Chapter 2 Sonam
They will consume until nothing remains.
The reports these last six moons are troubling.
People have been going missing at an alarming rate.
Men, women, and children—regardless of wealth, age, or creed.
The count is pushing into the low hundreds; though for all I know, it may well be higher.
The one thing I am certain of is that this work has all the markings of a demon: not a hair left behind, yet the unmistakable twinge of blood in the air.
“Remember to stay close,” I instruct Wen and Sooah as we arm ourselves for the night ahead. “Don’t give it an opportunity to pick us off one by one.”
We’ve gathered in the storehouse, though the building’s unimpressive size and molding exterior would suggest that it’s been all but abandoned.
It was one of the only places I could secure upon my return.
Our cache of weapons was too valuable to leave unattended.
And since I was not welcomed by a host at one of the pavilions due to the dishonor of my rank, this was the best I could manage.
So long as the creaky roof over our heads keeps out the rain, and therefore the threat of rust, I can find no complaint.
Laid out upon the wooden table before us is a wide selection of weapons.
Sharpened axes, steel-tipped spears, double-edged swords, arrows with fletching of sleek dove feathers.
I have to choose wisely. To be over-encumbered is a disadvantage, so it’s better to only take what we need.
No matter the weapon—they will all kill demons just the same.
“You reckon we’ll be done by dinner?” Wen asks. He inspects the sharpened tips of his arrows before sliding them into the bamboo-carved quiver at his hip. “Ling’s making dumpling soup tonight.”
I suppress a chuckle. There are few things Wen enjoys more than talking about his wife. Give him a long enough stretch of silence and I’d wager my every coin he will find a way to mention her. “I’m offended you haven’t extended an invitation,” I say dryly.
Wen snorts as he rubs his wrist. The tremor in his hand is slight, but I notice these things. Their well-being is my responsibility. I pray for all of our sakes that this is the last hunt we will endure.
“You can join my table any time you want, Cap’n. You know right well my kids prefer you over me.”
“Of course they do. I bring them sweets, and it’s your job to scold them.”
Focus, Sooah signs with her hands. Her movements are somehow both fluid with practice, yet stiff with urgency. The sun is setting soon.
She’s right. In all my years of hunting, I’ve observed that demons are most active after nightfall.
It makes sense, given their opportunistic nature.
When better to strike than while we’re asleep in our beds, unaware and defenseless?
If we don’t hurry, we may face another string of disappearances before the sun rises once more.
I run through my usual checks. Daggers, sharpened. Dao, at my hip. Rope dart wrapped tightly around my waist. Just as a fisherman never leaves shore without his line, I have the tools of my trade at the ready.
“Move out,” I order. “Before it strikes again.”
If they leave no bodies, there may be witnesses. If there are no witnesses, there might still be tracks. And if there are no tracks, there’s always the faintest chill in the air—a gut instinct that tells me something vile has walked the path before me.
A woman sits on the stoop of her shop, the local seamstress, biting her nails down to the beds. Her face is pale, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She stands the moment she sees us, apprehension furrowing her thin brows.
“Have you come back to mock me?” she asks, her voice rough and cracking.
I set my jaw. “Why would we mock you, madam?”
Her bottom lip trembles. “The officers tell me I’ve gone mad, but I swear I speak the truth. Something snatched up my daughter. A demon.”
I take a deep breath and will my heart to remain calm.
Sightings in the city are rare these days, no doubt in part because of my team’s efforts.
Demons tend to target smaller, more isolated villages where humans make easy pickings.
The fact that one has made Longhao its territory bodes ill.
The authorities here aren’t equipped to combat such a danger, which was why I returned home in such a hurry at His Majesty’s behest.
It had been years since he’d sent me a letter. I contemplated—only for a moment—ignoring his summons, though I decided it was unbecoming of a man my age to throw a tantrum. Besides, whether the king wishes to acknowledge it or not, I may be the only one equipped to handle situations such as these.
“Did you lay eyes on it?” I ask the seamstress. “This demon.”
“No,” she replies. “I mean, just a hand. That is all.”
“A hand?” Wen mumbles.
“It shot out from around the corner,” the woman explains.
“My daughter was playing by an alley near the water markets. I looked away for but a moment, and when I looked up, I saw someone beckoning to her. I tried to call her back, but before I could, they grabbed my girl and dragged her away.” The woman shakes her head, fighting back tears.
“I gave chase, but by the time I made it to the alley, they were already gone. Vanished. All that was left was—”
She breaks into a sob as she pulls something wrapped in silk from the pocket of her dress. She hands it to me with trembling hands. Wen and Sooah both give me questioning glances as I unwrap the package.
Inside, two severed fingers belonging to a child.
A chill courses through me.
“Allow me but a moment,” I say as gently as I’m able. Reaching toward one of the pouches attached to my belt, I retrieve one of the talismans I remembered to pack. Pressing the edge of the paper to the cold fingers, I frown in dismay when the slip immediately ignites, burning a foreboding black.
