Chatter sat hunched in front of the door watching the lightening sky. This particular hunch was usually a cat posture, but they’d borrowed some joints and bent their structure a bit to accommodate it in their humanoid body.

“Is it an exact time?” Master Flip asked, slipping a plate with a few pieces of bacon on the floor in front of them.

Chatter borrowed a frog tongue and snapped up a piece of bacon with a satisfying crunch. “Yes.”

Master Flip sat on the stairs behind them, nursing a cup of coffee, still nestled in a bathrobe. “Oh. Is it a measure of how much sun is above the horizon?”

“The instant the sun sees the world, even in the smallest part. That is sunrise.” Chatter snapped up another piece of bacon and chewed it slowly.

Master Flip sipped his coffee. “And how do the banshees know that instant?”

Chatter pushed away the half-finished plate of bacon with a gentle claw. “Some weird method, I’m sure.”

Master Flip asked, “Aren’t you hungry, Chatter?”

Chatter laid down on their stomach and rested their chin on their crossed paws. “Hungry. What a strangely physical question. No, I don’t have an appetite for anything right now apart from finding my Warden. But thank you.”

Master Flip jumped a little when Chatter’s new leopard tail flicked gently across his feet. “Oh-h.”

He stared at the tail in bemusement. “You change shape easily.”

Chatter glanced over their shoulder. “I don’t mean to alarm. It is an anxious habit.”

“Do all demons shapeshift?”

Chatter swatted Master Flip gently in the face with their tail. Master Flip sputtered and rocked back.

Chatter said mildly, “So rude, Master Flip. I expected ignorance from locals but I thought you were from Selton.”

Master Flip’s face darkened in an embarrassed flush. “Well- I-“

Chatter felt a vibration in their pocket. “Never mind.”

They tugged the tablet from subspace. They watched as a message etched itself into the stone in neat letters. ‘Banshee fugitive. Two mentuch. Back soon.’

Chatter cursed. Trish hadn’t sent coordinates, but a whole mana intensive message! They swiped the tablet clean and flung it into their pocket with a violent motion. They shook themselves, rising to all fours to stretch.

Master Flip gingerly asked, “What is it?”

“The Warden’s playing games,” Chatter snapped, arching their back. They straightened and began to pace around the living room in a low, stalking gait, more leopard than humanoid. They glared up at the legs in their way.

The Reeve looked down at them, a mug of coffee in one hand and a bacon sandwich in the other. “What games are those?”

Chatter huffed. They jumped onto the couch to put their paws on the window and look outside.

“Well?” the Reeve asked. “Did she tell you where she is?”

Chatter said tersely, “She’s coming back.”

The Reeve heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. Then maybe she can help me settle down the town.”

“I doubt it. There are two mentuch here.”

The Reeve asked, “And what is that?”

Chatter flicked an ear. “Hm. How to explain this? Never mind, I don’t particularly care. You may think of them as banshee sheriffs.”

The Reeve said faintly, “Two banshees.”

Chatter said, “Three. I assume the banshee we seek is their fugitive.”

The Reeve said, tensing, “A fugitive. What for? Did they learn of the murder?”

“I don’t know. The weirden didn’t say.”

“How come?” Master Flip asked from between the rails on the stairs.

“Concepts are expensive. She’s expended more than she should as it is,” Chatter said shortly.

They shifted and a pair of tiny butterfly wings unfolded from between their shoulders.

“Nothing about this is protocol,” they muttered, turning their head around to glare at their new wings. “She should have just sent the damn coordinates and waited for me.”

The Reeve glanced out the window at the sunrise. He put on his hat and kissed Master Flip on the cheek, handing him the coffee mug.

“I’m off to the square to keep the peace,” the Reeve said. “It’s just about dawn.”

Master Flip clutched the mug. “Oh. Well. Why don’t you take Chatter with you?”

Chatter shifted their gaze from their wings to the Reeve. They exchanged glances.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” the Reeve said.

