor. “Especially when faced with those who belong to the caper-sus.”
I believed her. “And you two expect me to do something about them on my own?”
“Oh, dear.” She turned to Mr. Black. “We are doomed.”
I would have hit her with a smartass comeback, but she was right. “How can you tell if someone is one of these caper-sus supporters?”
“They bear the mark of the caper and sus—the goat and pig.”
I sat up, suddenly remembering when I’d heard that word—Dominick had said it that night in the Sugarloaf Building. “You mean a tattoo of a goat merging into a pig?”
“Yes, or a ring like this with the signature emblem.” He fished something from his pocket, holding out a ring toward me.
I took it, frowning down at the insignia on the pewter ring. I’d seen that goat-pig image before. It’d been tattooed on the bitch who’d torched my Bronco, and another on a dead woman in front of the Sugarloaf Building with my war hammer lodged in her chest, and another somewhere else I couldn’t quite remember, dang it. “I thought that was the symbol for a group of demon worshippers down near Yankton.”
“There may be members there as well,” Mr. Black said.
