7. Felix

7

FELIX

T he search team never finds the coachman, but they discover evidence of his death halfway between here and Braunwin. Signs of a struggle and blood in the road led them to believe a body was dragged into the woods, even though it was never recovered. Wolves, they're saying.

It sits on my conscience this morning. If Cat and I had gone out last night, could we have saved the man?

But I know better. He was attacked long before the horses dragged the coach back to the village.

"Do you think it was wolves?" I ask Cat as we travel down the rutted road toward Braunwin.

We're currently in the same coach that showed up unmanned yesterday, on our final leg of the journey. Lives must go on, after all, and the coach schedule has to be followed.

"Wolves are most active at night," she answers, "but it's not unusual for them to hunt during the day, especially in the evening. Humans aren't their preferred prey, but depending on the scarcity of food, it's possible they'd attack. That, combined with the lack of a body, makes me believe that, yes, it's likely this was an isolated wolf incident."

"Because werewolves leave the body?"

Cat looks grim, her warm brown eyes haunted, making me wonder what she's encountered in her twenty-four years. "They want their work to be seen, yes."

We're not looking for a wild animal that acts on instinct and hunger, but a corporeal parasite from the shadow realm—a true monster.

We spend the rest of the drive in silence, my mind on the past. I didn't run into werewolves in Galbreah, nor vampires or wraiths. Few of the spirit monsters that commonly haunt the Allied Provinces of Staulus are found there.

Instead, draugrs claim the icy north-eastern island kingdom, the walking dead—corpses brought to life by spirits much like vampires. Unlike vampires, they're less…whole.

"I think we're here." Cat reaches for her satchel as the coach slows.

As we step out, we get our first look at the small village that will become our home for the next few weeks.

"Oh," Cat says softly. Like me, she must have been too caught up in her thoughts to look at our surroundings as we drew close and is now seeing the village for the first time.

Braunwin is tiny and built upon rolling hills. A bubbling creek runs through the middle of town. Two cobblestone roads travel next to it, one on each side, connected by two bridges—one at the southern end of the village and the other at the northern end. A few meandering dirt lanes veer off from those two roads. Dry grass and autumn wildflowers edge short, stone fences, and a few stubborn weeds grow proudly between the cobblestones, giving the entire hamlet a soft, comfortable sort of look.

Houses and businesses are built close together down the main stretch, many two stories tall, with tan plaster siding, steep, gabled roofs, and dark wooden accents. Signs hang from eaves, proclaiming the wares and services patrons shall find inside. All are surrounded by flowers. Yellow sunflowers in garden beds. Jewel-toned chrysanthemums in pots. Orange and red pansies in window boxes.

And beyond the village, as far as the eye can see across the gentle nearby hills, are apple orchards—more than I've seen in my life.

I glance at Cat, smiling when I notice her dreamy expression. "Don't forget to breathe."

"It's so beautiful."

"You're a strange sort of hunter," I tease her.

When Cat isn't making the new recruits wish they'd chosen a different profession, or hunting bloodthirsty monsters, she's in her garden in GHOST's courtyard. I imagine Braunwin looks a little bit like heaven to her.

"Hello!" a short, portly man calls, waving as he descends the stairs of a nearby building. His cheeks are red. His hair is also red—what's left of it—and his smile is genuine.

I have no idea who he is, but I like him. I rock back on my heels, pushing my hands into my trouser pockets, and wait for him to reach us.

"Mr. and Mrs. Ward, correct?" he asks, speaking Valetian with a thick accent.

"That's right." I reach for his hand, shaking it heartily. "But please, call me Felix."

"Hello, Felix." He clasps his other hand on top of the one he's shaking, welcoming and warm. "I'm Otis Wagner, the village reeve. I'm so glad you made it. My wife and I worried when the coach never returned last night. I trust everything is all right?"

The coachman joins the conversation, his face grim. "There was another wolf attack, Otis."

Our one-man welcoming committee pales. "Again?"

"They got Berrett."

The color drains from Otis's plump cheeks, and his face wrinkles with grief. "No."

"I'm afraid so."

"Is he…?"

"We were unable to locate his body, but from the look of things, he didn't survive."

Otis pulls his cap off his head, crushing it between his hands. "I'll let Hildie know. She'll want to send a few meals for his family and…you know."

The coachman nods. "I'll be back again tomorrow if you want me to take them."

"Be careful," Otis says sagely. "I don't know what's riled the beasts up this year, but they're in a right fit." He turns back to us. "This is not how I'd hoped to welcome you to Braunwin."

I nod, understanding, and then gently continue the introductions. "This is my wife, Catriona."