“Yes, and Trish will expect me here, most likely,” Chatter added.

Master Flip frowned. “You are the weirden’s demon, Chatter. The town should at least hear from you in her absence. Wouldn’t you agree, Brody?”

“Well-“ the Reeve began.

“Because I think the town would benefit from knowing we haven’t been forgotten by Selton this time. Which I’m sure is likely a concern on many minds and hearts this morning.”

The Reeve sighed. He turned to Chatter and said, “Chatter, I think he’s right. We would appreciate your presence, at least until the Warden returns.”

Chatter smiled sharply. “If you think a demon is useful.”

“At this point, I suppose I don’t see the harm,” the Reeve said wearily.

“Hm. Well, if you won’t mind, I think I’ll stay out of sight until we’re certain I won’t be stoned.”

Master Flip said, “Oh, I’m sure that wouldn’t happen.”

The Reeve and Chatter looked at each other again. Chatter thought it perhaps the first time they agreed on something. It was funny they’d agreed to disagree with someone else.

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Dedicated Elaine was sitting under the clock tree in the middle of the town square just past dawn when Barry kneeled down and handed her a pastry off a tray.

She took the pastry with a raised eyebrow. “Now what’s this, Barry? Givin’ out treats fer free?”

Barry smiled thinly. “I remember Pa doin’ it. I thought it needed doin’ too. Given the situation an’ all.”

Elaine watched him. “Ye’re unsettled. Ye’ve every right to be.”

He huffed a pained laugh and ran a hand over his stubbled chin, tray clutched close in his other hand. “Near everyone’s unsettled, priest. Don’t act like ye’ve got a sudden burst of insight into my psyche.”

“It isn’t sudden, youngin,” Elaine said gently. “Ye had a nearer loss to the banshee than most what’s here.”

Barry shrugged. “Sure. But that’s long past.”

Elaine said, “Only it’s not now, is it?”

Barry shifted uncomfortably.

Elaine looked across the crowded square at Merry, who was handing out pastries from her own tray as townsfolk anxiously milled around.

“How much does she remember? She was small, yes?”

Barry followed her gaze. “She remembers lookin’ out the window. Waitin’ for someone to come home. But that’s it. I’ve always been glad fer it.”

“Does she ask ‘bout it?”

Barry scowled. “No. Why should she? It’s nothin’ but pain.”

Elaine shrugged. “Just wondered if she knew her history, Barry.”

“Sure she knows. Everyone knows,” Barry said defensively.

“But does she know enough to take warnin’? Not do somethin’ dumb now?”

Barry rose and said tersely, “Like our parents dyin’ wasn’t a dumb enough lesson.”

Elaine looked up at him. “Oh, now, that wasn’t what I meant, an’ well ye know it.”

Barry avoided her gaze. “I’ll jest be off now. I see the Reeve comin’ an’ I reckon I’ll get a good spot if I bring him a pastry afore all starts.”

“Ah, the truth of yer magnanimity emerges,” Elaine joked half-heartedly.

Barry managed a smirk. “Jest so, Dedicated.”

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Brody observed the square from just up the road. It was just a half past dawn and already more than half the town had turned out. He hadn’t been noticed yet.

He said, “Are you ready?”

The red butterfly on his shoulder somewhat improbably said, “Don’t concern yourself with me, Reeve. I’m old enough to manage a town hall.”

Brody hesitated. “And your warden?”

“She has my every confidence.”

Brody sighed. “I’ve no choice but to trust a demon’s word, I suppose.”

“Oh, you have many choices, Reeve. But I should wonder if you might think of them yourself,” Chatter said, slowly fanning its wings.

Reeve ignored this and approached the square.

There was some hustle and bustle as he greeted everyone and everyone greeted him. He somehow found himself standing on the stump of the old clock tree with a pastry and a hot chocolate in hand, and the expectant but somewhat hostile gaze of half the village on him.

He wrapped the pastry in a napkin and slipped it in his pocket. He took a sip of the hot chocolate then almost died. It was too hot, but he didn’t want to offend, so he swallowed it with a stone face.

