The Darkest Touch
Page 48

A male with piercings all over his face entered the farthest building on the right. The sign outside it read Heeling Tonacs & Xotic Elicksirs. There. That’s where he needed to be. The misspellings instilled zero confidence, but what other choice did he have?
Torin fit his new hood in place—his chest constricting as he remembered how diligently Keeley had worked on it—and launched into motion, urgency driving him. He remained in the shadows as a horde of giants strode down the street. He managed to get to the proper porch without being noticed. Or giving himself a hernia when he opened the massive front door.
“—get the warts off,” Piercings was saying. “I’ll pay twenty pounds of diamonds.” He dropped a black velvet bag on the counter in front of him. “And you’ll get twenty more if you never speak a word of this.”
“I have just the thing,” replied a man—surely the pharmacist—who was covered in tattoos. “But it’ll cost you forty pounds of diamonds.”
Um, that’s what the guy had offered.
“Thirty,” Piercings said.
“Done!” Tattoos replied.
Seriously? This is where I’m to find help?
Torin wasn’t in the mood to waste time or negotiate. As quietly as possible, he turned the lock on the front door and switched the sign to Closed. He knew his own limitations, knew he couldn’t fight two giants at once without severe consequences, and considering the pelt store down the road, there was a good chance this pair of fine fellows would want to skin him; he was going to have to take one of them out.
He moved forward, stopping just behind Piercings. The top of his head came to the middle of the giant’s back. He palmed the blade he’d taken from the cabin, bent down and sliced through the male’s Achilles tendons.
A howl of pain echoed from the walls. Piercings dropped to his knees, and the entire building shook. Torin reached around and slit his throat.
The lifeless, bleeding corpse slumped to the floor.
Torin stared up at Tattoos. “I hated to do that, and I apologize if he was your friend, but as you can see, I’m willing to do anything to get what I want.”
Tattoos narrowed his eyes. “And what is it that you want, human?”
“I’m not human. And I want a concoction for a friend who’s feverish and won’t stop vomiting blood.” He plowed ahead as if the guy would do what he demanded—because he totally would. “If you give me something poisonous to punish me for what I did to the other guy and my friend suffers or dies, I’ll come back for you. I won’t kill you right away. I’ll play with you first...until you beg me for the sweet kiss of death.”
Far from impressed, Tattoos leaned forward and gripped the edge of the counter separating them. “You assume you’ll leave this shop alive.”
Grinning coldly, Torin sheathed the weapon at his side. Then, he began to tug at the fingers of his gloves. “I want you to know, you chose this path. I didn’t. So. Here’s what is going to happen next. I’m going to touch you, and you’re going to be infected with the same disease that’s killing her. Did I forget to mention I’m Torin, the keeper of the demon of Disease? Once you develop symptoms, and you will, you’ll mix yourself a concoction, hoping to save yourself. You’ll be too weak to stop me when I take it from you.”
Tattoos paled beneath his ink and took a step backward. The shelf walls stopped him from retreating farther. “You’re lying.”
“You’ll find out, won’t you?” Torin stuffed the glove into his pocket and pulled at the other one. “Once I have what I want, I’ll leave and shout that you’re in need of help. Your friends will rush inside. They’ll touch you, and they, too, will become infected. A plague will sweep through your world, and thousands will die. All this because you refused to help the Red Queen.”
That male’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “You’re an emissary of the Red Queen?” Suddenly he had trouble catching his breath. “I heard a rumor she had returned... Didn’t want to believe... Yes, yes, of course I’ll do anything to help her most exalted majesty. Please tell her how eager I was to offer my services.” He raced around the shop, gathering vials.
What, exactly, had Hurricane Keeley done in this realm?
Five minutes later, Tattoos offered Torin a large canteen filled with a dark pungent liquid. “This will soothe her.”
“I wasn’t kidding. If it harms her, I will be back. If you run, I will find you.”
“No harm. I swear! Have her swallow a single mouthful three times a day. It’s not a magical cure,” Tattoos rushed to add, “but it really will help. If she dies, it won’t be my fault. Make sure she knows I did everything I could.”
If she dies...
Those words haunted Torin as he retraced his steps through the forest. If she died, it wouldn’t exactly be the giant’s fault.
Well, she couldn’t die. She just couldn’t. Not because he’d once again fallen prey to a friendship he should have avoided. And not because she amused and delighted him and revved him up in a way no other woman ever had. But because the world would be a dark, dark place without her.
She truly was a light.
I won’t be the one to snuff her out.
His hands fisted, and the canteen he held nearly popped. Careful.
In the cabin, the scent of blood had yet to dissipate. He wasn’t sure whether it came from the spiders or from Keeley, who remained sprawled on the couch. Sweat poured from her, causing strands of hair to stick to her face. Her cheeks were flushed with fever, her lips chapped from being chewed.