her. "Why, you look ... younger. Is that possible?"
"Your eyes ...."
"They're blue!"
"We should go," she said, leading them toward the path they had been following to Ponth.
"I'm not so certain about that Jody fellow. I was getting an uneasy feeling about him, so we decided to look for you," Opal began. "Jules has the venison in case you're hungry."
Cameo faked a smile, "Sounds good." The idea of eating a smoky deer carcass made her mouth dry. "I'm fine for now, though."
"You gave in to it," Jules whispered into her ear as he caught up with her.
She met him with a hard look. He smelled good. "Yes." And then she strode away from him, walking in step beside Black Opal instead.
* * * * *
It was night. The three of them crouched down under a small clump of pine trees off the path. There was a patch of ground there, a small bed of pine needles to sit on.
Jules hunted around in his shoulder-pack for the smoked venison that the innkeeper's wife had packed for them.
"How much farther do you think, Cameo?" Opal asked, too exhausted to open his eyes. He leaned up against a tree trunk, shivering.
She saw two ghosts wandering around the tree beside him, both of them wearing the clothing donned by the patriots during the Shandow Rebellion, the red sash, the berets. Her eyes moved to watch his pained expression, and she wondered if he felt any guilt at all about his part in the rebellion. So many people put to their deaths, and yet Opal remained, seemingly, unapologetic about the entire thing.
"Not far now." Her tone was without emotion.
Opal opened his eye; it was red with exhaustion. "Is something wrong?"
She laughed a little. She had just killed a man to drink his blood, she was seeing ghosts, and she was certain that Edel had been there when she murdered that man, certain that she had felt him touch her arm. It was so solid, so ... real, and now she was beginning to suspect that Edel was following her. No, nothing was wrong. He'd never believe her if she told him. He'd never really understand what she had seen or felt. "No."
"Cameo ...."
"Hmm?" she muttered, turning toward Jules.
He lifted his eyes. "I didn't say anything."
She furrowed her brows. "You sure?"
"Yes," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
She locked eyes with him. There was a bitter, amused smile playing on his lips, daring the cold facade she wore to a battle of wits, or other she supposed. Cameo could only guess what she looked like at the moment, probably confused ... at worst, unstable. She felt irrational. Taking that man's life to drink his blood ... what a waste. He wasn't like others she had slain; he wasn't a mark for the Association, her old employer. He wasn't even in her way. He was weak and bleeding and an easy target for her bloodlust, and that was all.
"I hate to be a bother," Opal began, "but do you have something to drink? Alcohol, perchance?"
This brought her around. Cameo realized that she and Jules were still staring at each other. He seemed to be attempting to read her expression when she looked away and pulled the flask from her boot. "It's just water, I'm afraid."
He tipped his head back, biting his lip, and released a sort of unhappy moan.
"I still have some of the tincture."
"All right .... I suppose so."
"You're going to put him to sleep?" Jules was clearly annoyed. "We still have a long way to walk."
"Do you have any alcohol on you?"
"No."
She fished the ceramic flask from her pack and pressed it to Opal's lips. He pulled away unhappily, teeth gritted.
"Cameo ...."
"What?" She glanced to her left, from where she was certain the voice had come, but there was nothing. No one. This time she had heard the voice as a whisper in her ear, a male voice, clearly, and yet there was no one to her left, just empty snow-covered ground and black forest.
Jules looked up from his dinner again, searching for whatever it was that was bothering Cameo, his amusement at her expense turning to concern.
As she focused on the
"Your eyes ...."
"They're blue!"
"We should go," she said, leading them toward the path they had been following to Ponth.
"I'm not so certain about that Jody fellow. I was getting an uneasy feeling about him, so we decided to look for you," Opal began. "Jules has the venison in case you're hungry."
Cameo faked a smile, "Sounds good." The idea of eating a smoky deer carcass made her mouth dry. "I'm fine for now, though."
"You gave in to it," Jules whispered into her ear as he caught up with her.
She met him with a hard look. He smelled good. "Yes." And then she strode away from him, walking in step beside Black Opal instead.
* * * * *
It was night. The three of them crouched down under a small clump of pine trees off the path. There was a patch of ground there, a small bed of pine needles to sit on.
Jules hunted around in his shoulder-pack for the smoked venison that the innkeeper's wife had packed for them.
"How much farther do you think, Cameo?" Opal asked, too exhausted to open his eyes. He leaned up against a tree trunk, shivering.
She saw two ghosts wandering around the tree beside him, both of them wearing the clothing donned by the patriots during the Shandow Rebellion, the red sash, the berets. Her eyes moved to watch his pained expression, and she wondered if he felt any guilt at all about his part in the rebellion. So many people put to their deaths, and yet Opal remained, seemingly, unapologetic about the entire thing.
"Not far now." Her tone was without emotion.
Opal opened his eye; it was red with exhaustion. "Is something wrong?"
She laughed a little. She had just killed a man to drink his blood, she was seeing ghosts, and she was certain that Edel had been there when she murdered that man, certain that she had felt him touch her arm. It was so solid, so ... real, and now she was beginning to suspect that Edel was following her. No, nothing was wrong. He'd never believe her if she told him. He'd never really understand what she had seen or felt. "No."
"Cameo ...."
"Hmm?" she muttered, turning toward Jules.
He lifted his eyes. "I didn't say anything."
She furrowed her brows. "You sure?"
"Yes," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
She locked eyes with him. There was a bitter, amused smile playing on his lips, daring the cold facade she wore to a battle of wits, or other she supposed. Cameo could only guess what she looked like at the moment, probably confused ... at worst, unstable. She felt irrational. Taking that man's life to drink his blood ... what a waste. He wasn't like others she had slain; he wasn't a mark for the Association, her old employer. He wasn't even in her way. He was weak and bleeding and an easy target for her bloodlust, and that was all.
"I hate to be a bother," Opal began, "but do you have something to drink? Alcohol, perchance?"
This brought her around. Cameo realized that she and Jules were still staring at each other. He seemed to be attempting to read her expression when she looked away and pulled the flask from her boot. "It's just water, I'm afraid."
He tipped his head back, biting his lip, and released a sort of unhappy moan.
"I still have some of the tincture."
"All right .... I suppose so."
"You're going to put him to sleep?" Jules was clearly annoyed. "We still have a long way to walk."
"Do you have any alcohol on you?"
"No."
She fished the ceramic flask from her pack and pressed it to Opal's lips. He pulled away unhappily, teeth gritted.
"Cameo ...."
"What?" She glanced to her left, from where she was certain the voice had come, but there was nothing. No one. This time she had heard the voice as a whisper in her ear, a male voice, clearly, and yet there was no one to her left, just empty snow-covered ground and black forest.
Jules looked up from his dinner again, searching for whatever it was that was bothering Cameo, his amusement at her expense turning to concern.
As she focused on the
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