Page 20 of Too Hexed to Handle

The hexmark’s not a perfect x like ours. The black lines have stretched all the way up his forearm, new lines branching out, and I realise where I’ve seen his colouring before. On Astin’s sister, as she withered and died in his arms.

At least for her it happened quickly. This man’s stuck in some kind of in-between stage, not quite withered, not quite . . .

‘Can he survive this?’ I ask.

‘I don’t know.’ Astin’s voice is low, cold. Deadly. He shakes the man, forcing his attention. ‘Who did this to you? Are they in the woods?’

‘No . . . I . . . It was unlocked, so I ran. I ran for such a long time. But I couldn’t . . . I can’t . . .’ The man cries out, spasming, and, if it’s possible, more colour seeps from his skin. His eyes roll to the back of his head and then his focus sharpens. He grips Astin’s shoulder. ‘Whatever she does, he’s worse.’

His head drops to the ground. Utterly lifeless.

Every inch of me trembles. Tears threaten to fall. Anger is etched over Astin’s face: from the lock of his jaw, still with that purple bruise from yesterday, to the ticking in his cheek like a pendulum swinging too fast, to the swirling storm of blue in his eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, not sure what I’m apologising for. Suggesting this trip. Falling over. Making him witness someone die the same way his sister did.

‘I need to get you out of here.’ He sounds calm and controlled as he stands, but his hands shake as he brushes dirt from his trousers. ‘He might think he ran far, but it doesn’t mean they didn’t chase him. The Souleater could be in these woods. More than one, it sounded like.’

‘What about the body? We can’t leave him here.’

‘There’s nothing we can do for him.’ Astin rubs his face. ‘This was a bad idea. For all we know, he was running from these ruins you’re dragging me to.’

Oh no. He is not using this as an excuse to go home. The inn is riding on this. My cure is riding on this. I’m not turning back when there’s a chance my dreams could come true. Besides, I haven’t dragged him anywhere. He volunteered for this trip.

I fold my arms. ‘That theory’s unlikely, since the invite says we don’t need to be there until tomorrow.’

‘Or maybe Souleaters are picking people off in advance.’

‘Then it’s a good job I have a big, bad Souleater murderer at my side.’ I smile sweetly. ‘I am going to those ruins. If you want to stop me, you’ll have to carry me home, kicking and screaming.’

His gaze drops to my ankle. ‘I might be carrying you either way.’

‘I can walk,’ I tell him. I make an attempt at proving my point, but my ankle immediately buckles and I lurch straight into his arms.

‘Fuck’s sake, Daisy. You’re impossible, you know that?’ He releases me once I’m safely upright, before sliding my pack from my shoulders and tossing it over his own. A pity he didn’t do that several hours ago. For all his complaining I brought too much, he makes it look like my wardrobe consists of feathers.

‘We can make a detour to the Duck in the Dark. See if you can sleep it off. I brought my savings for emergencies –’ He pauses, as though recalculating whether a sprained ankle counts as an emergency. I’m tempted to tell him it’s not, because ducks are the last thing I need.

I can’t get the words out in time, because another glance at the sweat beading across my face and he nods. ‘It means we won’t make it to the ruins with much time to spare before this . . . gathering. I won’t be able to do any reconnaissance.’ A dark cloud crosses his face. ‘So we’d better hope you’re right, and whoever killed him –’ he points at the dead body – ‘isn’t there waiting for us.’

8

Given this detour is my fault, I go to great lengths not to complain about our choice of accommodation. This is made easier by the fact that, actually, with all the hopping I’m doing, it’s hard to talk about anything. Every breath is strained. If it weren’t for the delay in reaching Rerta, I imagine Astin would be relishing the silence my injury has caused. This is the longest I’ve gone without complimenting the colour of the sky.

I wish that was only down to the pain. It’s hard to compliment anything when we’ve left a dead body behind. Astin refused to waste time burying the corpse, forcing me to settle for laying a flower at his side.

We approach the Duck in the Dark to find it’s far uglier than our inn. Bird faeces is speckled across a path lined by a rickety fence, no welcoming plants in sight. Flaming torches hang either side of double doors coated with black paint, giving the appearance of a building preparing for war, not to welcome new guests. A large pond occupies its front garden. Algae floats on top of the stagnant, murky water, and beside the shore sits – I shudder – a flock of ducks.

Why are there so many of them? All they do is make strange noises and leave a trail of feathers and excrement in their wake. One quacks before zooming over the pond’s surface. I whimper and shuffle closer into Astin’s embrace, knocking him sideways.

‘What are you –’ He breaks off, looking over at the pond. ‘I thought it was chickens you didn’t like?’

‘It’s all of them,’ I hiss. ‘Every single bird with their flappy, flap, flap wings.’

‘That’s the official term for them, is it?’

I prod his side and am pleased to discover he’s ticklish. I’m less pleased that, after jumping several inches into the air, he jerks away from me in retribution, leaving me to hobble the final few steps alone.

We have to fight our way inside, pushing through a group of travellers to cross the threshold where we’re immediately met with a blaze of unbearable heat and too many people for my liking. Astin draws me into his side, away from the elbows of a man who should’ve gone to bed several drinks ago.