Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Dirt caked his face and sweat dripped from his brow. But that didn’t matter. Luther was rarely happier than he was at this moment. Right here. Right now.

He felt alive like this. Smeared with earth and sweating while his mind settled into the monotony of labor. His body was used, abused, and then some. And perhaps this would have made his brethren nobles ill to see him, but at least he wasn’t languishing behind a desk somewhere while his servants massaged his feet.

He straightened and wiped the sweat from his brow. The sun beat down on his bare back and the shovel in his hand had seen better days. But he’d successfully turned the earth in front of him over and now it was ready to become a garden for Farmer Barren and his family.

An odd name for a farmer, but he’d never questioned the old man. If there was anyone in Dead Man’s Crossing who knew how to grow food, it was this family.

Luther sank the shovel into the ground one final time, giving the dirt there a quick turnover with a satisfied grunt. “There we go,” he grumbled. “Seems like that should do it. You said you wanted it this size, didn’t you?”

The old farmer in question was sitting on a chair they’d dragged out. Farmer Barren did little these days. He was almost ninety and a man of his age should be bedridden. Yet he still got out to his fields to look over the crops every single day.

Digging up a new garden area, however, wasn’t quite his forte any longer. But that was all right. That’s what Luther was for.

The old man surveyed his work with a wrinkled brow and a skeptical eye. “For a young man who’s supposed to be the Earl you sure know a lot about digging in the ground, young man.”

Young man. That’s probably why Luther enjoyed being around the farmer so much. He always made Luther feel like he wasn’t a thirty-five-year-old failure to his family. After all, he still didn’t have a wife or children.

If his aunt said one more time that they needed a male heir to carry on his name, Luther was going to pull his hair out in front of her and start screaming like a mad man. At least Bedlam would be more forgiving than an aunt who threatened him every time he saw her.

Luther shrugged. “I’ve always felt more at home outside than in, I suppose.”

“Well, you’re definitely outside now and you’re more comfortable here than you were the last time I saw you.” Farmer Barren grinned. “I thought you were going to throw up at the last town meeting, you know. You were a green I usually only see in the garden.”

“That’s because I don’t like being interrogated about bodies showing up in rivers years ago.” Particularly bodies that were ripped apart by long, sharp claws.

Dead Man’s Crossing lived in fear for the past two generations. No one could deny that. There had been a time in their history, not too long ago, when people showed up in the middle of the night, missing limbs with their bellies torn open and their organs devoured. All thanks to his grandfather, the old bastard.

If they were in London, someone might send the Watch to see what had happened. But this wasn’t London, and it was a small town that was his responsibility.

“Ah, that’s right,” the old man replied with a nod. “That’s what they were talking about. How close are you in figuring out what or who the murdering creature is?”

Closer than anyone wanted to know, but he wouldn’t burden the old man with any more talk about rotting corpses and monsters in the night. “You leave that worry to me. How about we get you settled somewhere more comfortable?”

“I’m quite happy in the sun.” He pointed at a stack of hay next to him. “Sprinkle that over the top of the ground, would you? Otherwise it’ll dry out too quick and won’t be good to no one.”

Luther was quick to comply. He didn’t mind doing all this work for Barren, nor would anyone question him for doing it. Most of the townsfolk were in the square at the Monday market. And Luther enjoyed not being around too many people.

They had a strange relationship, him and this farmer. The old man was the only one who would give Luther the time of day still. At least someone in this cursed town was kind to him. He’d take what he could get.

So he took the entire afternoon to spread the hay over the ground he’d overturned. It wasn’t much work, really. And he got to use his body in ways that he rarely did when he was back at home in his father’s manor. The ghost of the old earl still lingered in the corridors and sometimes Luther swore his father’s spirit grabbed onto him whenever he did something his father wouldn’t like.

When he finished, he grabbed the edge of the shirt he’d stuck into his waistband and wiped his face off. Sweat slicked his hair back against his head and he breathed hard.

Tilting his head back to the sun, Luther sighed. “Thank you for letting me come out. I didn’t know if you’d need any of the help with your grandchildren visiting.”

“The boys all want to go to the city,” Father Barren grumbled. “None of them want to stay and work the land. It’s beneath them these days.”

