from blurting out something about others. And now at least two people knew exactly what her past profession had been, or thought they knew.
Magiere hadn't even realized she was walking again until she reached the end of the street and heard horses stirring in the stables. Around the bend was the smith's work area and behind that a long, chest-high stack of cut wood against a fence. Just beyond she could see a small cottage out back. A thin trail of smoke curled up from its pot chimney in the moonlight.
She slipped quietly around the far end of the fence, careful to check that the front door was closed, and she saw no sign of anyone awake inside. There was only one curtained window to duck under on the cottage side facing the trees. She stepped around back.
There was something of a back porch and a failing flower garden to one side. Another garden patch, likely for vegetables, was farther back behind the stables. A second woodpile lined the cottage side of the fence. It wouldn't look good to be caught prowling on her first week in her new hometown, so she kept a watch on the back door as she looked about. Of course, the body was long gone, but there might be other telltale signs left behind.
A dark patch on the woodpile caught her attention. At first she thought it was just a space between the cut and split logs, but as she moved closer she could see it was not a hollow. Some of the ends of the stacked firewood were stained darker than the others. In two places, it appeared the dark fluid had dripped and run down. She knelt near the base of the stack.
Earth near a shore was usually damp, but looking carefully now she realized that the coastal earth she had seen while traveling was light colored, close to the gravely sand of the shore itself. On the ground here she found more dark spots, like the stains on the wood. One large one was surrounded by others, smaller and smeared. The ground was a mess of footsteps, likely from Ellinwood and his so-called guards. Beyond that, she could find no other signs of chase or struggle.
She ran her fingertips through one dark patch. Though mostly dried to the semi-damp state of the shore earth, some did stick to her fingertips. She lifted it to her nose, then tasted it lightly with her tongue.
Blood.
Magiere closed her eyes and then opened them quickly as the backs of her lids conjured up images of what the killer may have done to his or her victim to spill so much blood.
Yet it was all in one place, as if the girl had not been able to ran, struggle, or fight for her life.
"I thought you no longer concerned yourself with such, dhampir?" a voice said from behind her.
She whirled around to her feet in one motion, gripping her sword. At first she could see nothing, and then she spotted a waver of shadow beneath a tree on the yard's seaward side.
Welstiel stood there, dressed exactly as before in his long, wool cape. He stepped out from the trees to the edge of the yard, and moonlight glinted off the white patches near his temples. She found herself glancing at his hands, and although she couldn't quite make them out, she remembered the missing end of his finger and wondered how he had lost it.
"Are you following me?" she asked angrily.
"Yes," he answered.
That silenced her for a moment. When confronted with that question, most people denied it.
"Why?" she finally asked.
"Because this town is plagued by Noble Dead," he said, "who survive by feeding upon the living. This girl is not the first, and you know that. And no one in Miiska can stop them but you."
"And how would you have any idea what I know?"
Her words were more a retort than a question she expected to be answered. And no answer came. Magiere's stomach knotted sharply with pain from anger and anxiety.
"What does that mean?" she asked. "Noble Dead?"
"The highest order of the dead, or rather, undead," he answered. "The Noble Dead possess the full presence of self they had in life, their unique essence, so to speak. Vampires are but one type, as well as liches, the more powerful wraiths, and the occasional High Revenant. They are aware of themselves, their own desires, intents and thoughts, and can learn and grow through their immortal existence, unlike