Samuel stepped back. His father’s breaths were short and rushed as he rolled his sleeves back, exposing the mark of the clergy.
“It’s an honor to serve Azhuel as well as those whom He has appointed over us to rule as politicians.”
The mayor nodded. “Good man.”
The sheriff remained frozen for a long minute before throwing the revolver across the room. Samuel jumped back as the gun struck the metal bars, the sound echoing as if a shot had been fired.
The girl never stirred.
“Get yourself a new damn sheriff.” The sheriff reached in his pockets, jingling the keys before dropping them on the ground. “See if I care. Go ahead. Lock me inside that cell and see what I do to that monster.”
“Eugene—”
“I’m thirsty,” the sheriff interjected. “Guess I’ll finally take that paid vacation you’ve been promising me. Trip to a greenlands lake house sounds real nice right about now. Don’t you think, mayor?”
The mayor’s body clenched, and it took a moment for the skin around his neck to stop blotching. “Two weeks.”
“Starting now.” The sheriff left the room, slamming the door behind him.
“Forgive the sheriff. He will be reprimanded for his insolence, that I can assure you. However, his concern for your safety is understandable. This demon child is dangerous. But that’s why we brought it here.”
The girl’s finger moved fluidly as she continued her dirt drawings. Samuel did his best to show no fear as his father bent down, hesitating as he picked up the keys. Eugene Black was the hardest man Samuel had ever met. He’d never seen him so angry, or so scared. His father inserted key after key into the lock until it clicked. He slid the gate back. Samuel entered the cell with his father and immediately heard the squeal of steel. He looked back and saw that the mayor had sealed the gate shut.
The mayor wiggled his arms as he refastened the lock.
“There’s about five feet of slack, so don’t get too close. But these are the strongest northern chains we have.”
Samuel stared at the shackles, and his father did as well. If this so-called demon girl killed a grown man, how easy would it be for her to tear them apart?
His father stopped a safe distance away. He held out his arm.
“Do you know what this is, child? It’s the mark of the clergy. I’m a sworn servant of Azhuel.” He tapped the inked roots with two fingers. “Of the roots. I mean you no harm.”
The girl paused her doodling but kept her index finger frozen in place.
His father crossed his arms. “I would like to help you. To pray for you. Do you have a name?”
The girl said nothing.
Samuel inhaled a bitter stench, nearly gagging at what smelled like a dead carcass. The gauze around the girl’s right leg had taken a blackish hue, and Samuel could now see the dried blood caked on her dress, her limbs, her hair. Some spots were crimson and others black as tar. It made him wonder how much of the blood had been hers. She glanced up at him for the briefest moment before turning away. The reflecting green of her eyes seemed unnatural to any human or animal he’d seen, like ripples of film.
“Show the girl your arm, Samuel.”
Samuel came alongside his father. He set the scriptures down and placed his bare arm in alignment with his father’s, but careful not to have them touching.
“I don’t have a mark,” he said. “Not yet. Not until I’m ordained and become a cleric.” He hated the words as they left his mouth.
The girl turned to face his father’s mark.
“I think she’s listening,” the mayor bellowed, smashing his belly between the bars. “Keep going. Ask more questions.”
His father edged closer and closer, stretching out his arms in open surrender.
“I’m sorry that you’re in this position, child. You must be in pain. But perhaps your silence is doing you more harm than good. If you can speak, please, tell us your name. Where did you come from?”
The girl’s jaw clenched as she dragged her wounded leg up to her chest. Did she remember the way the trap had clamped into her leg?
“How old are you? You can’t be more than thirteen years of age. Are you of the roots? Are you natural?” His father grabbed his inked roots. He looked down. “Or are you a servant of the flames?”
The girl returned to her dirt drawings. Samuel couldn’t tell if she was scribbling words, simple shapes, or complex images. A few minutes passed before his father motioned for the knife. Samuel unsheathed the blade before giving it over and then propped the scriptures on his lap.
“Read from the prophet Jeutero,” his father said. “Start of chapter four.”
Samuel searched for the verse as his father aligned the blade over his palm.
“I’m going to say a prayer for you.”
His father got closer to the girl.
As soon as the girl noticed the knife in his father’s grasp, she rose. The chains strapped to her ankles scraped across the ground, clanking loudly. She was even smaller than she seemed sitting down, her height well under five feet. She effortlessly balanced herself on her left leg, glaring at Samuel’s father as the toes on her right foot barely touched the ground. His father cut into his own flesh, allowing fresh blood to trickle down his hand. The girl clawed into her thigh with her only hand, her teeth almost peeping out from her closed mouth. She glared at the knife like she starved for it.
Samuel couldn’t explain the feeling that overwhelmed him, but somehow, he knew that she was going to strike. He yanked his father backward, the force surprising him, and they both fell to the ground. His father dropped the knife. The girl flung herself forward, her movements quick and precise. She would’ve grabbed them both if the chains hadn’t held. Samuel crawled to the knife, and once he had it in his grip, he pointed it at the girl.
His father struggled to breathe; the wind was knocked out of him by the fall.
The mayor rattled the bars.
“I told you not to get too close!”
Samuel’s father got on his knees, his face red as he heaved. The girl raved with madness, her body quaking with every jerk and lunge. Samuel could take his eyes off neither of them, fearing what may happen if the northern chains didn’t hold.
Samuel trudged through the snow. He and his father had gotten lucky with the ground snares. The rope leading to the blackberry bush was clearly visible, stretching above the snow and wriggling at the sound of his footsteps. He crept forward and put down the backpack. He swallowed, sliding his jacket’s hood down while he moved around the pine. A white-tailed buck battled for his freedom, thrashing his body wildly as the stakes pierced and pinned one of his front legs. Deer were fairly plentiful in the eastern woods, but they were hard to catch. The deer’s antlers were short and thin, only three points.
Samuel waited.
After a while, the buck quieted its struggle. It panted wildly, its dark tongue hanging out the crack of its mouth. Samuel got to his knees, drawing closer. The deer twisted its neck in horror, its dark eyes watching him. They were wide and black. The eyes of prey.