Luther could warn the boys how foolish their dreams of the city were. London was full of thugs and sad stories. No one in that city was as kind as their grandfather. But when he looked over at the old man to tell him that, he noticed movement in the window of the old farmhouse beyond Farmer Barren.

A pale face stared out at him, surrounded by pretty dark hair. She was a lovely young woman with curls and soft cheeks still rounded with youth. She was almost too pretty and it made him wince as she smiled, then blushed at his attention.

Oh no. He couldn’t. And she shouldn’t even think about it.

The girl was little more than a child, and he meant that. Maybe she was old enough to get married. Maybe she could have been a good wife. But if he knew anything about women and particularly about women who grew up in small towns, it was that they loved superstition and magic. She’d realize his failings a little too easily for his taste, and then where would he be?

Tied up to a stake, most likely. Or at the wrong end of a pitchfork wielded by the only man in Dead Man’s Crossing who would put up with him.

Farmer Barren looked back toward his home and sighed. “Pay no mind to the girl. She’s of an age where all the girls think they’re older than they are. She’d have a ring around her finger now if her father would let her.”

“And he won’t, I suppose?”

“Of course not. No one in this town is good enough for his little girl.” Then the old man hesitated and looked him up and down with a critical eye. “Of course, any man’s opinion can change when the matter of a fortune is waved in their faces.”

What fortune? Luther would love to see the fortune his father had supposedly left to him, but no one seemed to understand that wealth gained in assets didn’t mean he had any tangible wealth. The town itself was worth a lot of money if another earl wanted to buy it from him. But he’d never sell Dead Man’s Crossing.

The manor was worth a pretty penny as well, but then where would he live? London? As if that would ever work.

And then there was the matter of his family jewels, locked away for no one to ever see again because the last time people had seen his mother’s family jewels, they had thieves breaking into their home at every opportunity.

So if that was the wealth everyone kept going on about, well, he’d like to see that money too. A fortune would be nice rather than things he couldn’t ever use, see, or touch. He’d take a life here on the farm more than he wished to be his father’s son.

Choosing a different life, or running away from this one, wasn’t an option. He was an earl. A member of the peerage, and as such, he had a family name to uphold. His father likely rolled over in his grave every day when he heard his son wanted to run away from it all.

His father had been the one to lie in the beginning. To claim their family was noble, and he’d even made up the family tree to prove it. But his father had been a rather resourceful man.

In contrast, Luther favored his mother’s side. Hard workers. People built to have a plow attached to their shoulders and pull it through the earth until the dirt was forced to give way to their will.

His father had likely resented him for that.

Luther snapped himself out of the memories and shook his head at the old man. “I’m not looking for a wife, Barren. I’m not looking for anyone to take into the family.”

“And why not? You’re a young, strapping man. You should have a woman to return to at night.”

Oh, but night was the worst. No woman wanted to be around him at night. Not when... When...

He shook his head again. “It’s a bad idea, Barren. I’m no good to a woman or a wife. And I’ll leave it at that.”

“You know, I thought the same thing when I was your age. I thought I was too wild and free for any woman to tame.” Barren grinned, and it was the first time Luther had ever seen such a bright expression on the old man’s face. “And then I met my wife. And I realized how easy it was to tame a man who thinks he’s wild. They’re the wild ones, really. We’re just along for the ride.”

The old man certainly had some wisdom in his words. Although, Luther had found that most people were easier to manipulate than Farmer Barren thought. He plied them with compliments and then disappeared before they could think he was getting too serious. It was better that way. At least when he disappeared, they never found out what he was. Or what he would become.

He grinned at the old man and let go of the shovel. “I don’t think I plan to get married, I’m sorry to admit.”

“Why wouldn’t you? You’ve got the wealth, the status, the looks. You’re the kind of man who should get married. Your children could make the world a better place.”

Luther would put money on any bet that those were the exact expectations everyone had laid on his father when he’d gotten married. A son to walk the footsteps of the family. A young man who would take over the family’s wealth and then bring it all into something that was even better. Maybe he’d thought Luther would have the guts to sell everything and start adventuring.

Somehow, he doubted that was the case. “I don’t want to subject any woman to the life I lead. No one needs to go to endless parties and be judged by countless people for everything they do. It’s foolish, and the dream that the nobles live these lavish, ridiculously wonderful lives is nothing more than a dream.”

