The door opened in the early morning. The rusted bell barely jingled, the sound lost under the thump of heavy boots.
Erika yawned. She didn't bother to look up from her ledger, muttering an absent, "Not open yet," between soft exhales of numbers.
"I do not wish to buy."
The words were slow and curled in a strange dialect, denoting the visitor an outsider. Elsendorf didn't have any of those. Erika looked up from her notes, curious. The sight of a tall, burly man had her gaze sharpening to a suspicious glare. The heavy winter coat the stranger wore did little to hide the pristine white of his uniform. The long, broad sword strapped to his back was certainly hard to miss.
"May I help you, sir?" Erika tried to keep her tone even and polite. Apprehension snuck in nonetheless.
The man lumbered forward. The closer he came, the bigger he seemed, until he became a small mountain of muscle and scarred flesh towering over Erika's desk. "My name is Victor Fair. I would have a word, on behalf of Her Majesty."
Erika was well aware whom this man served. Even had she not recognized the significance of the man's uniform, the golden griffin pinned to his chest left no space for doubt. "I'd be honored to help in any way that I can," she said.
Fair didn't acknowledge her words. Compliance with a soldier of the Amith Capil was a given. "There is a man living in the mountain. Valeri Beaufort. Do you know of him?"
"I do not," Erika lied.
Sir Fair's eyes were a cool, sharp blue. "People say you do."
Erika fought not to drop her eyes. "People say a lot of things. Doesn't mean they are true."
"They say he buys from you."
"Not often," Erika conceded, thinking every word through, "Barely worth mentioning."
"What does he buy?" Fair pressed.
"Paper, ink. Expensive wine. Foodstuffs," Erika tagged on. Words bubbled up her throat. She swallowed them down, refusing to give in and blabber out of nerves.
Fair's eyes trailed over her, lingering on her exposed wrists, the naked slope of her neck. "Is that all he buys?"
Erika flushed. "How dare you." Fear and anger left her shaking. "Leave," she hissed, "Leave this instant!"
Fair inclined his head, unperturbed. "Very well. I will come back later." He retreated, gait steady. The door jingled as it opened, then thudded closed.
"Arrogant piece of army shit!" Erika roared after him. She slammed her hand against the counter, sending the ledger tumbling over with a sad rattle.
Some steps away, a curly head peeked in through the double doors leading inside the house. "What happened?"
Erika blew out an exasperated breath. "Nothing, Dimitri. Go back to work." She flapped a hand in the man's direction, her body stiff with agitation
Dimitri emerged fully, steps almost bouncing with curiosity. "What's up, boss? Who was the big guy?"
Erika flopped back in her chair, resigned to a conversation she was in no mood to have. She waved the man over.
Dimitri perched on the counter, his smile gone. "Seriously, do I need to kick his ass?"
Erika let out a surprised chuckle, eyebrows rising in incredulity. Dimitri narrowed his eyes. The resulting expression was reminiscent of an annoyed puppy, and in no way diminished Erika's mirth.
"Hey! I'm stronger than I look!" Dimitri puffed out his chest.
Erika chortled, short for breath. The man was shorter than her, and slighter to boot. He'd be a twig next to the soldier's bulk.
The thought was sobering. "He's one of the Queen's henchmen," she said, all traces of laughter gone.
Dimitri hummed, unconcerned. "What did he want?"
"I don't know. He was asking about Sir Beaufort." Erika kept her voice level and disinterested.
"Ah. The weird doctor." Dimitri grinned when Erika shot him a glare. "Sorry, the handsome, weird doctor."
Erika rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Yes, him."
Dimitri waggled his eyebrows. "He your sweetheart?"
"What? No!" The hot blush that spread over Erika's cheeks went at odds with her words. She threw Dimitri a suspicious glare. "What do you know about it, anyway?"
Dimitri's eyes turned shifty. "I heard you, two nights ago. I didn't eavesdrop, I swear!" he hurried to add, probably in response to Erika's horrified expression. "But...boss, what the hell are you doing with a guy like that?"
"A guy like what?" Erika mocked.
Dimitri tried for a glare, but ended up looking more worried than mad. "Rich asshole comes to mind. Who the hell does he think he is—coming here at all times of the night, bossing you around, then fucking off to do who-knows-what and leaving you all alone! Boss, do you actually know anything about this man?"
