Chapter 8

The Folfern Inn was a far cry from the Fraeling. Even its nicest rooms had creaking floorboards and small windows, but Snow felt the latter was better. He didn’t want whatever it was crawling in to investigate him while he slept.

As much as he hated to admit it, like attracts like when it comes to the strange and magical. He’s had many creatures of all shades come to investigate him over the years, drawn in by the smell of his unusual variety of magic. And just like a brightly colored insect warning off predator birds, most of those monsters immediately realized that Snow was neither food nor fun. If only normal humans were that sensitive, he had often mused when it came to would-be highway men or those insane zealots.

Rarely were everyday folk sensitive to magic and magical beings. They blundered around the world oblivious to old ruins still full of power or shapeshifters rubbing up against their legs in the skin of a cat. He had only met a handful that knew what they were looking at when they saw it and he was still debating if Titus was one of those people.

The man’s uncanny openness was still gnawing at him, but Snow was sure now that Titus’s brief uncertainty over dealing with the creature was nothing but an act. In fact, Snow believed Titus would be out searching for the creature right now if he had arrived here alone.

Reconciling the man’s attention to detail with this foolhardy need to right the wrong was giving Snow a headache. And why not come out and say it? Why not explain that he’s always had a fascination with magic or drawn to supernatural? Snow had met those in life too. They were just as rare as those with a natural gift, but all the more dangerous without the ability to feel when they’re in over their head.

Snow could hear Willa’s voice in his head trying to talk him out of his suspicions. This whole thing was her idea long ago, so, of course, it would be her voice advocating for it – pushing him to give it a chance. Perhaps he’s ashamed of it, he imagined her saying, this natural inclination that runs against the grain of his upbringing… you know what that’s like Korvinian.

Yes. He knew what that was like.

A knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts.

“Come in.”

Titus opened the door and peeked inside.

“Horses are still in one piece. I thought I’d check on them again before turning in.”

Snow nodded from where he sat on his stiff cot. “Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“Do you know what this thing is?” Titus asked as he stepped in and shut the door behind him.

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“Likely a vampire or lycanthrope. I’m willing to bet the former. And it sounds young – newly freed from its sire with little control.” Snow sighed in annoyance before continuing. “That’s the problem with those zealots. They’re perfectly happy killing the ruling sire, believing his fledglings will wither without him. Instead, they only spread his creations across the countryside – now without a leash and hungry.”

“It’s got to be stopped,” Titus said it without question.

“It must be dealt with. Many who become vampires are victims themselves. Would you deal out death to a homeless man for stealing food?”

“This thing isn’t steading bread. It stole someone’s brother, someone’s father,” Titus said the fact grimly and stared hard down into Snow, clearly put out by the parallel that had no place in this situation.

Snow got up to meet those hard eyes. He had half a mind to ask Titus about those scars on his neck, to ask him if all vampires were so evil if one saw fit to spare him, but Snow had learned long ago about the danger of assumptions.

“And this creature lost its own life the moment it was turned. No, we can’t have it eating these villagers, but don’t assume this thing is a true villain. Fledglings have little to no control. They’re fighting what could be described as a disease that has taken hold of them and ripped apart their mind. If we need to give it a swift death, then we will, but hopefully it won’t come to that.”

Titus let out a breath of sheer frustration, “Even IF you talk that thing into leaving this village alone, it’s still a vampire… it’s still going rip throats out somewhere else, isn’t it? Maybe even make more of its kind.”

“So do wolves,” Snow replied flatly.

Titus scowled hard. “They’re not wolves.”

“Why? Because a wolf won’t take down a man? Won’t multiply in the dark of the forest until hunters eventually come to thin out the pack?”

“Isn’t that what they want from us here? To be hunters? They’re going to pay us fifty silver coins to trap and eliminate this wolf,” Titus argued despite his obvious disbelief that someone could draw any parallel between one of the high god’s beasts and this evil, immortal creature.

“And when we’re done, we’ll have accomplished that. I’m a man of my word. If I say I’ll deal with it, then I will deal with it. Perhaps we will have to end it. We’ll soon find out. Now, get some rest.”

Snow didn’t wait for Titus to accept his response. He sat back down and turned towards his saddleback to continue unpacking his things, unfolding what few fine shirts he had cleaned in Erbin. But he could still feel Titus standing there just over his shoulder. An aura of frustration was still rolling off him and Snow had half a mind to react to it when Titus spoke up again.

“I never thanked you… for the clothes,” he said. It was a hard-fought thankful tone, as if the earlier anger was still stuck halfway down his throat – unwilling to go down fully.

Snow turned back to see Titus holding the edge of his new coat and looking down at the polished assortment he was wearing.

“You’re welcome,” Snow replied, “But you can thank Reo for those polished brass buttons.”

“I’ll be sure to say something next time we pass through.”

Snow smirked at the assumption in that sentence. “Assuming there’s still a ‘we’ by that time.”