Sooah shakes her head slowly. Wen sucks in a sharp breath.
“W-what does it mean?” the woman asks, trembling.
“Tell us what it looked like,” Wen says. “Was it a claw? Did it have fur? Feathers? Scales?”
The seamstress shook her head. “It was just a hand. Human. A woman’s, I think.”
Sooah frowns at this, signing quickly. A skin-wearer?
I grit my teeth and pray it isn’t so. The last time I had the misfortune of encountering a skin-wearer was three years ago near the northern territories. By the time we arrived to banish the cursed beast, it had decimated the local population, peeling humans like little more than ripe fruit.
“Did its flesh appear rotten?” I ask her. “Deformed. Miscolored in any way?”
The woman, understandably, appears disgusted. “No. She had beautiful skin, like porcelain.”
Good. Not a skin-wearer, then, but that only raises more questions.
I might have dismissed this case as an unfortunate kidnapping-turned-murder, yet the talismans never lie.
They may appear like nothing more than strips of parchment, but the spells written upon their surface have proven effective wards for centuries.
It only burns black in the presence of a demon’s aura.
But a demon who looks human, capable of hiding in plain sight?
I want to say it’s impossible, but to deny the possibility will only hinder my efforts. I must be pragmatic in this—no matter how terrified I may be.
Carefully, I wrap up the remains of her daughter and return them to the seamstress. “We shall handle things from here,” I say firmly.
“Please find her, sir. Please, save my daughter.”
It’s far too late for that. Her child now rests in the belly of a monster, one incapable of satiation.
“We’ll do everything we can,” I lie fluidly. There’s no sense in upsetting her further. Better to offer her hope—as false as it may be—and try to stop this beast from making a meal of yet another poor soul.
We head for the water market, which bustles with late-night activity.
Maybe we’ll find more clues near the alley where the girl went missing.
My hands grow clammy at the sight of so many people still out at this late hour.
They don’t understand the danger they’re in, blissfully unaware that they’re offering themselves up for dinner.
I want to warn them, to tell them to return to their homes and lock their doors tight, but I would much rather avoid inciting panic.
“How much are you willing to wager it’s the same demon eating all the rest?” Wen asks, and rather crassly at that.
Sooah huffs. I don’t know what’s worse. One rabid beast, or an entire horde.
“What do you think, Cap’n?”
Admittedly, I’d only been half listening, too engrossed in the notes of my hunting log.
It was open to the entry pertaining to the skin-wearer we encountered all those years ago.
“It takes three to five days for skin to rot,” I say.
“Even if it were a fresh kill, there’d still be identifiable discoloration.
What if the demon we’re after has found a way to prolong their disguise?
Or maybe it’s the result of some other strange magic. ”
An illusion, Sooah suggests. Or perhaps hypnosis?
“Possibly,” I murmur, flipping the page. “Or maybe it’s—”
“You there!” calls a woman’s sweet voice.
My attention is drawn to a canopied longboat lazily drifting down the canal.
Beneath the shade sits a gaggle of young women, dressed in fine silks with bejeweled adornments shining in their hair.
They titter to one another behind hand-painted fans, batting their long lashes at me with obvious interest.
“Can I help you?” I ask bluntly. There’s no time to spare for pleasantries. Not with a man-eating monster on the loose.
“Will you come join us for tea?” one of the women asks unabashedly. I wonder if they’re drunk. “My sister here thinks you’re very handsome.”
I clear my throat, hot under the collar. I don’t much care for their attempted advances. There are far more pressing matters I must attend to. Even if I do find their smiles pleasant, duty comes above and before all.
“Not interested,” I answer. Best not leave room for argument.
As the ladies let out jeers of disappointment, Wen nudges me in the arm with the tip of his elbow. “Let them down easy, Cap’n. You’re hurting my feelings.”
“I’ll buy you flowers later,” I offer dryly.
He doesn’t deserve them, Sooah protests with a roll of her eyes.
“Course I deserve them. In fact, I should get a medal for dealing with your nagging ass day in and day out.”
Sooah gestures rudely, her imaginative string of signs translating to something along the lines of, Go fuck a hungry tiger.
While the two of them bicker back and forth, I notice something curious out of the corner of my eye.
Across the water on the other side of the canal, I spot a figure skulking in the shadows.
They wear a heavy wool cloak, its hood drawn low over their heads to obstruct their face from view.
Strange, given that we’re in the middle of the summer months.
They must be sweating buckets in that thing. Unless…
Unless they don’t know this isn’t how humans act in the muggy heat.
The figure turns their head, as if something in the distance has caught their attention.
They pivot with hawkish precision, disappearing like a specter into the night.
The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, my heart racing.
I don’t need a talisman to confirm my suspicions—I just know.
It’s in their gait, in their posture. Eager, yet careful; a predator stalking prey.
Whatever is prowling the streets of my home, I have every intention of running my sword through its heart.
“Sooah, Wen,” I call. “Come with me.”