Page 89 of Vervain

I could smother Laura. She was human, and easy to threaten. A nightwalker, though, would be a challenge. I’ve killed one, but that was by surprise. My magik is still difficult to access.

I may as well be human because the only thing that I can produce with magik is my glamour, and I don’t even like wearing it.

A drawn-out, tired sigh escapes me, and I tip my head up to the sky, opening my eyes fully this time. The stars remind me of a road, patterned across the sky, making its way towards the lights ahead before fading around a ring of white on the horizon.

CHAPTER FORTY

SKULIRE

Saya Claymore

A bridge comes into view ahead, with cars scattered across the road forming a barricade of sorts. My fingers dig into Serun’s flesh when he zips through a narrow gap, hitting the bridge.

The motorcycle tips to the right, entering a narrow path between the bridge railing and a rotting truck. My arms tense, and my body clenches to keep myself from bumping into anything.

Once cleared, we leave the bridge and any old cars we pass are on the side of the road, as if the only reason the bridge was full is to prevent easy access to the Undercity.

Ahead, two towers beam white spotlights down on us, following our trail before becoming disinterested and returning to monitor the bridge.

Spotters? We had those in the feeding ground. Bleeders who walked the wall with flashlights. Most runs ended up messy because of the spotters.

The lights ahead become a city with tall buildings like mountains. Serun eases on the brakes, turning off the road and down a hill into an opening in the trees. Slinking back into the shadows, we end up in a place similar to where we started: a shed covered in vegetation.

Serun stops the motorcycle and dismounts swiftly while I remain seated, a little confused. Olivia does the same, and Penumbra turns into smoke, following Serun’s lead to the shed.

“Why are we stopping here?” Olivia asks me, but I can only shrug.

“Because”—Serun slides the shed door open—“It would be a waste of fuel to ride the motorcycles into Skulire, only to backtrack to the highway when we leave tomorrow.”

I shuffle off the motorcycle, then Serun and Penumbra push them into the shed.

I look to the sky where the stars and moon still burn bright, illuminating the nearby highway. There are still hours before sunrise.

“I’ve never been here before,” Olivia says. “I heard it’s the only place left in Naylen that functions—outside settlements and compounds, that is.”

“It’s because without it, slayers will have an easier time reaching the Undercity,” Serun answers, as if schooling young children. “Anyone who gets this far is eliminated before they can cross the bridge.”

He takes my arm, claws wrapping around my wrist, and we make our way up the hill. Back up on the highway, the road splits—one freely enters the city, and the other turns off and leads on, though it is blocked by a tall barricade. The towers on either side shine their light on us briefly, then return to scanning the area. It’s a tight security system, reminding me of Darkovish Feeding Ground.

My hand tightens on Serun as we enter, and I survey each building. It feels like a ghost town. There are no nightwalkers roaming the streets, nor are there any signs of life at all.

“Are we welcome?” I ask, bracing for an ambush.

“They know I am here,” Serun says.

Is that why there’s no one out and about? Fear? Hiding until the Nightwalker Lord is gone?

We turn down a street stacked high with buildings. Signs from old shopping outlets hang from loose wires, and garbage and damp leaves from the rain blow past in the cool night wind.

Without a word, Serun turns towards a building, his shadows slipping through any gaps and pushing the doors inwards. Blackened claws spread out, creeping ahead of us, to reveal the main foyer of a dimly lit hotel.

Warm orange light glows from lamps, and patterned, coloured floral wallpaper peels in the corners, rotting away with time. Stains blacken the carpet, and leaves that came in on the breeze litter the ground in earthy patches.

Serun makes his way to reception, a long claw tapping the wood of the desk, sending echoes through the space. Penumbra doesn’t wait, moving to the staircase on the right with the backpacks.

A hand suddenly slaps against the wood, and my entire body tenses. Grumbling, a nightwalker with messy, wavy brown hair and a long face riddled with white scars comes into focus. Tired red eyes gradually lift and settle on Serun, then on me, and back to Serun several times. “This is new,” he yawns. “How many rooms?”

“Two,” Serun replies.