The blade vanished back through the shadow skin’s skull, but instead of blood, darkness spilled out of the wound. The monster’s high-pitched wail stabbed her ears. It lifted its talons, clawing its face as if to stop the flow, then crumbled like dust to the forest floor.
Emeline gaped as its dead form bloomed into poppies, their red petals flickering like drops of shining blood.
From above, a rough-soft voice growled: “You reckless fool.”
FIVE
EMELINE KNELT IN THEdirt, frozen with shock.
Her rescuer stood two paces away. He seemed close to her in age, with maple-dark hair and skin the light brown of dusk. His feet were planted firmly in the earth, rooting him there like a tree, and he wore a gray overcoat stitched with a subtle pattern of sassafras leaves.
Emeline remembered the mysterious stranger from the bar last night. She hadn’t seen his face, but the height and shape of him, the way he held himself … there was an uncanny resemblance tothisstranger standing before her.
And yet it wasn’t possible, was it? For the thief from last night to suddenly be here, hundreds of miles away, in the forest bordering Edgewood?
“Have we met?” she asked.
He kept his distance, glowering at her. As if Emeline’s presence was an unwanted irritation and saving her from a monster was an unpleasant disruption in his day.
“Certainly not.” His voice prickled. “I’d remember meeting someone foolish enough to walk alone through these woods at dusk.”
Rude.Emeline rose shakily to her feet, then pointed out: “Aren’tyouwalking alone through these woods at dusk?”
Her gaze lifted, colliding with his stern glare. His eyes were two shades of gray, like river rocks. One dry and one wet, both ringed in black at the edges. Emeline couldn’t help but find them striking.
He studied her back, a little warily, his curiosity getting the better of his restraint. “Why are you here?”
“I’m looking for someone.” She glanced to where his knuckles bunched around the pommel of the shimmering blade pointed down to the earth. Frowning, she asked, “Are you late for a Renaissance faire?”
His cool demeanor shifted. He opened his mouth to respond, only to stop himself at the last second and sheathe the blade in the scabbard at his back.
“I suggest you continue your search elsewhere,” he said, evading her question. “Night is upon us. The ember mares will be running soon. And who knows how many shadow skins are lurking about the Stain.”
Emeline went very still.Ember mares?They were horses made of fire, according to Edgewood stories. They galloped through the woods between twilight and midnight, and god help you if you got in their way.
“Whoareyou?” she asked him.
His jaw tightened and he looked away stiffly. “No one of import.”
“I’m Emeline,” she said. “Emeline Lark.”
He nodded, slight and stiff. Not caring in the least. “Let’s get you home, shall we?” Glancing over her shoulder, he whistled sharply.
“Wait, no,” she said, stepping back. “I need to find—”
Emeline turned around to discover the biggest, blackest horse breathing on her face. She stared up into enormous golden eyes. Flecks of red dusted the horse’s irises, like a fire sparking, and her hot breath smelled like smoke.
Holy hell.
Emeline stepped quickly back—straight into the young man. The scent of him enveloped her: like crushed pine needles and oiled leather.
“This is Lament.”
“Uh-huh,” she whispered, staring at the massive beast, which was pawing the ground as if to say,I’m getting impatient! Let us leave!When she threw back her head, those golden eyes flickered red. “Very … pretty.”
“Have you ridden before?”
No, and she wasn’t about to start now. Certainly not on this thing.
