Selene Moonshadow's Arc

Chapter 5 of 9

The old man in the doorway did not smile. He did not look surprised either. He stepped aside and gestured them in, one hand pressed to his chest in the old greeting, the other palm turned up at the threshold. Selene returned it because her grandmother had drilled it into her. Marcus did the same, slower. The raven watched from the roof beam and did not follow them inside. "You've come a long way," the old man said. "Sit. Tell me what you need." Selene sat. She kept her coat on. She kept the stone halves in the pocket against her ribs. "We were told a wizard lives past the pass. We need help with a working. A filter. Something broke, and we need it mended stronger." "A filter." He nodded like he understood. "For what?" "For a name," she said. "That's all I can say yet." He smiled then, small and kind. "Of course. I've done that work before. Show me the pieces and I'll begin." Selene did not move. Something in the room felt wrong. The hearth threw heat but no smell. His hands rested too still on the table. She thought of the brownie under the floorboards two ridges behind them, and Marcus's warning about faces. She reached into her satchel. She set the vial on the table first, the water inside it catching light it shouldn't have. Then the parchment seal, its red sigil dark at the edges like dried blood. "Traveler's custom," she said. "Before business. A cup shared, and a word sworn on the seal. You know it." He knew it. She saw him know it. He also did not want to touch either object. "Old customs," he said. "Surely not needed between friends." Marcus set his knapsack on the floor. "Humor her." Selene uncorked the vial. She tipped one drop onto the seal. The sigil flared. She pushed the parchment across the table until it touched the back of his hand. He screamed. The shape of him buckled. The beard slid off like wet cloth. What sat in the chair was low and grey and wrong, with a mouth too wide and eyes set too far apart. A bogey. It clawed at the seal and could not lift its hand from it. "Where is he," Selene said. "Cellar," it hissed. "Under the boards. Alive. Alive." Marcus was already moving. He pulled up a plank with his knife and dropped through. Selene heard him speak low, then a thin old voice answer. She leaned close to the bogey. "You owe us secrets now. For your life." It talked. It talked about the shadow, about names that wear names, about a second working the wizard knew and it had overheard. Selene wrote as fast as her hand would go. Behind her, Marcus helped a thin old man up through the floor. The real work could finally start.