“I don’t know many young women who wouldn’t want all the pretty dresses they could buy and the eyes of a hundred women on them.” Farmer Barren hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “She certainly would. I hear about it all the time, you know. Who is that man? Why doesn’t he want to talk with me?”

He didn’t want to talk with any young woman who had dreams of grandeur when all he could offer was nightmares and terrors. She could learn the hard way that he was a monster, a beast, a fool. Or she could be saved from suffering through all that and not have to see any of it.

“She’ll find a good farmer who will treat her better than I ever would.” Luther took his shirt out of his waistband and yanked it over his head. Perhaps if he hid his rather peasant like muscles, then she’d forget all about him.

The form was why women were interested in him, anyway. They didn’t want to listen to his plans for the town or get to know him. None of that was part of the husband game. They didn’t need to understand what he wanted out of life as long as they had good wide hips and a smile that could charm his friends.

Wasn’t that what his mother always told him? A wife didn’t have to be a partner or a friend. She had to be useful and then he could find whatever else in the arms of a mistress or another woman who didn’t care about any of his thoughts.

Damn it, there they were again. His parents’ voices whispering in his ear about how he should live and what he should do.

“Just be careful, boy,” Farmer Barren warned. “There are a lot of women out there who know how to trap a young man like yourself. They’ll do anything they can to get themselves a title along with a handsome husband.”

“They’d have to catch me first,” he replied with a wry grin.

And that wouldn’t be easy. After all, he’d made it his life long goal to escape the clutches of women.

He reached out and helped Farmer Barren stand. The old man’s back was worse than it had been last year, and seeing how rickety he was while standing made Luther’s stomach twist into a knot. The old man’s bones weren’t what they used to be. Not like they had been in his youth when he’d first taught Luther how to pick up a shovel the right way and set the earth to rights.

“You’re getting old,” he muttered while he steadied his dear friend. “I don’t think I ever noticed it until now.”

“What, that I’m old?” Barren asked before bursting into laughter. “I’ve been old for years, Luther. Years. You just haven’t noticed.”

“I suppose I haven’t.” But that bothered him almost as much as the man getting old. It wasn’t fair that he’d gotten elderly like this.

Luther didn’t enjoy seeing his dear friend’s muscles shrink or his skin hang from his frame. He wanted Barren to live forever. He wanted all of them to live forever and he knew that was ridiculous to even think about, because he didn’t have that kind of power, but Luther wasn’t prepared for more loss.

Barren remained quiet, though chuckled all the way to the house, where he leaned against the door and waited for his granddaughter to bring him inside. Right before the door opened, the old man cleared his throat and said, “I want you to know that you can have a family. You can have a wife and all the things your father claimed you couldn’t. Don’t let that old fool’s voice remain in your head for too long, Luther. He’s dead. He can’t control you anymore.”

If only that were the case.

Luther nodded, even though he didn’t believe a word of what Barren had said. “Make sure you keep your doors locked tonight.”

“We always do during a full moon. You know my family believes in the old ways.” Barren pointed up to a smear of dried blood over the door. “We’ve already got our offering out in the fields. I can’t promise the rest of this damned town believes, but we certainly do.”

His granddaughter opened the door and laughed, the sound a little too forced and bubbly. “Superstitions, Grandfather! Full moons mean nothing other than an opportunity for people my age to run out into the woods and have our fun.”

“Not in this town,” he snarled, turning around so quickly he almost appeared ready to slap the girl. “Superstition or not, all rumor has a bit of truth in it. You won’t be going out with those fools into the woods. Not my granddaughter. You wait until the full moon is over with, and then do whatever it is you want to do.”

Even Luther was surprised at the emotion in Barren’s voice. But he shouldn’t have been, he supposed. The old man had seen more in his days than most, and he probably remembered the first time murders like this had appeared.

The town was named Dead Man’s Crossing for a reason, after all.

“Stay safe,” he said one last time, staring into Barren’s eyes so the old man knew the truth.

“We always do, my lord,” Barren replied. “We always do.”

If his granddaughter noticed that Farmer Barren didn’t tell Luther to stay safe, she didn’t react. Instead, she closed the door and left Luther alone on their porch.

It took a long time for him to get home. He walked by countless houses without a single speck of blood on their door, and his stomach rolled in fear.

Dead Man’s Crossing might earn its name again tonight.