Chapter Two

Shae arrived at dawn, red sky spilling blood across the small cottage far off the beaten path. It was silent, so silent. Bear stopped at the gate, breathless. He wouldn’t go further, wouldn’t pass the boundary. Shae couldn’t waste the time to calm him. She pushed the gate and ran.

“Ana!” Panic was in her voice. She knew this was rash. Her training told her to scout the building, to scope the perimeter, but there wasn’t time. “Ana!”

No reply came, and as she approached the front door, broken at the hinges, her heart hammered.

To her left she noted the dead chickens. Not a single living bird had escaped the slaughter. No pigs sounded, no sheep or cows. Dead. She knew she didn’t need to see the bodies; the silence was enough.

Inside, the floor was slick, blood coating floorboards like carpet. She moved deeper, breath held. Her knife found its home in her hand.

“Ana?” She breathed her name, searched every room. The living room first, then the kitchen, finally both their bedrooms. Ana wasn’t there. She went back downstairs, frantic to find a clue, to the back door a note was pinned, inked in red, a single word, midnight.

It was a time. But where? She ripped the note from the door and headed back to Bear.

Bear was where she left him, distressed but fine. She stroked his nose and slipped a carrot from a side pocket, he refused to eat, lips nestling into her hand rather than the treat.

“Come on, love,” she whispered. “We’re going to talk to Bart.”

The horse was happy to leave, and Shae rode with a heavy heart. She was tired; she hadn’t slept in nearly two days because of Enzo’s antics. She should have just killed him, a game she’d let run for too long. It always felt so wasteful to kill for the sake of killing. Strange, perhaps, for a bounty hunter, but Shae had a code. Her code mattered little now, not with her sister in danger. Somehow this was connected. She knew it. The note in her hand crumpled in her fist. Bart would know what to do. He always did.

The Tavern was closed. Shae tied Bear round the back, and he drank greedily from the barrel of water Bart left out for the horses. He took the carrot now and chewed it enthusiastically. 

“I won’t be long, rest, we don’t have a lot of time.”

Shae looked up at the building. The doors were all locked. Bart would be on the second floor, sleeping in a room that was too small for any man. A roll mat instead of a bed would be his comfort. His wife would be at home, draped in all the finery he could afford. Bart didn’t love her. He wasn’t sure if he ever had, but he wouldn’t leave her either. So, on nights when he ran the bar, he slept above the Tavern. He worked every night now. Shae wondered if he’d ever be happy. Today was not the day for questions like that. His self pity would be an obstacle. 

Shae used Bear as a lift, leaping up to the second story with the ease of a trained burglar. She slipped the firm tip of her blade beneath the window and prised it open.

“Bart?” she called into the building.

No answer.

“Bart, I need you now,” she said. “You better not still be drunk.”

When still no reply came, she slid in through the window. It was a small room, but not the room Bart would sleep in. She’d stay here sometimes, her things still sat on the sides. It had been nearly three months, but he left them there, always assuming her return.

She did not hide her footsteps, but walked with purpose, till finally she came to the room that would be his. She knocked four times. His snoring was the only response.