Arden Kole's Arc

Chapter 3 of 8

Arden knelt on the wanderer's chest, bag heavy with tissue. The woman in the spotted coat stayed crouched close, red lips near Arden's cheek. Her name was Savanna Noire, though Arden had never heard it. All Arden knew was the debt. The woman had thrown the vines. The woman had turned the creature's blank head. Without her, Arden would be dead under the thing's fists. "My price," Savanna said. She tapped Arden's jaw with one cold finger. "One kiss. Then you take your prizes home." Arden's mind raced. She had watched stray dogs die against these walls. She trusted vines more than smiles. "A kiss for what?" she said fast. "Say it plain. What do you take?" Savanna smiled wider. The black cat lifted its scarred head from the wanderer's arm. Its green eyes fixed on Arden. "A little of you," the woman said. "You won't miss it. Most don't, until later." That was answer enough. Arden had cut open too many bodies to believe a payment left no wound. She looked down. The vine still coiled her wrist, alive, tightening on its own. She had one length loose in her free hand. "Then take your kiss," Arden said. She leaned in. Savanna's eyes closed. Her lips parted. In that half second Arden snapped the vine across the woman's wrists and yanked. The tendrils obeyed. They cinched, biting, dragging Savanna's arms down against the wanderer's ribs. The woman hissed and wrenched back. The cat sprang at Arden's face. Arden rolled off the chest. The cat's claws raked her scalp. She swung her bag and knocked it aside. Then she was up, running for the door, tools rattling, tissue safe against her hip. "Foolish," Savanna called behind her. The vines held the woman only a moment. Arden heard them tear. But a moment was the door, the threshold, the cold night beyond the ward. Arden did not stop. She ran through the graveyard rows until her lungs burned, until the almshouse windows shrank behind her. No red heels followed. No cat. She pressed her back to a wall and gasped, laughing in short bursts. "Not today," she said. "Not my soul today." She opened the bag. The tissue lay inside, pale and firm. It would not rot. It was enough to begin her brother. She had cheated the woman and kept the price. Then she saw her hand. On the back of it, where Savanna's finger had tapped her jaw, a mark had risen. A dark spot, round and smooth, like the coat. It was cold. When Arden pressed it, it did not fade. It spread, a hair wider, and stopped. Arden stared. The woman had touched her once. That was all it took. The debt was not paid. It was only carried now, under her own skin, walking home with her toward her brother's grave.