When he spoke, it was with a somewhat hoarse voice. “Good mornin’ all. Now I reckon ye have questions but-“

“Is the ward broken?” someone yelled.

Brody said, “Like I was sayin’, we’ll have time enough fer questions later-“

But the square erupted in clamor.

Someone yelled, “How did Pol really die?”

Someone else called, “Is this the same banshee as last time?”

Someone heard that and said, “A banshee ghost! Horrors!”

Someone bellowed, “Where is our son!”

Brody boomed, “Enough! Settle down, all, and we’ll get to yer questions.”

Everyone quieted down, except Lev, who said again, “Reeve! Where is our son?!”

Brody looked for him in the crowd, and found him on the edge of the square, out of breath, carrying a very sleepy Riven tight to his chest. Candor stood next to him, her own complexion not much better and her anxiety obvious.

Brody said, “What’s this now, Lev?”

Riven said crankily, “He’s not even a haint yet, so I don’t know why-“

Candor shushed him and he subsided, grumpily sucking his thumb.

“Hold,” Fasa said, elbowing her way through the crowd. “Lev, is my son not with ye?”

She was Mal’s mother.

“What about my Krissy?” Gari called from across the crowd. “I thought she’d snuck out to see yer Mal!”

Brody frowned. “What is wrong?”

“What’s wrong, Reeve, is that our children weren’t in their beds last night. An’ we heard a banshee. Don’t try an’ tell us we didn’t. Such a thing is branded in us. Even the air tastes different after a scream,” Harlox rumbled. Josiah’s father. He moved through the crowd like a bear through tall wildflowers to stand in front of Brody. Even on the stump, Brody just barely reached eye level.

Harlox gripped the gloves shoved through his belt. “They’re missin’, Reeve. An’ if they’re dead it’s on yer head. Cause Pol was well on his way to meetin’ death as a drunk, but I don’t believe he was quite at that point when he passed. Was he?”

Brody met his gaze with just a trace of discomfort. “He was not.”

The town erupted in muttering.

Someone called, “So ye knew there was a banshee this whole time, an’ ye said nothin’ to warn us? We could have died! The kids could be dead!”

Brody held up his hands. “I know this course of action wasn’t transparent. However, I was attemptin’ to avoid another incident. Like the last time.”

“Cause ye were so successful last time, ye with yer fancy city degree an’ that ridiculous accent ye act like ye don’t put on half the time,” someone muttered.

Brody clenched his jaw.

“An’ don’t we matter more than some silly fine from a Warden?” someone else said. “I say we load up an’ go find the kids ourselves. Seein’ as how our Reeve has different priorities than us.”

Chatter said quietly, wings tickling his ear, “I should have asked if you were ready for this, hm?”

Brody said, “Afore ye go rushin’ off, there’s more ye ought to know.”

Harlox folded his arms. “Such as?”

“First, I made the choice to keep Pol’s death quiet cause I wanted to get a weirdwarden out here afore we started assumin’,” Brody said.

His eyes darted to Dedicated Elaine for a half second. She looked amused, which was annoying given he’d just thrown himself off a cliff for her.

His words brought a round of hissing from the crowd.

“Ye o’ all o’ us should hate the weirdwardens,” Fasa said, contempt in her voice. “They didn’t listen to ye last time. Why even try?”

“In fact, it’s my idea,” the Dedicated said, leveraging herself to her feet. “Reeve’s tryin’ to do me a kindness which I appreciates but I’m not so feeble I can’t stand on my own two feet.”

A bewildered murmur swept across the crowd. Brody sighed.

“Explain, Dedicated,” Fasa requested in a more polite tone.

“As ye know, I spent some years in the Selton Warren as a part o’ my trainin’. An’ while I was there, I came to know that the weirdwardens fought for us after the events o’ the past. Despite the pressures o’ the nobility, they persevered in their efforts to increase their freedom in respondin’ to civilian concerns. An’ it was cause o’ how they failed our town that those efforts succeeded. Yes, we buried many friends and family all those years ago, but had a weirden appeared, we could have avoided all that.”