"It's a pleasure." And though he's obviously still deeply troubled, he sounds like he genuinely means it.

"The village is lovely," Cat adds.

"We're proud of it." He draws in a breath as if bolstering himself, stands taller—which puts him around five feet seven inches—and forces a smile. "Let me show you to your new shop and home. You'll have to organize things, of course, but we tried to tidy your things as they came. You had several wagonloads arrive throughout the week. It was a bit of excitement for our little village, for certain. It's been years since a whole new family moved in, I suppose. Probably three now. Maybe five."

"A bit off the beaten path, isn't it?" I say with a laugh, wondering about that. If no one has moved in, where's the werewolf hiding?

"Indeed." Otis puffs up with pride. "But we grow more apples than any other territory in all the Allied Provinces and ship them near and far. You've arrived at the heart of the season. We've been harvesting for a month and will be harvesting a month more."

A delighted smile lights Cat's face as we walk down the street on the eastern side of the creek. Water bubbles over the river rocks, running down gentle falls and gathering in a wide pool toward the center of town before continuing downstream. A boy sits at the water's edge, fishing pole in his hand, watching us with curious eyes.

Other villagers chat on porches, sit on benches in the sunshine, or simply stroll down the street. Many greet us, as curious as the boy. They smile at me and openly gape at Cat, though she doesn't notice them staring because her attention is on the flowers.

She has that effect on people, though. She certainly had it on me.

Her hair grabs you first, that almost impossible color of cool strawberry blond. It's down today, cascading in silken strands to her waist, soft and pale pink in the sunlight. She wears an ivory dress, this one covered in blush-colored rosebuds. Like yesterday's, it cinches at her waist and then widens at her hips, the design simple, with no bustle or fuss. She's a vision, beautiful and feminine, soft and sweet.

Never in a thousand years would the werewolf guess she's a huntress.

Something wildly protective builds in my chest as I watch Cat delight over the short waterfall near the northern bridge. She turns toward me as if to share her joy, the sun highlighting the sweet freckles across her nose. She smiles, freer here in this tiny hamlet than she's ever been at the guild, where she has a reputation to protect.

Does she realize she's more herself with me? That she lets down her guard on rare occasions?

Does she realize I see her? That I love her?

"Is it everything you hoped, bluebird?" I ask, lifting my eyebrows.

Her eyes narrow subtly, her smile becoming a touch feline. "It's exactly as Uncle Amos described it."

I can't imagine a nicer place for her fictional uncle to send us. Ignoring the werewolf situation, Braunwin looks like it came right from the pages of a storybook.

"This is you!" Otto says brightly, extending his hands toward the shop Benjamin rented using Alliance money—undoubtedly the director's favorite way to pay for guild expenses.

It looks like the others along the lane—narrow, two stories tall, fitted with glass windows, and boasting a large cottonwood in the small side yard.

Even though the tree is stunning in full autumn-yellow glory, Cat's face falls when she sees the empty window boxes and a tangle of dead weeds where flowerbeds should be.

I immediately want to request a new shop—one that will bring back her smile. Which, of course, is ridiculous.

"It's been empty for a few years," Otis apologizes when he sees her disappointment. "It's a bit late to plant flowers this year, but you can fix it up next spring."

Though we won't be here next spring, Cat swallows her disappointment and says, "It's perfect."

Otis produces the key and pushes the door open, gesturing for us to follow him inside. "The main level here is your shop, of course."

As he warned, there are clocks everywhere, and they're all in perfect disarray. But the floors have been swept clean, the front counter is free of dust, and the windows are well-scrubbed. Someone worked hard to welcome us.

"You made all these?" Otis asks me curiously, peering at the almost unnerving number of clocks. There are small table clocks, cuckoo clocks, mantel clocks, desk clocks, and tiny clocks the size of paperweights. Several grandfather clocks tower over the room, including one monster that looks like it took years to assemble and carve.

"My father did," I say off the cuff. "I took over the business when he passed this spring, and I'm learning. But I'm afraid I'll never reach his level of mastery."

Cat sets her hand on my arm, her eyes gentle. "You will, Felix Dear. Eventually, you will."

I almost laugh out loud at her calculated use of the endearment.

"You're from the capital?" Otis asks curiously.

"That's right. But after Father departed, I felt it was time for a change of pace, and my Cat has always wanted to come here."

"You spoil me," she says softly, looping her arm through mine and looking up at me with a tender expression.

We smile at each other, newlyweds besotted, selling the story and confusing my heart.

"That's lovely," Otis says, sounding like he means it. "Well, we're happy to have you here. Shall we take a look at your apartment?"