The breeze chilled Sebastian. He tried to pull his gaze away. Gunpowder consumed his nostrils, and a ringing swarmed inside his ear. His gaze traced the tufts of fabric. He stared at the stump of a neck sliced clean, blood pooling around shoulders. A crimson trail fled out the door, splotches on the snow.

“All wrong from the start,” said Sebastian. Sweat dripped down his brow. The floor tilting towards him then away. From the shotgun welcome at Dunston, hurrying off in search of Tabitha meeting Father Young, the riddle, Tabitha teasing his gun away. Even the weather had been against him, beyond the turning point forcing him here, Roan, the killer.

“I should have stayed with her.” Glancing back he spotted the innkeeper crouching at the corner of the bar. “I should have asked more questions at Dunston. More insistent. More protective of my gun.”

Running fingers back through his hair, Sebastian gazed down at the headless body. He recalled the hellfire. “But you were right, Tabitha.” He pictured her sharp teeth. Tears flooded his eyes blurring vision. “They would have executed you without a trail.”

“But if I had done better,” said Sebastian. He remembered the moonlight kissing her smiling face. “Same result, only sooner.”

With the killer on the loose, there was still a chance for justice. Leaning down over the body, he snatched the shotgun. “Where’s my hat?” He felt naked without his hat.

Creeping around the bar, Balmer held it up, shaking.

Sebastian snatched the hat, smashed it on his head, and tugged the brim down. His boots thumped across the floor and over the body. Pausing at the door, he glanced back at Balmer. “Fetch the lawman.”

The nearly pristine snow beneath the hanging lanterns made the trail easy to follow. The blood droplets made it obvious. Turning a corner, boots skidding over slick cobblestone, Sebastian found a narrow street between stone buildings. Light spilled a few meters into the street before being swallowed by darkness. At the other end of the chasm, the red horizon outlined the forest, dark spindly fingers reaching for the sky. Before the trees, a white mist, nearly glowing beneath the moonlight, grasped at the air.

Sebastian inspected the shotgun, a double barrel with a single shot remaining. Entering the shadows, Sebastian held his breath. Snow crunched beneath boots. The cold gripped him, icy fingers digging into his back. He searched the white ground. Every shadowy divot leaped out at him, his mind turning them into footprints and blood drops.

Then he saw him, a silhouette of a slender figure surrounded by burning red around the flat brim of the hat, white mist surrounding torso and legs. At his side, something hung from his hand, long threads reaching to the bulbous mass at the man’s knee; the killer held the head by the hair.

Sebastian stepped, one foot in front of the other, and raised the shotgun taking aim. His heart thundered in his chest. Beyond range, he continued. “Conrad,” he said, “show me your hands!”

Conrad released the hair. The head fell and thumped in the snow.

Red pressed through spindly trees turning the mist into a dance of writhing white tendrils, and painted the far end of the street.

Shotgun level, finger over trigger, Sebastian crept placing one foot before the other, heart slamming his chest. Keeping his eye on the shadowy figure, he heard the crunching and clacking of his boots, a morning bird singing to the coming sun, heartbeat in his ears. Ten paces from the corner, he stopped.

A bird tweeted. Another answered. Distant boots clomped over cobblestone.

Conrad stood motionless. Behind him, the horizon brightened.

“Your hands, Conrad!” Sebastian squinted into the light.

Flutter of shadow, and the shotgun slipped from his grasp. Conrad stood before him his parted duster revealing weapons hanging from belt. At the end of an extended arm, slender fingers held the barrel of a revolver, wood handle outward. It appeared very similar to the one lost to the river.

Heart slowing, Sebastian stared at his father’s other revolver held out to him. Confused, he peered at the face. Blood dripped from thin lips onto the pale chin. High cheekbones, slender nose, the face nearly appeared feminine. The narrow eyes, confident cold blue steel gaze pierced into him. A shiver scrambled down his backside. He felt small, naked. He tried to hold the gaze, but his eyes deceived him and he peered down at the revolver in the hand.

“Your father,” said Conrad, whispering through clenched teeth. “A great warrior.”

Sebastian gulped down saliva, and licked his lips. He felt like a child, small and helpless.

“His,” said Conrad, “death.” He peered down at the revolver. “A good death.”

