Silas Thornwood's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

They marched the charmer down the road at dusk. Missy Crawford walked beside the bound man, one hand on his cord. Silas Thornwood walked behind, the knife still in his belt. The charmer had a name in his mouth, and Silas meant to hear it before the sheriff locked the cell. But first they had to reach the door. The sheriff's office stood weathered and dark, iron bars behind its windows. A lantern burned inside. Silas felt it the moment they stepped onto the porch. Something was wrong. He stopped and listened. "Keep moving," the charmer said. His voice shook now. "Whoever paid me knows you have me. He won't let me talk." Missy turned to him. "Then talk now." The charmer opened his mouth. A shot cracked from the trees. The bullet struck the post beside his head and split the wood. He dropped to the boards, screaming. Silas spun toward the sound and saw a pale shape move at the tree line. For one breath it looked like a wolf, white and glowing in the dusk. Then a man rose from behind it, a rifle in his hands, and ran. "Inside!" Silas shoved the charmer through the door. Missy dragged him across the floor and behind the desk. Another shot tore through the open doorway and struck the back wall. Silas crouched by the window. His whole plan hung on this man staying alive. A dead witness gave him nothing. He drew the knife, then cursed it. A knife was no answer to a rifle across a yard. He grabbed the lantern and smashed it against the floor near the door. Oil spread and caught. Flames jumped up in the doorway. The fire bought them cover. No clear shot now through the wall of light. Silas pulled the charmer behind the iron bars of the empty cell and slammed the door. The man gripped the bars with white knuckles. "Give me the name," Silas said. "You heard that shot. He wants you dead. I'm the only reason you still breathe." The charmer stared at the burning doorway. His leverage was gone, and he knew it. "Ashford," he gasped. "The one who paid me. He goes by Ashford." Silas went still. The name meant nothing to him yet. But it meant everything. A real name. A thread he could follow. Missy stamped out the last of the flames with her boot. Smoke filled the room. Outside, the yard had gone silent. The shooter had fled into the dark. She looked at Silas across the ruined floor, her face hard. "He's alive," she said. "That's what matters." "He talked," Silas said. "That's what matters." The charmer sat behind the bars, safe and useless now. Silas had his witness. He had a name. But the man who wanted that name buried had come close, and missed by inches. Silas knew he would try again.