the lower-ranking undead, such as ghosts, animated corpses, and the like."
"You are no foolish peasant," she said softly. "How can you believe such things? There are no vampires." She turned back to stare at the stained earth and woodpile. "We have enough monsters of our own kind."
"Yes," he said quietly. "Of our own kind."
She heard him step toward her into the yard, but did not look back at him.
"Undeads who drain life do exist," he said. "And they have made this place, this town, their own. Such creatures may be more… exclusive… than most peasants believe, but they exist just the same. You know all this. You are a hunter."
"Not anymore."
"You won't be able to avoid such tasks here."
"Really?" She turned on him, eyes narrow with anger. "Just watch how well I avoid this, old man."
He wasn't quite that old, but he acted like some superstitious village elder. She thought of their first meeting and another question came to her mind, something he'd said tonight.
"What did you call me… dhampir?"
"It is nothing." He turned to leave. "An ancient and little-known word in my homeland for one specially gifted and born to hunt the undead."
She did not stop his departure. She watched him fade between the trees, heading toward the shore.
In spite of his possible intent to rattle her, his wild statements made her feel better, not worse. A few nights ago, she feared he wanted something from her that she was unwilling to give, but now he seemed like just another superstitious fool, albeit a well-dressed one. Yes, there was a murderer loose in town, a sick and twisted one at that, but Ellinwood and his cronies were paid to deal with such things. She was a barkeep now, not a hunter, even if a few townsfolk had heard about her past. In a year, maybe two, that reputation would wash away with the tide until she was only Magiere, owner of The Sea Lion tavern.
She wiped her fingers off in the sandy soil, then brushed off the dirt against the thigh of her breeches, feeling her breathing slow and the tightness in her stomach relax. She walked away from the backyard, the woodpile, and the stains on the ground without looking back.
Only a handful of steps down the street, she spotted Caleb walking toward her.
"What are you doing out here?" she asked in confusion.
"Streets at night aren't always safe. I came to find you."
"I can guard myself well enough."
But his concern touched her a little, especially since he appeared so tired. The last few days of stocking and preparing to open had not been easy for him, not to mention waiting on tables half of tonight. She was about to start for the tavern again, waving him on, but Caleb was staring back toward the stables and the smith's cottage.
"Why was Master Welstiel here?" he asked.
Magiere turned her head stiffly toward Caleb.
"You know him?"
Caleb shrugged. "He is new to Miiska, but he came to the tavern often when Dunction was owner. The two of them enjoyed each other's company, and Master Welstiel was always welcome."
Perhaps this new detail explained Welstiel. If he was very fond of the previous tavern owner, he might be concerned about finding answers, even after such a while. And he might well have heard some idle rumor about her past, if others were talking about her—like that pale nobleman in the tavern earlier in the evening.
He might also just be guessing about what he thought she knew of events in Miiska.
Any one thing by itself was easy enough to dismiss. Even two could be dismissed as the ways of a madman. But all of it was beginning to mount up, one thing upon the other.
"We should get some sleep, Miss," Caleb urged. He reached out to tug at her shoulder, and only then did Magiere turn away from staring back to the stables, the cottage, and the stained woodpile. She headed down the road silently, Caleb by her side.
* * *
As Magiere and Caleb started for home, a faint light behind them slipped from the shadows, brightened to nearly the glow of a coal ember as it hovered in the road where the two late night walkers had just been standing. It floated after them for a while, then turned down a side alley and disappeared.
* * *
Constable Ellinwood arrived at his rented rooms shortly past the midnight hour, glad to finally be home.
Although he was known to sit drinking ale with his men at