Erika looked away. "I know enough, and besides, Va—Sir Beaufort isn't...anything to me." She kept her eyes on the counter. She couldn't look at Dimitri. Not without doing something stupid, like crying.
Dimitri rose with a disbelieving grunt. "All I'm saying is, be careful. People lie, you know. Especially men, and almost exclusively to pretty women."
Erika bit back a smile. "Get," she mock-snapped, making shooing motions with her hand.
Dimitri bowed exaggeratedly low. "Yes, Your Highness." He twirled on a heel and disappeared into the house proper, soft laughter trailing in his wake.
Erika shook her head. She glanced at the large crate that sat beside the register and sighed. They were to visit Valeri in a day's time. Erika had meant to go alone, but doubted she would manage to deter Dimitri now that he was in the know - or believed himself so, in any case. The ride through the mountain was certain to be entertaining.
The thought had Erika brightening. She righted the ledger and grabbed for her discarded notes, taking some petty pleasure in imagining Dimitri in Valeri's presence. She would have to make sure Dimitri kept civil, for his own sake, but that didn't mean she wouldn't enjoy watching the young man turn that surprisingly sharp tongue on their supernatural neighbor.
For all of her mildness two nights prior, Erika wasn't quite over being angry with Valeri. Thoughts of Beaufort Manor's newest resident still left her feeling cold. Victor Fair's visit had been far from a pleasant experience. Knowledge of the man's interest in Valeri, on the other hand, had the potential of being useful. Information was power. Erika didn't at all like feeling powerless in Valeri's presence.
It might not be a bad idea to remind Sir Beaufort that Erika MacLean wasn't someone he should be taking for granted.
#
Victor Fair shifted in his seat on the narrow, thin mattress that passed as luxurious at Dale's Inn. The bed frame whined mournfully. Victor eyed the thin, rickety chair pushed against the wall for the umpteenth time. Its seat appeared a breath away from caving in, Victor's coat obviously too heavy a burden. The chair would surely turn to cinder if the man tried resting his own weight against it.
A report lay in Victor's lap. He had already filled several pages, most of them dedicated to Erika MacLean and her unusual patron. The account was detailed but clinical, neither implying nor assuming anything regarding the young shopkeeper's defensive attitude. Thinking of nothing he could add, Victor set the papers aside and rose. The mattress retained a rather distinctive indentation. Victor's mind conjured a tasteless joke regarding lumps and rear ends, delivered in Lightning's mocking drawl. The Captain's amused expression flit behind his eyes.
The soldier shook thoughts of his absent team way, shifting his focus back to the empty room and the schedule he had set for himself. There were a few leads left to follow in Elsendorf before he tracked the trail of his quarry further up the mountain. Victor picked up his sword and slung it over a broad shoulder, his muscles bulging with the weight. The weapon would inspire compliance where Her Majesty's name alone did not.
He left the room. The inn was situated above an equally squalid bar, the entire building creaking and cracking with each step Victor took. The noise was irritating, but did guarantee that an intruder would have a tough time sneaking through the place. Victor had certainly put up with worse accommodations in the past.
Tim Dale, the inn's owner and namesake, lounged at the reception desk on the first floor. He shot to his feet when he saw Victor. The snarl that had curled Dale's mouth but moments prior melted into a slick smile.
"Mister Fair, Sir! Hope you're finding your stay pleasant?"
Victor barely paid the man any mind, finding the girl standing by Dale's desk much more interesting a subject.
Her eyes were vicious. This was Victor's first impression of the child, over and before his mind catalogued more pragmatic observations. The girl's clothes were thick and well kept, but worn. Her skin was paler than it should have been, her build too slim for her age.
Hunted brown eyes snapped to Victor's and held. She was there for him.
The girl took a step forward. A stilted, "Sir," barely left her mouth before she was wrenched back.
"Out!" Dale hissed. "Do you think the man has no better things to do?"
"I will hear her," Victor said.
Dale let the girl go immediately, babbling something inconsequential. The girl stared up at Victor, mute with surprise. Her urgency returned a moment later, and she found her voice.