Reaching out, Sebastian grabbed the revolver by the handle and held it against his chest. Peering down at the offering, he understood the words. The two warriors had fought with honor. Conrad respected Rhemus the Giant.

His father felt closer.

Sebastian looked up finding the street empty. Sunlight struck his face, and he held up his hand blocking the light. Glancing back, he searched the empty street. Before him the empty meadow cradled pristine snow. Somehow he knew, no matter how improbable, the creature had departed with the night.

Tabitha’s head rested in the snow, dark hairs fanned over cheek. Dropping to a knee, Sebastian brushed the hair aside revealing the wound. Instead of a clean cut, he found a gash, torn flesh hanging from the back, and within, broken skull fragments slick with blood. It appeared as though Conrad had chewed his way into the back of the skull.

Hearing footsteps, a cane tapping cobblestone, he twirled around finding Father Young.

“No. I’m not following you, boy.” Father Young pointed his cane towards the building on the left. “My church.”

“That’s how you knew how to find Conrad.” Sebastian slipped his father’s revolver—his revolver—into his holster. “What is he? A vampire?” It sounded too much like folklore, but he had no other explanation.

“Nonsense, boy.” Father Young rubbed his balding head and peered down at the head. “Something old. Older than I even.”

Sebastian peered at the dark glasses picturing the strange gold orbs within. Father Young was something not quite human, and he wanted to know more. “Father, I’ve seen evil.”

Father Young peered up and wrinkled his nose. Sunlight glimmered on the dark lenses. “Conrad?”

“Ignorance,” said Sebastian. “We all choose our path, Father Young, and sometimes that path offers very few forks.” He shook his head at the limited choices along the way. “How can I help anyone? With all these secrets! I must learn about your people. Tabitha’s people.”

“You truly are your father’s son.” Father Young shook his head. “A hunter.”

“A defender.” Sebastian held his head high. He felt refreshed knowing his path. “I must return to university.”

Father Young nodded. “I’ll message Father Gustav.”

“But first I must visit Dunston. Let them know their monster is gone.”

“And Conrad?”

“Didn’t you notice? He’s a demon hunter.” Sebastian scowled. “My father’s final assignment. You sent my father after Conrad, didn’t you?”

Father Young cringed.

“I’d sleep with a gold eye open if I were you, Father Young.” Sebastian grinned. “Conrad is still out there.”

Picking up the Dunston Monster’s head, Sebastian held it to his chest. He brushed the dark hair aside finding the serpentine teeth within gaping jaw. Vision blurred. He felt tears streaming down his cheeks. Recalling their talk in the woods, sitting in the trees, his tears became a shower.

“No,” said Sebastian. “You’re not evil, Tabitha.” He took a step, wobbling. He pictured the moonlight splashing off her cheeks, her smile, and peered down at her dead eyes. The hellfire was gone. Clenching teeth, he marched into town.

“No more evil than the rest of us monsters.”

Sebastian left Tabitha in the care of the local lawman, Jasper, until morning when they could sort everything out. No sign of Sheriff Haas.

Roan was not a big town, but the snow covered cobblestone streets snaking on either side of the river made the town seem larger. Nearly empty in the predawn twilight, the streets echoed boots throughout the town. Twice Sebastian stopped at an intersection sniffing the scent of fresh bread, the direction elusive.

Above a door, hanging from a post, a sign boasted hot meals and warm beds, The Roan Inn.

Sebastian opened the door and ducked inside. Standing tall, he peered around the dim room. Four empty tables lined the front, two on each side nearly hidden in shadows. Beside him, a coatrack held a single tan duster. At the back, a lantern on the bar illuminated the side of a man facing him. To the left, the light reached a staircase leading to the floor above. Behind the bar, a doorway released the only other source of light and the scent of fresh baked bread.

Breathing in the aroma, Sebastian smiled recalling a spring day, sneaking into the kitchen for a bite of bread before it had cooled, and his mother appearing to swat his hand. Somehow his mother had always known whenever trouble arrived. He wished for her skill.

Sebastian removed his hat and approached the bar.

A clatter in the back, a man wearing an apron appeared in the doorway. He froze staring at Sebastian. Slowly, his look of surprise turned into a grin. “Rhemus?”

