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A shiver chased down her spine and it wasn’t from the frigid gust whistling in a shrill tone through the trees. It was from the wraith.
Agitating her further was that she couldn’t discern in which direction the danger came or how to counteract it. Although she possessed above-average fighting skills, thanks to her father, she’d be no match for a ghost—the very reason she didn’t call out the hunter.
Quickening her steps, she reached the village proper, dimly lit by lampposts topped with torches enclosed in glass-and-iron lanterns. There was little activity on the cracked and brittle sidewalks or the pothole-invested streets, which had accumulated so much dirt over the years from lack of use, it was difficult to believe asphalt lay beneath the uneven soil.
Jade made her way to the tavern at the end of the block. She took one more look around her, pausing just outside the lively establishment, listening intently for any sign of what followed her. Not a peep, save for the hint of noise that breached the tavern walls and the chiming of the bell in its tower in the village square, signaling she was right on time for work at seven o’clock.
She shoved open the door and crossed the scuffed hardwood floor.
“Hey, Jade,” a few of the villagers greeted her.
“’Evening, everyone,” she said as she passed by, peeling off her jacket and shaking the snowflakes from it before hanging the garment on a hook in the far corner.
The tavern was as faintly lit as the streets. Candles on the long wooden tables and sconces hanging on the stone walls provided the only illumination, with the exception of the occasional lighting of a twig or dried needles set against a flame when a patron splurged on a hand-rolled cigarette.
Electricity, among other things, was not a commodity in this part of the country. Rumor had it, the humans on the West Coast had struck a bargain with their steward years ago and he had permitted them to restore limited power lines within larger communities. Apparently, the technique employed was circa late-nineteenth century, when electricity first made its way into homes in America.
Since Jade had never lived in a world with energy, she didn’t miss it. She could prepare meals over a fire and read by candlelight.
Modern amenities, it seemed, were of little use to the demon population, and that meant no manufacturing plants or advanced technology. Although, one major concession the king had made for easterners was mass purification of water.
Desalination procedures using condensers fueled by fire that boiled the liquid and pumped steam through salvaged pipes created condensation that turned into drinkable water. This made it possible to stock icehouses with sterilized cubes, as well as blocks cut from frozen lakes, useful for packing metal replicas of refrigerators.
Another allowance was human transportation by way of the occasional steam locomotive following the restoration of a main coast-to-coast railroad, which also provided importing and trading capabilities amongst territories. The demons themselves preferred their own two feet—or four legs, in the case of the animal shifters—or the gleaming black Arabians they were prone to breed.
Starting her shift, Jade tended to the small hearth to add more warmth to the room, then joined the tavern owner and her lifelong friend, Michael Hadley, as he served beers to the regulars gathered at the bar. The wooden surface was deeply scarred, but nobody seemed to mind. One simply had to be cautious of where they set their mug, so as to not perch it precariously in a groove.
“Damn cold out there, isn’t it?” Michael asked. He was easy on the eyes, with rugged looks, a head of tousled, russet-colored hair and a tall, muscular build.
“Still mild, relatively speaking,” Jade said. “Jinx predicted a long, hard winter. After today, we won’t be seeing the ground for another six or seven months.”
“Ah, the town crier strikes again,” Michael mused.
Jinx Cromley was the local psychic who had plenty to say about everything. Jade enjoyed his ramblings for the most part, but didn’t buy into his prophesies that the human world would one day more closely resemble what it had been at the turn of the millennium. Jade couldn’t fathom an alternative existence emerging from sheer and utter devastation.
“Jinx isn’t one to dampen spirits,” Michael continued, “but his winter forecasts always leave something to be desired.”
Jade reached for Donovan Kelly’s mug to refill it. She pumped the keg and cracked the tap while telling Michael, “Actually, all that fluffy white helps to counter the bleak gray and brighten the village.”
&nbs
p; Just as the daily grind of serving drinks and chatting with the locals helped to ease Jade’s jangled nerves over being watched. Her working environment offered a bit of protection for now. No immortal other than the king or the general of his army had the authority to pass through a human door without invitation—and rolling out a welcome mat for the damned was something she’d never heard of happening.
Though she truly couldn’t afford the luxury of false security. Something awaited her in the dark, dead of night. She felt it in her bones.
“Notice our shipment of merlot came in?” Michael asked, cutting into her grim thoughts. “Up for a sample?”
“Always.” Jade preferred wine over beer, though the former was a rare treat because of the exorbitant prices. So many of the country’s vineyards had been trampled during the war and there weren’t enough experienced vintners or workers to fully revive them, similar to the tobacco fields.
Specialized resources were scarce and money was also an issue for the majority. Some people had found ways to hide or horde it while under siege. Mostly, though, bartering was a way of life, rather than the exchange of funds for goods and services—with some obvious exceptions. Jade, for one, had nothing to trade, so she needed the modest wage Michael paid her.
He pulled the cork from a bottle and splashed a decent amount into two tumblers.
“May we not freeze our asses off,” he said by way of salute, before tilting his rim to hers. The glasses made a heavy clink that wasn’t the least bit elegant, but she liked hearing the sound. There were too few toasts these days, so even the most inconsequential one was a pleasant change of pace.
Still, she chided, “You grow so cynical this time of year. It’s not as though we’ll run out of wood for our hearths anytime soon.”
The thicket surrounded the village. Additionally, there was plenty of fallen debris to gather before the snow came down in earnest.