"Sir, I...My mother is hurt. She needs help, soon, or—" her voice cracked. She bowed her head, hiding too-bright eyes.
"Show me," Victor said.
The girl's head jerked up. She hadn't expected him to come with her, Victor realized. Others had likely denied her help. She bowed and turned away, her steps quick once she was certain Victor would follow.
Their path twisted through back alleys and gardens. Victor walked a step behind his young companion, quiet. The desperate strength in the girl's eyes reminded him of someone else. The comparison wasn't one he wanted to make.
The houses grew fewer and farther apart, until none remained. The barren ground of a field whose fruit was out of season stretched into the distance. The sole structure on the horizon was a large, old barn. The girl ran up to its walls.
"Through here!" she called out.
Victor found the house that rose behind the barn a surprise. Although but a single story, its construction was sturdy and built with skill. All was slightly weathered, but clean and dignified. The girl unlocked the front door and urged Victor inside with hurried words of welcome. The floorboards didn't creak, nor did the rooms they pass scream of cheap misery. Victor updated his assessment of the girl and her family: local aristocracy fallen on hard times. Likely caused by the father's absence, either by death or desertion. The girl stopped in front of a door. A bow of black silk hung upon it; death, then.
The girl knocked on the door. "Mom?" she called. If there was an answer, Victor didn't hear it.
The girl opened the door wide and stepped aside. Victor took in the barren room, the shuttered windows, the body shaking senselessly atop a sweat-drenched bed. The woman on the bed had been beautiful, once. The fullness of her lips, the high rise of her cheekbones, the gentle curves of her body all spoke of loveliness eaten away by pain. Like her daughter, she was too thin. There was something more terrible, more desperate in her. More ruined. Victor reached forward, slow and gentle for the sake of the girl, and pushed the thin blanket off the woman's shoulders.
The sight of torn skin bruising in webs of purple veins stole his breath.
"Two nights ago, a man visited," the girl began, voice halting every few words, "I'd never seen him before. Mother told me to go out and I...I did, but I could not stop worrying. I always worry when she has visitors." The girl took a shuddering breath. "I couldn't take it and I came - I came back, and I heard—"
"Hissing," Victor aided. It was the last thing anyone heard—the sole scrap of information Victor had been able to snatch from a dying man's mouth. The soldier moved away from the bed and closer to the girl, careful not to crowd her, eyes intent on her miserable face.
"Y-yes. Hissing and this horrible, awful noise, like something wet being torn apart. I ran into the parlor and I saw—" she gulped a sob, shoulders shaking.
"Tell me," Victor bid.
"It had its teeth in her. It was eating her." Tears spilled down the girl's face, but her mouth was twisted in a snarl, her fists clenched with anger. "I screamed. I screamed and it laughed at me, laughed and said - it said, Wait your turn."
"How did you escape?" Victor asked, as gentle as he knew how.
"I didn't. It left. There was this noise—a loud crack, like a tree breaking—and it ran away. It took the back door off its hinges." The girl paused, then whispered, "I keep waiting for it to return and kill us for good."
Victor stared at the top of the girl's bowed head. He wished to offer comfort, but knew not how. Lightning carried the burden of social interaction for both Victor and the Captain. "I will find the person responsible," the soldier offered in the end, the words stilted.
The girl looked up. Her eyes, wet with tears, shone terribly.
"Monster," she said. "It was a monster."
Victor hesitated only briefly. "Yes, it was." He didn't mistake her meaning for a moment. Most of humanity was blind to the supernatural, a state both sides maintained eagerly. The Amith Capil was charged with ensuring ignorance remained a bliss rather than a curse. It was not Victor's job to close eyes already opened, however, even if such a thing could be done.
"Will you help us?" the girl asked.
"Your mother has been poisoned. I do not know if a doctor will be of help." That was a lie; Victor knew traditional medicine would be useless. No antidote had yet been found for the creature's poison, and the woman had suffered its effects far too long.
"I know," the girl said, her voice worn with grief, her gaze steady, "Will you help me bring her to the man who lives in the mountain?"
Victor wondered how far Sofia's sight stretched. Did she know what Beaufort was? His decision surprised even him as it left his lips. "I will."
The girl sagged in relief. "Thank you," she whispered.
Victor nodded and said nothing more.
From one monster to another.