“Yes, Sebastian Rhemus.” He nodded.

“I knew your father,” said the man, his smile growing larger. “I’m Balmer, the keeper of this inn.” He reached over the bar.

Stunned, Sebastian stared at the hand. He knew the day would come, an outside connection to his father. He shook the hand.

“Strong like your father,” said Balmer. Releasing the shake, he raised his hand holding it a little higher than Sebastian’s head. “But not as big.” He clapped his hands. “Your father liked my omelet. I fetch.” Spinning around, he disappeared into the back. Pans clanged.

Sebastian peered over at the man beside him.

A flat brimmed hat worn by weather blocked the man’s eyes. Unkempt dark hair fell to the shoulder. A tin mug spilled its contents between cracked lips. Slender fingers pulled the mug away tapping onto the bar. Tall, the man’s hat came to Sebastian’s shoulder. The buttoned shirt hung loose form his slender frame, sleeves too short, collar too wide making him appear gaunt.

Pivoting on a toe, the man turned like a whisper facing Sebastian. He hooked his thumbs into his belt hanging low, weighted down by weapons. Leather thongs held the holsters against thighs, two knives with white handles surrounded the brass buckle, and a sword rested in dark scabbard hanging on his left side. The man appeared like war waiting to happen.

A chill raced down Sebastian’s backside, and he shook. He did not need a mother’s sense. Trouble stood before him.

Balmer returned with steaming omelet and a warm bread roll. Sebastian wanted to ask about his father, but hunger took over, and he chomped into the meal. The innkeeper filled the gaunt fellow’s mug and returned to his baking in the back.

“Frightful weather,” said Sebastian. He glanced over at the slender man, and took another gulp of eggs. “Nearly froze my fingers out there.”

The man raised his mug to his lips and held it there breathing in the caffeinated fumes.

Balmer’s voice boomed from the back. “Your father was a good man.”

Door creaked, and a cold breeze sent the lantern flame swirling.

Still holding the tin mug high, the man glanced at the door.

Sebastian peered over his shoulder and found a woman in a dress standing in the open door just beyond the reach of the lantern. He spotted the twin hellfire sparks.

Tabitha stepped into the light. Her eyes returned to a normal brown, but they glared with hate. She held a shotgun aimed at the bar. It was the third time in the same number of days Sebastian found himself staring into the barrel of a gun.

“That’s him,” said Tabitha. Her flesh nearly as white as her dress, she stood at the edge of death. “Joseph Conrad. The killer.”

Facing the gun, Sebastian held out his hands. “Please, Tabitha.”

“Step aside, Sebastian!” Her face wrenched with hate. “Shoot you both I will!”

“You’re ill,” said Sebastian. He stepped diagonally away from the line of fire and closer to the gun. Spotting red droplets on the dress, he froze. “Jasper. How is he?”

Snarling, she exposed her serpentine fangs. “I never hurt anyone, Sebastian. You believe me, don’t you?”

Seeing her like this, Sebastian felt uncertain. Two dead and the missing sheriff, the Dunston residents had demanded the return of their monster—Tabitha, a school teacher with terrible teeth.

“That night Joseph Conrad arrived. I saw it!” Her aim swayed, and she squeezed the gun tighter. “I watched him take my brother’s head!”

“We’ll go together,” said Sebastian. He crept closer and stood halfway between Tabitha and the bar. Glancing over, he spotted Conrad standing calm still holding the mug. “Explain everything at a fair trial.”

“No trials for my people,” said Tabitha. “Only the gallows for us.”

Tabitha pulled the trigger, the boom crashed throughout the inn sending Sebastian stumbling back onto a table, crashing of wood lost to the piercing ring in his ears, and the explosion of another gun. Bits of ceiling fell. Conrad held two revolvers shooting repeatedly, and Tabitha stumbled back, blood sloshing out her backside. Shotgun fell to the ground. Speeding across the floor, Conrad fell upon Tabitha like a hawk swooping for the kill, sword slashing.

Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut, but the image burned into him, the head falling one way and the body slumping in the other. Opening his eyes, he found himself sitting on the table wreckage breathing in dust. He gazed at the open door. On the floor, the body lay on its back, the head missing.