“But they didn’t come,” someone said. “The Hunter did. An’ he took care o’ us when none else did.”

“I say we call the Hunter guild,” someone else said. “Let’s put out ‘nother advert. It worked last time.”

Brody held up his hands. “Now hold on, that is the last thing we need right now. There’s more goin’ on than meets the eye-“ he moved his hand to his shoulder but was interrupted before he could introduce Chatter.

“Well, Reeve, what meets ma eye is that y’all’ve a problem,” a voice boomed from the back of the square. “And I aim to solve it, if y’all’ll let me.”

Brody lowered his hand and looked over the crowd at a strange man as big as Harlox, standing a head and a half over most of the village. “And who are-“

Someone at the back of the crowd said, “The kids!”

The stranger grinned broadly as the protesting teenagers beside him were swarmed by the village. He looked across the square at the Reeve and winked.

Chatter said in his ear, “Oh hells. Look at his gun.”

“What of it?” Brody murmured.

“It’s a Drasta weapon. He’s a Hunter.”

Brody swore. “The timing of it all! What is this, demon, are we cursed? How could a Hunter be here?”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

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Rill was eating breakfast when Paklak slapped a newspaper onto his eggs, spattering some onto the otherwise spotless linen tablecloth.

“Pak!” Rill cried in protest, laughing a bit as he grabbed the offending paper and shook off the eggs. “Who’s possessed you now?”

Pak ignored him and sketched a gross curtsey to Jorgie before turning to the business of finding a seat.

Jorgie raised an eyebrow, delicately cutting a piece of ham at the head of the long dining table. “Hello, Pak. Rill, that’s not a kind thing to say.”

Rill smiled sheepishly. “You’re right, Grandmother. I’m sorry.”

Jorgie said, pointing the knife at him, “Don’t apologize to me, apologize to your friend.”

“Sorry, Pak,” Rill said, turning to Pak.

Pak leveraged herself up onto a cushioned chair. “It’s fine.”

She had to stand on the seat to reach the serving dishes.

Jorgie, watching as Pak grasped after the egg dish, said mildly, “Dear Pak, you may use your magic to assist. We will not be offended. Nor would we refuse to serve you if you asked.”

Pak turned a dark shade of purple. “No need, Madam Jorgie, I’ll manage well enough.”

Rill glanced at the newspaper. “What’s in here anyway? This is just the adverts pages.”

Pak gestured and a spoon full of scrambled egg rose to meet her hand. “Your hometown’s generating some interest.”

“Oh?”

“Page three. I saw it when I was poking around for oddness.” Paklak frowned and twisted her hand. A stream of eggs rose up and funneled down onto her plate, the spoon held out of the way.

Rill flipped open the paper.

Jorgie made a face. “Rill, dear, must you bring work to the table?”

Rill said absently, “Sorry, Grandmother, it’ll only-“

He frowned. “Hold. This is marked strange. Grandmother, has Father called at all?”

Jorgie set her fork and knife down, folding her hands. “No. What’s toward?”

Rill held up the paper, a concerned line on his brow. “It’s a call for hunters. In Galesvryg. What is happening over there? Wouldn’t Father have called you before Dad put something like this out?”

He flipped the newspaper closed. “Look, it’s not even your paper. They could have done this for a discount if they’d gone through you, so why…?”

Jorgie pursed her lips. “Go, use the phone. Call that priest.”

She picked up the knife and fork again, muttering, “Calfax only knows why Fillian refuses to let us buy him a phone. It would make all this significantly easier. I really do not understand. Surely it be better if that little shanty town had more than one phone. Of all the men your father could have chosen, why did he have to be from such a backwater, backwards, backwoods-“

Rill, on the way out the door, said, “Well when a dad and a father love each other very much-,” and ducked the flying breakfast roll with a cackle.