Page 12 of Caught in the Devil’s Hand

“Little one, little one,” a husky voice called. She shrieked in fright and whipped about in all directions, searching for the source of the voice, but saw nothing but trees and deep shadows. The tears began. She ran down the hill. She hated the forest, hated the moon!

More snapping twigs and groaning trees. It was following her.

“Come play with me,” the voice called again. She sobbed, still running. Branches and underbrush scraped and scratched at her with every step.

“Little one, little one,” it sang. “You look so sweet.”

“Go away,” she screamed, flinging her arms at nothing as she turned to follow a deer path. “I don’t want to play!”

The voice giggled, low and fast. “But I want to play with you. So sweet, so soft. I wonder how old you are.” It was definitely behind her, but whenever she darted a scared glance over her shoulder, she saw nothing.

“Leave me alone,” she cried, pumping her legs as fast as she could. She wanted Mama and Papa. She wanted to be home safe, tucked into a ball on her bedroll.

“All right,” the voice said with disappointment. “Good night, little one.”

She ran and ran and ran until she could barely lift her feet. Exhausted, she chanced another look over her shoulder and clumsily tripped over a tree root. Her hands went out, but the ground was steeply sloped downhill and she couldn’t catch herself. Instead, she landed hard on her stomach, knocking the air out of her, and slid until another tree root caught her. She lay there a moment, panting, before shakily pulling herself to her feet.

Leaning on the rough bark of the tree trunk next to her, she gripped the collar of her dress and listened carefully over her thundering heartbeat. The tears were starting to dry on her cheeks, but more threatened to spill forth, and she wondered if she’d ever be able to find Mama again.

Nothing but silence. No snapping branches, no creaking trees. The voice had left her alone.

“Mama,” she wailed, dropping to the ground. She hugged her knees to her chest, letting the tears fall freely, and muffled her hiccupping sobs in her skirt.

Her new dress. Dirty, torn, and wet with her tears. Mama was going to be so angry.

Something grabbed the back of her clothes and lifted her off the ground. Her first reaction was a gasp, her second an earsplitting scream. It had been above her the whole time.

“Little one,” the voice sang. It was a scratchy, hollow sound. “Little, little, little.” A long, hairy limb grabbed her right arm. Another grabbed her left arm. She began kicking, her shrieks piercing the night.

A third hand grabbed one of her ankles. A fourth grabbed the other. She widened her teary eyes in disgusted shock, realizing the monster that had her in its grip was definitely not human-shaped.

“So sweet, so soft,” it rasped. “Scream for me, little one.”

She did, over and over while struggling vainly against the monster’s hold. Hot, disgusting breath washed over her neck.

The voice spoke inches from her face, deep and growly. “I’m. So. Hungry.”

She let out another scream, her loudest and longest yet.

A shout rang out. The monster dropped her. She didn’t fall far and balled herself up. More shouts and screams. Dead leaves crunched and branches snapped.

At last, all was quiet except for soft footsteps. She sniffled, convinced her nightmare wasn’t over. But a smooth, deep, human voice shushed her cries. Gentle hands lifted her and held her against a warm, solid chest. With great relief, she put her chin on the man’s shoulder, taking comfort in his scent—like Mama’s spicy winter stew—and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Let’s take you home,” he whispered.

Chapter Four

Shumei slowly opened her eyes to the sound of birds chirping. Her dream faded, and though she tried to hold on to its remnants, they eluded her grasp.

The sun had risen, heralding the start of a new day. But something wasn’t right, and she wondered at the sense of foreboding in her chest. It was just morning as usual. Oka would be asleep next to her, her mother would be getting up any minute now, and they would spend the day on household chores.

Then she remembered Oka’s fever and bolted upright even though he lay right in front of her. She touched his forehead, which now felt much cooler, and came away with perspiration on her hand. His fever had broken. Briefly closing her eyes, she sighed with relief before glancing at their cooking pot, which held a few more doses of steeped fuki. Next to it was her mother on her bedroll, still asleep.

Almost all of the leaves she had harvested had been used as families came to their door the previous night, requesting medicine. And her family hadn’t earned a single kol. Fuki had become so important for saving lives from the Burning’s fever that Kimen had decreed it would be free to whoever needed it. Despite the lost income, Shumei hadn’t minded—saving lives was most important—but she also hadn’t been able to afford any of the huntsman’s cuts of meat yesterday. Instead, she’d been forced to haggle with a neighbor for part of a fish he’d caught. But at least her family had eaten something more than vegetable stew.

She smoothed her hand down her dress and felt something rough wrapped around her waist. A makeshift belt made of an old scrap of cloth was keeping her dress closed. Her skirt had fresh grass stains, and her entire body ached, especially…

Her mad dash to the field. The setting sun. Running from shadows. A demon with a smile that twisted her up inside. He’d made her an offer, and like the selfish fool she was, she had embraced him beneath the early evening sky.