I was on my way out the door when the letter came in. The courier hurried up the flat, stone steps to where I was, his bag bouncing against his thigh. He already had the letter in hand and announced he had postage for one Jemille L'Ahearne. I told him that the letter was for me and held out a waiting hand to take the letter.

The fibers of the envelope felt textured and stately. It was sealed by a blot of wax stamped with the Imperial Academy's seal. I thanked him and, as I reached into my bag, mentally calculated how many miles he must have traveled to deliver the letter. I knew some people around here who didn't even bother taking that into consideration. They'd just fling a couple of florens towards the courier. That never seem right to me.

I paid the courier and hurried past him while he was still uttering his thanks. I didn't know if I was late. Hopefully, the witcher hadn't already set off towards the manor.

Frankly, getting my parents to let the witcher room overnight in our house was a losing battle that I never even bothered with. He understood that. Instead, he found a room at an inn closer towards the center of town. The place wasn't bad—it was a nice spot to take a few friends and have brunch.

I found the room the witcher was staying in from the innkeeper. When I knocked, no one answered. I rubbed my thumb incessantly over the nails of my other fingers as I wondered what to do. Before I could come up with a single idea, the door swung open.

"Could you stop that?" he asked immediately, tilting his head towards my nervous fingers. I clenched my hand into a fist.

"Sorry."

"What is it?"

"I…" To be honest, I already knew what he'd tell me. Or, at least, how he'd react. "I want to go with you." I expected him to outright refuse, slam the door, or even laugh. Instead, I got a question.

"Why?"

"Because… because I want to know what happened."

The witcher shrugged. "I could just tell you what I find."

I shook my head. A strange look crossed the witcher's face.

"You don't trust me to tell the truth?"

"No!" I said quickly. "It's just…" I didn't know how to explain it. I wanted to see with my own eyes. That was the only truth I'd be able to believe. That didn't mean I didn't trust the witcher. It was hard to explain, and I knew that if I tried I would just get the wrong message across. "It's just—."

The witcher suddenly shushed me with a sharp, soft hiss and a raise of his hand. He stepped from the door and beckoned me into his room. I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if he was afraid of eavesdroppers, and walked in.

The smell hit me like a punch in the face. It had the pungency of spice, but it stank. I blinked several times, exhaling slowly to prolong having to breathe in. A voice in the back of my head, the shallow part of my brain, mumbled that a man with a smelly living space instantly went down several rungs of the attractiveness ladder. But then I saw the source of the smell—a small little metal bowl. Something, long since reduced to ash, was wafting off long tendrils of smoke. I stared, wondering why anyone would purposely perfume a room with this stench. A pillow sat on the floor in front of the bowl.

The window was open. I hurried to it. The witcher clamped a lid over the bowl. He turned back to me. "It boosts concentration. I was meditating," he said before I could get the question out. I nodded and opened my mouth to speak. Once again, he beat me to it.

"Let's just get one thing straight here, Jemille," he said, crossing his arms and suddenly looking very authoritarian. "You're not going into that manor with me. It puts you in danger and puts my life at risk. I can't juggle looking after you and dealing with whatever's in that manor at the same time."

I hated that—the 'you'll only get in the way' spiel. But he was right. I quickly deliberated. "Then… I'll wait outside the manor until you clear it out. And then I can take a look around."

"Not just outside," the witcher corrected. "A good distance away."

"Okay."

"And if there is any sign of trouble, even the smallest hint, you run back into town."

"Sure."

The witcher studied me for a moment. I tried to glare at him with the same amount of sternness, though I probably came off more as pouty.

Finally, a hearty sigh escaped him and he shrugged once more. "Very well," he gave in. He lowered himself down and planted his knees onto the pillow. "I'll need another half hour," he told me.

"To, uh, meditate?"

"Yes. So either you leave or you stay quiet. And don't do that… thing," he wiggled his fingers together, "with your hand."

"Okay."

The witcher faced the bowl and rested his hands over his knees. He closed his eyes and took a slow, even breath. "And don't watch me," he suddenly scolded. "It's weird."

"Oh." I turned away and peered out the window. The air was a little fresher here anyway. For a while, I listened to the witcher's barely audible exhales and inhales grow slower. Then I focused on the view of the town outside. I was trying to stay quiet, but it was starting to get boring. Looking down, I reached and gently took the envelope from my bag. I cast a quick glance back over at the witcher, but he was deep into whatever stupor he had settled himself in. Still, I popped open the wax as quietly as I could and slipped the letter out.

The Imperial Academy had sent me my schedule for the next semester. My eyes scanned over the list of course and professor names. I grimaced at one class in particular—that one, I'd heard, was horrendously tough. At the same time, I was looking forward to being back on academy grounds. I'd finally be able to tell everyone about the—.

"What is that?"

An entirely incoherent sound burst out of my mouth as I clutched the schedule to my chest and whirled around. The witcher regarded me with a faint, amused smirk.