“We should take shelter. Wait out the storm.” Sebastian could barely hear his own voice over the river crashing around the rocks.

Tabitha yelled something about Roan. Holding up her hands, she indicated distance: close. They were already wet. Everything was too damp for a fire. Sebastian realized the town was their best chance. He offered to carry her. She refused indicating with the revolver that he should go first. He took the first step, a small one for him. Water spray attacked his trousers, the cold squeezing his muscles sending pins rippling up his legs. A stretch carried him to the next rock.

Loudest in the center of the river, the banks funneled the river’s roar.

Arms out wide, revolver in her right hand, Tabitha jumped to the first rock. A gust of wind sent her swaying, but she pulled herself upright. She gripped the revolver like death.

Sebastian wished she would put the gun away, or give it back. It was all he had of his father.

A stretch to the next rock carried Sebastian within two steps of the shore. Water splashed over his boot. He checked his footing. The rock felt slick. Looking back, he found Tabitha waiting on the rock behind him.

Sliding to the edge of the stone, making room, Sebastian turned and offered his hand.

Tabitha appeared frozen. Frost coated her hair. The fur coat was no longer black, more of a mottled white and gray with dark streaks. Her face appeared even paler, almost blue. Her demon eyes blazed.

As her foot left the rock, there was no question in Sebastian’s mind that her leap was short, and the frightened face told him, she knew it as well. He reached for her outstretched hand. Her boot disappeared into the river, and she dropped, her hand falling away.

Tabitha splashed face-down into the river, the current pulling her from the rocks. Sebastian stepped into the cold water and grasped her shoulder. He watched his father’s revolver disappear into the river. Gazing into the pleading eyes, into the hellfire, he saw hate and distrust. Tabitha expected him to release her, leave the monster behind.

Sebastian pulled her from the current’s grasp, the soaked coat weighing her down. He lifted her into his arms. Spotting a wall of rocks, he carried her into the protection from the wind.

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Snow blanketed the forest, large flakes flying sideways turned tree trunks white. The storm arrived before the sun trapping the land in twilight. Wind bit Sebastian’s face and threatened to rip his hat from head. With one hand he held his hat while he tucked the other under coat, fingers pressed into armpits for warmth. Every few strides he switched hands.

Tabitha walked behind, the revolver tucked within her folded arms. Frost stuck to her entire right side, hair frozen against her cheek. Under the darkened sky, her eyes held a soft glow. In darkness those orbs simmered like burning coals.

As the narrow road descended, winding through the forest, the roar of a river grew. Rounding a bend, the river came into view splashing over rocks into a pool. Water lapped up onto the end of the road. On the opposite side, the road continued.

Jaw unhinging, Tabitha set her cruel gaze on the river. She shook her head.

The river appeared passable for horses in better weather, but not by foot in the freezing cold. Wind biting his nose, Sebastian searched for shelter. Spotting a group of large trees on the left side of the road near the riverbank, he pointed. Tabitha nodded her agreement, and they bounded into the trees. Finding ground clear of snow beneath a heavy canopy, they squatted against the tree trunks protected from the wind. Sebastian took up two trunks. Wind squeezed between them finding his back. Tabitha snuggled between two roots of the largest tree.

Tabitha laughed. “No bridge.”

“We shouldn’t have come.” Cupping hands over face, Sebastian breathed warmth into his palms. He thought about returning, had insisted on it several times, but Tabitha had urged him on at gunpoint. Now Dunston was too long a walk in the storm.

Tabitha’s smile faded. “I told you. I can’t go back.”

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“A priest,” said Tabitha for the fifth time.

Reaching up, Sebastian lifted Tabitha from the boulder and dropped her on the ground beside him.

“Eyes of gold.” Tabitha threw up her arms and marched ahead. The deer path took a gentle turn through the trees, easy to follow even under the darkening sky. “He is his mother’s father. A ridiculous riddle!”

“Misdirection,” said Sebastian. Reaching out, he pushed back the tree limbs. Tabitha slipped through easy, but at his height, the branches became a tangle. “Only that last part mattered.”

“And your little message,” said Tabitha.

Father Young was a highly respected elder in the church and a creature with gold eyes. The riddle was also a warning to forget the Rhemus profession.

