Lena Marsh's Arc

Chapter 3 of 24

Lena was past the woodpile when boots hit the snow behind her. Linny caught her sleeve at the edge of the yard, breath white and fast. "Back inside," Linny said. "I have until tomorrow night." "You have until they smell you." Linny didn't let go. "The fae have our scent from the ridge. Mine worse than yours. Nell's not with you. You go past the tree line without him and we're both taken, and Father dies alone in that bed while a witch you've never met sits waiting for you to say her name." Lena's hands went still at her sides. The note under the thimble suddenly felt stupid. "Then what," she said. Linny let go of her sleeve. "We need something that kills them. And I know who to ask. I'm not happy about it." They cut across the square by lamplight. Linny walked ahead, hat pulled low, coat paint bright even in the dark. She stopped in front of a cobblestone shop with silver trim gleaming along the eaves. She stared at the door a second longer than she needed to, then knocked. The man who opened it was broad and clean, sleeves rolled, apron scorched at the hem. He looked at Linny first. His mouth flattened. "You," he said. "Forge." "Thought you left." "I came back." He stepped aside without inviting them. The shop smelled of coal and oil. Rings and spoons lay in a tray on the counter. Behind them, half-drawn on butcher paper, a long blade profile. "My sister needs iron," Linny said. "The kind that bites fae." Forge looked at Lena. Her blue hair, her blue-tinted nose, her still hands. Then back at Linny. "Who's hunting you." "Things past the ridge," Linny said. "They have our scent." "Why me." "Because no one else in this village would even try." He didn't answer that. He wiped his hands on a rag. "Iron won't hold an edge on its own. You want cold iron with silver in the weld. I have three pieces down the stairs. They aren't finished." "Finished enough to cut?" Lena asked. "Enough to kill something once, if you don't miss." He looked at Linny again. "Last time you stood in this shop you told me to stop wasting steel." "I was wrong," Linny said. Flat. Closed. Forge held her eyes a moment. Then he lifted the counter panel and jerked his chin at the dark behind it. "Down," he said. "Both of you. Don't touch the quench barrel." The stairs went under the shop into a low room warm with banked coals. Three blades lay on a bench, rough and dark, silver seams running their spines. Lena picked one up. It was heavier than she expected. Her hand didn't shake. Linny took another. "Now we can walk," she said. Lena nodded. “To the witch we go.”