"You scared me!" I snapped accusingly.

"I can see that."

I turned away and quickly stuffed the schedule back into its envelope. "Just a letter," I answered, putting it back into my bag.

"Hm," the witcher grunted in response. He was pulling his swords over his shoulder when I turned back. I never had a good look at them until now, but they were enormous. And on the pommel of one, I saw the head of the same fanged beast. It was identical to the one around his neck. "Let's go," he told me as he checked the small vials strapped to his shoulder.

People stared as we exited the inn. It didn't take an oracle to predict what was going to come out of their mouths later. I wondered how long it would take before the news would travel to the part of the outer ring where I lived. Too soon.

The witcher didn't seem to notice or care as he marched past. I had to bring myself to a jog to keep up. We passed quickly through the town. I noticed how the busy street gave wide berth to the witcher.

"You study at the Imperial Academy?"

I glanced up at him. At first I was a little annoyed that he'd spied on my personal business. I'd expect that kind of intrusion from my nosy mother, not him. But I quickly reminded myself that the witcher was bringing me along with his grace and quickly pushed the bad feelings away. "Yes," I answered.

"What are you studying?"

I sighed. This was a question I was asked often, and each time was just as drab and unpleasant. "Business and Commerce," I answered in a very rehearsed reply.

The witcher grunted in reply. He didn't even pretend to act interested. I was actually grateful for that. But on the topic of schools…

"Did you go to a witcher school?" I suddenly asked.

"Where did you hear that?"

"A couple of years ago, another witcher stopped by Trivent. That's when people started saying all sorts of things about witchers. I, uh, heard about witcher schools from them."

My companion was silent for a few long seconds. Then, he said, "The people here know about as much about witchers as they do about the Coviers."

I immediately knew what he meant even without the spite in his voice. I started to regret bringing up the witcher school thing.

We didn't say anything for a while. The Covier Manor was just up ahead, beyond this row of tall houses. Once again, my mind unwillingly brought up the memory of the black eyes and yellowed grin. I began nibbling on the inside of my cheek.

"You know what?" the witcher said, breaking the silence. "You've never asked for my name."

"Oh… right…" It had completely slipped my mind for some reason. In some strange, prejudiced way, I was perfectly content with referring to the witcher as 'the witcher.' The same as one might refer to an animal they spotted off-road as 'the deer.' I still felt a little guilty. He did ask for my name, after all. I asked him. He told me his name.

"You're not from around here."

"No."

"Then what's with your accent?" He was faking it, I realized. No wonder it'd sounded odd to me at first.

"If I'd told you where I came from when we first met and spoke with a foreign accent, would you still have treated me the same way? Would you have even asked me for help?"

"I'm not adverse to different people," I said. "Lots of people from all over the North attend the Imperial Academy."

"You don't seem to understand." I could have sworn he sounded sad. Suddenly, the witcher stopped. I accidentally stepped ahead of him but quickly stopped in my tracks and turned back to him. He motioned me to come closer and I walked back. "Stay here," he told me. We were standing by a row of rosebushes. I looked to my right and saw the manor. It was completely still—a dark shape cutting through the bright sky like a slumbering beast. The dark windows that dotted its face looked like listless eyes. Looking at it now, I couldn't believe I had done something so stupid as walking up to that thing on my own.

"Remember what we agreed on," the witcher said. He waited until I looked back at him to continue, "Not a step closer until I'm done. You hear me?" I nodded. "No, say it."

"I hear you," I muttered.

"Right." The witcher pulled the medallion out from the recesses of cloth around his neck, pulled his collar open, and tucked it against his skin. "Wish me luck."

"Just hurry up!" I said in an exaggeratingly pushy tone. The witcher gave the straps holding his swords one last adjustment before trotting up the path to the manor. I watched his back grow smaller with distance. My eyes flitted up to the windows. The manor was still.

He came to the porch and paused. He was looking down, probably at the bloodstain. Then he glanced up. I realized he was staring at one of the windows. I looked too, but didn't see anything from where I was.

The witcher drew his sword. He pushed open the door and walked in. It closed slowly behind him. Then everything was still again. I clasped my hands together in front of my chest, pressing my icy fingers into my palms. Despite the sun, they had grown cold.

I was beginning to grow restless, worried. Nothing was happening where I was, but I was certain something was happening in that manor. Had he found it? The thing that killed the Coviers? Did it find him?

The rosebush in front of me, dead and dry, rattled. I jumped back. An equally scared bird took off from it. I snorted with embarrassment. At least nobody had seen that.

"Heard you saddled up with a witcher."

I whirled around, still edgy from being on high alert. The girl standing a short distance away had her hands on her hips in a very assertive way. It very much suited Irene, that annoying child of a woman. While most people fueled on food and water, she was powered by drama and attention.

"What?" I snapped defensively, and her eyes lit up.

"Mmhmm," she goaded. "I heard people saw you two leave the inn together."

"I'm helping him."

"Sure you are."