Calling over her shoulder Tabitha said, “What was that about your father? Do you believe Father Young ordered death for his own people?”

Sebastian stuffed his hands into his coat. The moist air lost warmth, and night fell like a candle flame exhausting the wax of day. “Criminals perhaps. I don’t know. Back home I had assumed he meant my father hunted them all down like animals.”

“Like demons.”

“And perhaps he had.” Sebastian shrugged. “But under Father Young’s orders.”

The forest opened up. Moonlight revealed the Brook Grove-Roan Road. Tabitha turned north marching on the muddy road. Glancing south, Sebastian spotted the firelight, evening roast at Dunston. Looking back, he watched the long fur coat drifting away.

“Wait.” Sebastian thumbed over his shoulder. “Dunston is this way.”

“Not heading for Dunston.”

In four great strides Sebastian caught up with the woman and grasped her shoulder. She spun around, the coat slipping from her shoulder revealing bare flesh. Catching sight of her breast, Sebastian released the coat and covered his face.

Boots sloshed through the mud, Tabitha marched away.

Uncovering his eyes, Sebastian spotted the woman scrambling up a slope above the road. On firmer ground her pace increased stomping over rocks and twigs. Walking, he caught her again. One of his steps matched every two of hers.

“My task,” said Sebastian, “is to escort you back to Dunston. I’ll aid the law in finding the killer.”

Tabitha shook her head, a coy look in her eye. And a sparkle. Fractal shards of golds and browns caught the moonlight flickering like a fire.

Preparing for a chase, Sebastian unfastened his coat allowing more room. “I’m not about to let you walk alone.”

“How sweet,” said Tabitha. She gazed up at him. The moonlight turned her face white. “Will you escort me to Roan?

The long solemn look he remembered from the cabin, gone, replaced by determination. Breath streamed from her nostrils. Vigor poured from her brown eyes. He stood frozen, enchanted by her confidence. Capturing the moonlight, her eyes were brilliant. The orbs told him she would not peacefully return to Dunston. He reached out.

Tabitha twirled away, and Sebastian grasped her arm. She slipped free from the coat and ran. The pale moonlit flesh blinding, Sebastian turned his head aside. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the nude woman disappear into the dark woods.

Fur coat in hand, Sebastian ran into the woods. Catching movement, he stormed in the direction batting branches aside. The forest dripped, cool drops draining down the back of his neck. His own coat protected his arms from the wet branches, and he raised the fur coat protecting his face from the prickly needles. Spotting the pale form, he burst through trees and slid to a stop.

In a clearing stood Tabitha wearing only tall boots. “It’s rather cold out here.”

Turning gaze aside, Sebastian approached holding the fur coat out. “What’s in Roan?”

“Your father’s killer.” She slipped into the coat and pulled it closed.

“Your brother’s killer,” said Sebastian. “The Dunston Monster. Is that what Father Young told you?”

Tabitha studied him, her eyes roving up and down. She nodded.

“You were never abducted. You left on our own accord looking for the killer on Myrtle Ridge.” Sebastian folded his arms. “Who is he?”

“Joseph Conrad.”

Sebastian looked at a pawn. Father Young had asked him to return to university, forget his father, but had given Tabitha the name and location of the killer. The pawn played enticing him after his father’s legacy. Curiosity about the killer captured him, but the danger was too high for a young woman.

“I see that look.” Tabitha opened her coat.

Wincing, Sebastian looked away. The vision of bare breasts sent his head spinning.

Tabitha pulled her coat closed, and giggled.

“Please stop that.” He felt a smile on his face and let it grow.

“A boy, aren’t you?” Tabitha raised a revolver, thumb pulled hammer back, a round clicked into the chamber.

Smile fading, Sebastian stared at his father’s revolver pointed at him. Disbelieving, he glanced down and pulled his coat aside revealing the empty holster at his hip. Disarmed so easily, doubt of catching a killer swarmed over him. He looked up at the barrel, up at the cruel gaze, her burning eyes. A shiver attacked.

There was no mistaking it, the orbs glowed. As Tabitha stepped back out of the moonlight, her eyes intensified, red embers burning within each pupil, like hellfire burning within—an unholy sight.

“Stupid boy,” said Tabitha, whispering. “To Roan if you please.”