bolt, arrow or a well-thrown rock.
Warren reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. I had no idea how many bronze bills were inside. I didn’t know what was in the case either. I knew nothing, which put me on familiar ground.
The woman took the envelope and gave Warren the case, then they both stood opposite each other as they examined the gifts they’d received. She counted her cash while he unlocked the box and peered inside.
They nodded to each other and all seemed to be in order. The woman turned and walked away, so I dragged the weapon back from the edge and curled up into a ball again, breathing into my hands.
Then, Warren was screaming.
When I looked back over, he was waving his hat above his head. That was supposed to be the signal, but the woman was already halfway across the field.
“It’s bullshit!” screamed the Gnome. “Kill her!”
Let’s be clear about two things: One, I never agreed to kill anybody. Two, shooting women in the back isn’t really my bag. But if I didn’t at least look like I was trying to stop her, I’d have to give up my fee and the whole night would be for nothing. I crouched down, aimed the crossbow a few feet behind the fleeing lady and fired.
I tried to shoot a spot in the snow that she’d already passed, as if I’d misjudged her speed. Unfortunately for me (and the fugitive) the wind changed direction while the bolt was in the air, picked it up and sent it right at the runaway woman’s backside.
There was a yelp out in the darkness and a thump as she fell.
Shit.
“Yes! You got her, Fetch! Well done!”
Warren grabbed the lantern and ran off, leaving me in the dark while he cursed her and she cursed him and I cursed myself.
By the time I’d climbed down the ladder and made my way over to Warren, he’d already snatched back the envelope and was putting the boot in. I pulled him back, and he tumbled onto his ass. Since he was only three feet tall, it wasn’t much of a drop.
“Stop it, Warren. You’ve got your money back, don’t you?”
I’d hit her right calf. The bolt wasn’t in too deep, but a good amount of blood was dripping onto the snow. When she tried to turn over, it twisted the muscles around her injury. I put a hand on her shoulder to hold her still.
“Miss, you don’t want to—”
“No!” she spun around, lashing me across the face. A line of pain ripped through my skin. Her claws were out, shining in the lantern light, sticking through the tips of her fine gloves. She was a Werecat. When I reached for my face, I felt blood.
“Damn it, lady. I’m trying to help you.”
“Aren’t you the one that shot me?”
“That was two whole minutes ago. Don’t hold a grudge.”
I crept closer again, and this time, she managed not to swat me. She looked Human, other than the claws and a glowing set of cat’s eyes. No fur or other obvious animal traits. Her hair was long, dark and tied back in thick dreadlocks.
“Hold still for a moment,” I said, pulling out my knife. She did as I asked, allowing me to slice the cuff of her trousers up to the point where the bolt had gone through them. The wind and thick material had slowed down my shot so that it went only an inch into her flesh. I pulled out a clean handkerchief and my pack of Clayfields. “Anyone got any alcohol?”
Warren groaned but reached into his jacket and fished out a silver flask. I took a sip that warmed my insides.
“What is it?”
“Brandy. My wife makes it.”
I splashed it onto the bleeding leg and wiped it dry with the handkerchief. She gritted her teeth but thankfully didn’t attack.
I pulled one Clayfield out the pack and put it between her lips.
“Bite down on the end and suck. Your tongue will go numb but that means it’s working.”
Her eyes were yellow-green and full of loathing.
“I wouldn’t mind getting my ass out of this snow,” she said.
“I hear you. Let me do one thing first.”
I crushed the whole pack of Clayfields in my fist. There were still a dozen twigs inside, so when I pushed the cardboard together and rubbed it, I turned them into a paste. The goo slid out of the packet, onto the wound, and I smooshed it around the bolt, trying not to get