"Go fuck yourself on a cactus," I shot, turning back to the manor. I heard Irene gasp softly.

"I'm telling your mother you said that."

"Go ahead. Repeat it word-for-word." I heard her huff and stomp away, off to hunt for someone else to incite. My eyes scanned the manor, looking for any sign of change. Everything looked disturbingly calm. I tried to determine how long it had been since the witcher went in. Five minutes, maybe? What kind of progress had he made?

For the hundredth time, I thought about stepping past the dead rosebushes and getting a closer look at the manor. Also for the hundredth time, I stayed where I was and reminded myself to keep my word to the witcher. All in do time. The witcher would clear out the manor and I would get the answers I needed.

Suddenly, I saw movement out of one of the windows. My heart stopped. Someone was standing in it, looking out. Quickly, I ducked under the bush until only my eyes and the top of my head peeked out.

It was the witcher. He was looking this way and that from the window. Then he peered down at the rosebushes where I was. I raised my head. He waved. I raised my hand to wave back. And then I froze.

A second face appeared. Amidst the dark sea of glass, I saw someone standing behind the witcher, looking over his shoulder.

I pointed to warn him. I was also so terrified my arms were flailing like a person pretending to drown, so I didn't think my message came across very well. The witcher suddenly disappeared from the window. Whether he withdrew or was pulled back, I didn't know. It was a sign of trouble, so I ran. Towards the manor, that is.

It was dumb. It was so dumb. But at that moment, the strange sense of determination possessed me and I found myself once again going towards the manor. I'd felt accountable for Alani, and this time I felt accountable for the witcher. It was me who had dragged him into this.

My feet pounded over the porch. This time, when I grabbed the handle, I threw the door open without hesitation. Nothing was behind it but the dark manor. I stumbled through the threshold and drew in a sharp breath. Immediately, the air grew cold. My skin tingled with goose bumps, reacting to something I wasn't yet aware of.

I felt the ground shake as something thundered across it. I shrank back against the door. That was when the witcher appeared in the foyer, his brow furrowed deeply and his eyebrows crashed harshly over his eyes.

"What are you doing?" he roared at me. His faked accent disappeared completely and his true one surfaced. He sounded terrifying.

"But—there was—I saw—!" I was hyperventilating too much.

"You saw something and you should have run that way!" He jabbed a finger towards the door, towards the town. His accent became local again, but he still sounded furious. I nodded, and my hand scrabbled for the doorknob. "No!" the witcher snapped. "Don't open that door!" He let out a huff. A hand came up to his face, and it looked like he was able to pinch the bridge of his nose before he quickly lowered it like someone trying to get out of a habit. He muttered something under his breath, likely a swear.

Rearranging the medallion hanging just below his collarbones, the witcher said in a low voice, "There is something in here." I immediately glanced up at the stairs, at the doorways, anywhere the darkness seemed the thickest. "It's not here right now," the witcher said. "It seems to be avoiding me—probably knows why I'm here and what I can do to it. I'd sense it for a second, and then it would move away. But you…" His glowing eyes bore down into me. "I don't think it's going to avoid you. That's why I can't let you leave. It might follow you, and that's going to make things a lot more complicated for me. So you stay close to me, you hear? You stray a little bit away, even just a few steps, and you're dead. Got that?"

I nodded quickly. I didn't know exactly what was going on but I knew that I'd fucked it up for the both of us. "Sorry," I said, and I couldn't keep my stupid voice from cracking.

Immediately the witcher's eyes softened. "I'm sorry too," he replied. "I shouldn't have let you come."

"Don't play the hero," I warned him. "If it ever comes down to choosing between you and me—."

"No," the witcher interrupted quickly.

"I employed you," I said in a firm voice. "So I call the shots, okay? If it ever comes down to you or me, you better damn well make it out of here."

The witcher looked upset. I didn't expect that. I thought he'd take my order immediately like a dog given a command, but he looked as though what I told him truly bothered him. It made me wonder if the brain in that head… What if those people who talked were wrong? What if it could still feel?

With a jerk of his head to indicate that we should get going, the witcher turned. I started moving to anticipate his quick gait, taking his instruction to stay close to heart. But the witcher didn't move, and I nearly smacked into his scabbards.

"Ahh," I heard him rumble quietly. "Those weren't there before." I peeked around him.

There were blotches on the ground—footprints. They were dark and clear enough so that we could see each individual toe. I don't know where the trail started, but from the prints it appeared someone or something had walked across the foyer.

Then two prints, two feet side-by-side, had stopped right behind the witcher before he'd turned around.

His hand flew up and pressed his medallion gently against his skin. I looked around the foyer, hands clenched into tight fists. Then, I spotted something. More footprints. This time, they were on the wall. And not only that. Handprints, wide and splayed, stained the wall in a way that suggested something humanoid had crawled up the wall.

The witcher took his hand away from his medallion. I noticed how he gave his sword hilt a few squeezes.

"Right," he said. "Stay close."