Misa Moon's Arc

Chapter 2 of 10

The lodge door swung open on a room colder than the snow outside. Misa stepped in and set her pack down. Frost had climbed the inside of the windows. A beam had fallen from the loft and split a bench in two. The stone hearth held a heap of black, wet ash. A drift of snow lay in the corner where the roof had failed. She stood in the middle of the wreck and pictured the next traveler pushing this same door open at dusk. They would find a room that killed slower than the road, but killed all the same. She had until dark to change that. She worked. She dragged the broken beam outside. She cleared the ash with a flat board and stacked dry wood from the covered pile against the north wall. She tried a spark. The wood took, then died. She tried again. The chimney breathed wrong. Something above was blocked. Her hands were stiff. The light through the windows was already gray. The fox spirit slipped in through the open door. Small symbols trailed from its tail and faded near the hearth. It sat by the cold stones and watched her fail at the fire a third time. Then it looked at the chimney, and then at her. "I know," Misa said. "I know it's the flue." "It's a nest," someone said behind her. She turned with a hand near her boot. A stranger stood in the doorway, snow on the shoulders of a dark jacket, hair cut close on one side. They did not step in without permission. They only nodded at the chimney. "Old one. Packed tight. You'll smoke yourselves out before you get warm." A pause. "I can reach it. If you want." Misa's raven tattoo stayed where it was. She let out a breath. "Please. I'm Misa." "Hades." They came in, shed the pack, and climbed the loft ladder without waiting to be shown. Within minutes a clot of twigs and old feathers dropped into the hearth. Hades came down with soot on their sleeve and no comment about it. Misa lit the fire again. It caught and held. Heat pressed against her face. The frost on the nearest window began to bead and run. She and Hades worked without speaking. They wedged the broken bench upright as a screen against the corner drift. They hung her cloak across the worst window. Hades pulled a small tin from a pocket and sealed a crack in the door frame with wax. The fox curled by the hearth. The room smelled like woodsmoke instead of rot. Misa looked at the door. The next traveler would find a warm room now. She had done that much. Hades sat on the mended bench and watched the fire. "Whose house is this?" "Mine," Misa said. Then, quieter: "Ours, if you're staying the night." Hades did not answer. They did not leave either.