“Jinxton! Jinxton!” the Widow shrieked.
Running footsteps echoed throughoutt the chamber, but the Widow barely heard.
“My Queen? Is everything all right?” Jinxton began.
“NO!” she bellowed. “Everything is not all right.” She turned her face toward him.
His lips parted as a silent scream crept up his throat. By the gods…
From the Widow’s great eyes, a gooey, radioactive substance dripped down her face, riding the swell of her cheeks and dropping into her mouth and off of her chin.
Is she…?
She was crying. All his years in the Widow’s service, and he had never seen such a thing. Something had upset her so much that she was crying. Jinxton thought her devoid of all emotions; whatever emotions were present in her had been stamped out by the dark magic that consumed her soul.
“Round up your best men,” the Widow ordered through her sickly green tears. “You’re going to Dagger’s Pass.”
“Yes, my Queen,” Jinxton replied.
He learned it did not do one well to ask the Widow questions. When she wanted something done, you did it. Plain and simple. He stood there, waiting for more orders, but none came. In fact, nothing came at all except for the Widow’s horrible sobs.
“Go!” she shouted.
“Y-Yes, my Queen.” Jinxton turned to leave the lair.
He went no more than five steps when the Widow yelled his name once more. The bristly hair on his legs stood on end, and a chill overtook his body, as if ice had been injected into the base of his spine.
“You will need a scavenger.” The way she said the last word, one might have thought there was poison on her tongue.
“A scavenger, my Queen?”
“Yes, call the half-Elf, half-wizard. What was his name? You know, the one that owes me a favor.”
A bad taste filled Jinxton’s mouth. He knew all too well, and he was not too fond of any scavenger; those magical beings who slunk around in the shadows, finding, stealing, digging up artifacts only to pawn off later for their own personal gain. To Jinxton, a scavenger was sacrilegious to all things magic stood for. And Henry, the smooth-talking charmer the Widow spoke of, was nearly insufferable.
If I get the chance, I’ll disembowel the half-blood, Jinxton promised himself.
“I’m sorry,” the Widow said. “I am not myself. There is much for me to impart on you for this quest. Ignatius Mangood, and perhaps his granddaughter, seek the same jewel we do. It may be a dangerous mission.”
“Nothing we can’t handle, your Highness,” Jinxton answered.
He thought he saw a smile stretch across the Widow’s face.
Something definitely happened in here with the Blood Tree, something I don’t think I’d be able to wrap my head around.
The Widow proceeded to tell Jinxton about the mission; about Zimmy Ba’s corpse and the Jewel of Deception, about how they were to wait for Ignatius and then attack. She did not care how many of her children would have to die in order to gain the music box. Further, because the box would not work without the Jewel, they would need to fight for both. If the box was not with Ignatius, then Jinxton was to bring back the wizard or witch as a bargaining chip.
“Do not come back without them,” the Widow warned as he left the lair. “If you do, I will have your head on a pike, and I will feast on your body until all the blood is gone. Understood?”
Jinxton nodded, but he thought the Widow had a touch of a smile on her lips.
Now to get ahold of that bastard Henry and try to keep him in line. Jinxton took in a deep lungful of the night air, sweetened with the smell and taste of decaying things.
Chapter Three
Gramps riffled through the contents of the chest as Maria pushed her way into the back room. Everyone was out front except for them. Salem and Agnes were preparing a pre-war feast of buckeye ice cream and vanilla wafers. They also ate leftover pizza and chips. They couldn't just live off of ice cream all the time. Pizza and chips were the closest thing to real food Salem had in the store. Joe was loving it. He had a smile on his face so wide and happy, it had taken a lot of resolve for Maria to leave him at the whim of Claire and Tabby's teasing so she could comfort her grandfather.
Comfort, Maria? Is that really what you’re doing back here?
The answer was a definite ‘no.’
“Gramps?” she said lightly.
He didn’t hear her, or at least, he acted like he hadn’t.
“Gramps, I want to talk to you.”
He jumped, startled.
Laughter carried in from the main room of the ice cream shop, sneaking under the door separating Maria from the rest of the wanderers. Then came Sherlock’s barking, and Gelbus’s high-pitched “Don’t lick that, Sherlock!”
Maria shook her head.
“Talk?” her grandfather said absently. “Talk? Maria, we mustn’t talk. You should be out there with them, enjoying your time.” The look on Gramps’s face said he really didn’t think there was much time left.
It hurt Maria to see him like that. He was usually such a happy man, so full of life, but now, he was…grave.
I would be, too, if I were tasked with digging up my dead daughter, Maria thought as she inched forward toward Gramps. She wanted to hug him. He was always so accepting of hugs, but right then, he seemed to cringe away, like a hug was the last thing he wanted.
The contents of the chest were dumped all over the table. He had been attempting to organize it and failing miserably. Gramps was not one to organize much of anything.
Maria saw crude sketches of Arachnids, weapons,
