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Jade’s anxiety spiked over fear Lisette had just been singled out by the king’s master of arms for her potential criminal activity. Her head whipped in the direction of the intruder.
She released a breath of relief as she stared at Max Kincaid, the town butcher. A flurry of snow blew in with him.
“Thank God,” she muttered, willing her erratic pulse to slow.
Unfortunately, there was no chance of that because Max’s voice was edged with dismay as he tersely said, “Come to the town hall, immediately. Something terrible has happened.”
He was out the door in the next moment, not bothering to close it.
Jade turned back to an equally stricken Lisette. “What do you suppose that’s all about?”
“I don’t know,” the witch said. Then reticently added, “But something tells me it will eventually come around to involving you.”
Jade’s stomach roiled. “Please don’t say that.”
Lisette stood. She left her desk and headed toward the coatrack in the corner. While bundling up, she reminded Jade, “We don’t have a lot of coincidences or intrigues in this village. If you’re being watched, it probably has something to do with whatever Max is spouting off about.”
Jade promptly thought of Michael. Her stalker had seen them together, in a near compromising position. What if he’d gone after Michael and that was why she hadn’t sensed the predator’s presence until much later, after her dream?
Her heart hammered in her chest. Jade raced outside and rushed toward the hall—which doubled as a spiritual gathering place on Sundays—leaving Lisette behind. Jade knew her friend would have ample company as the villagers closed their shops and made their way to the meeting place.
Jade stormed into the entryway with apologies as she nudged past the growing conglomeration and then burst into the open common area. Mismatched seating was always arranged to receive the populace of a hundred or so and Jade hurried down the main aisle. In front of the courtroom setup was a table with two upholstered chairs. The slayers sat there, arms folded over their chests as they waited for the others to file in.
Moving forward, Jade flattened her palms on the wooden surface and leaned toward them, quietly demanding, “What’s happened?”
“Now, Jade,” Walker Marks said in a gruff tone, the long, thin battle scars on his face appearing starker than usual against his ruddy skin. “You’ll have to wait to hear the news when we announce it.”
Frayed nerves spurred her on. “This has something to do with the demons, doesn’t it?”
“Jade,” said Toran Monroe. At thirty, he was the younger of the two slayers. “Don’t create mass hysteria. Sit. Wait. Listen.” When she didn’t budge, he urged, “Please.”
She brimmed with frustration and felt sufficiently frantic, but Jade straightened and spun around. Her gaze landed on Michael and she heaved another sigh of relief. Hurrying over to him, she grabbed him by the hands and squeezed tight. “I am so happy to see you. I was afraid you might have been under further observation last night.”
“Not that I’m aware of,” he told her. His expression wa
s as grave as hers likely was. “We don’t have impromptu meetings unless something catastrophic has happened. What do you know?”
“Nothing. Neither Walker nor Toran will tell me anything.”
She was probably the only one in the village who could insist they share their information with her, given that she was the daughter of the man designated leader of Ryleigh when he’d established the municipality of survivors. However, after her father’s death, the slayers—at that time being Walker and Toran’s uncle—had stepped in to govern the people.
She often wondered if it was her destiny to fill her father’s shoes. But then she questioned what the point would be, given the tyranny under which they lived. What difference could she possibly make?
Michael directed her to the chairs they traditionally occupied in the second row on the right, behind the eldest members of the community. She stripped off her jacket, knowing all the bodies gathered in the hall and the blaze in the two fireplaces would be adequate in warming her. Too much so, perhaps, since she wore a thick sweater, pants and boots, all in black.
Lisette joined them, as always, even though she held a place with the elders in the front row. There weren’t many of them left and they were, on whole, a stodgy group. Jade knew Lisette preferred the vitality of youth and therefore hunkered down with her and Michael.
With her knee bouncing from nervous anxiety, Jade said, “The suspense is going to kill me.”
Michael draped an arm over the back of her chair, an unexpected move. He placed his other hand on her vibrating knee to still it. “Relax, will you?” His placating tone seemed forced. He was as disturbed as she was, but apparently he fought to control his emotions while hers ran rampant. “It could be something as minimal as a new curfew.”
The friendly touch on her leg and his soothing voice didn’t offer enough serenity. “Yeah,” she wryly quipped, “and post-war children believe in the ridiculous notion of the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny.”
“Hey, I remember when your dad had you sold on Santa Claus.”
She winced. They didn’t speak of their families. Neither one enjoyed rehashing the travesties of the past. Though admittedly, Michael had her on this one.
“How can you not love the idea of a jolly old man who washes down sugar cookies with a big glass of milk and has a belly that shakes like a bowl full of jelly?”
