“I don’t know any other clerics. The closet one is in Thamus, I think, and that’s about thirty miles—”
“You’re a cleric, right?”
Samuel shifted his weight to the side. “No.”
Charles stared at Samuel. “But you are his son.”
“I’m not a cleric. Not yet. I haven’t been ordained.”
Charles’s neck reddened. “Don’t be so literal. I’m the mayor’s son. And that means I have the same authority. Right? Isn’t it the same for you?”
“Maybe? I don’t know.”
“Come on. It’s the same thing!”
Charles nervously pulled out a smoking pipe from his jacket. He tossed a pinch of shredded tobacco into the black bowl, lighting it with a metal lighter. He sucked in the dark smoke, then coughed heavily. After a few puffs, he moved closer. “It’s the demon. I messed up. Really bad. I think it’s dying.”
The girl was curled up underneath the barred window, her red hair covering her face as a small ray of sunlight beamed on her milky skin. Her little chest rose and fell, but even from afar, Samuel could tell her breathing seemed uneasy. The smell of rotten flesh and waste filled the jailhouse. Samuel covered his nose to guard it from the stench. A fresh puddle of what appeared to be black blood had formed around the girl’s injured leg. The girl methodically scraped her fingers across the stained dirt, her face unreadable, her green eyes gazing into nothingness.
Charles coughed as he took a drag from his pipe.
“My father put me in charge of the demon since the sheriff’s leaving town for a week after the funeral. Must be worried the drunk will do something stupid, and then get himself killed for not listening to orders. I don’t know why he keeps that fool around. Anyway. That demon? That thing? It won’t eat or drink. I’ve tried, and it won’t take anything. And you can smell that, right? Like rot. It keeps getting worse.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He told me it was my job to keep the demon safe for now. I really messed this up.”
Samuel adjusted his glasses. “She’s bleeding. From her leg.”
Charles let out a nervous laugh. “About that. I went in there, you know. Trying to help.” He sucked his pipe. “So, I went in there and she … it! It started crawling to me like some kind of crazed mutt. And I didn’t know what do. It was instinct. I kicked it and ran for cover. Self-defense.”
“Help? The demon? What do you mean?”
Charles waved his hand. “Yeah. I was going to change its bandage. Or whatever. It doesn’t matter. The demon showed me its teeth. Its fucking teeth!” Charles dropped the pipe. He scooped it back up. Its contents had spilled onto the floor. “I’m dead. He’s going to lose it. It was my job. I was supposed to watch it, keep it safe. He’s going to kill me. Damn it.”
Samuel rubbed his fingers together. “Where are the other patrolmen? Can’t you ask them for help?”
“Of course not. Don’t be stupid. None of them are allowed in here. Just me. They’re citizens. Everyone knows they have big mouths.”
Samuel’s muscles twitched. He could hear a clicking noise, and when he got closer to the bars, he could see the girl grinding her teeth. He watched her, helpless to do anything. “What do you want from me?”
“I don’t know. Pray for it or something. My dad thinks it’s a demon, right? I thought he was going mad. But then … ” Charles shook his head. “You should pray for it. Keep it calm.”
“My father tried that. It didn’t work.”
“Maybe he did it wrong.” Charles clenched his jacket sleeve. “Or maybe you could ask the roots god to help you. Something. Do something!”
“I’m not a cleric!” Samuel burst out. He knew he shouldn’t have, so he quickly regained his composure. He’d never yelled at someone before. “I’m sorry. I want to help you. But I don’t know what to do.”
Charles plopped himself into the wooden chair stationed by the door. He buried his face in his palms, his words stifled in his hands. “He’s going to kill me this time. I know it.”
“The mayor?”
Charles didn’t answer.
Samuel dragged his feet as he approached the bars, pushing his forehead against the cold steel. The girl continued with her finger scraping, unmoved by the outside commotion. When Samuel was a boy, he prayed that Azhuel would bring his mother back up from the earth. He prayed that his father would love him. He prayed that he’d make friends. He prayed that people in Haid wouldn’t ignore him all the time. He prayed that one day he could know what it’s like to be touched and embraced and kissed. He prayed that the roots would give him a sign if they were real. Anything. He prayed and prayed and prayed. Azhuel wasn’t there. If He was, He wasn’t concerned about his pain. But for some reason, maybe because it was all that he knew, he prayed.
“We are but dirt,” Samuel said instinctively. “To dirt we return.”
Charles got up.
“You know,” he said, “maybe the demon is just protecting its leg. Think about it. First time the devil went crazy on that patrolman was when it was caught in that bear trap.”
Samuel recalled how the girl calmly studied his father’s mark before trying to attack them. And he didn’t understand why Charles kept calling the girl an “it.”
“She tried to hurt my father, and he never touched her leg.” Samuel fumbled with his glasses. He also had a hard time believing the girl felt pain, because if she did, her face showed no signs of it. “Maybe we can talk to her. Tell her that if she doesn’t let us help her, she’ll die. Someone’s got to get close.”
“You?” Charles asked.
Samuel’s knees wobbled.
“I don’t know.”
Charles slapped him across the back.
“You can do this,” he said before running to grab a handgun from the sheriff’s rack of mounted weapons. He held it awkwardly. “Don’t get killed.”
“Will you shoot her?”
Charles struggled to align the barrel with the girl. “If it goes bad. I don’t know. You’re not a coward, are you?”
Samuel ignored the insult. He reached for his hunting knife before realizing his father still had it. “Have you shot a gun before?”
“Aim and pull the trigger. Can’t be that hard, right?”
Samuel trotted into the cell and then closed the gate behind him. He approached the girl with cautious steps. He could hear everything: the sound of his boots hitting the floor, the whistle of the wind as it came in through the barred window, Charles fumbling to cock the revolver’s hammer, and his own stunted breaths. He pushed up his lenses, seeing a little more clearly. The girl was shivering, her pale complexion having shifted to a subtle blue. Her body heaved with every breath, steam escaping from her agape mouth with every stunted exhalation.
“She’s cold.”