him away, casting apologetic glances over their shoulders. When they had gone, Adamina resumed her seat, eating with less enthusiasm until there was nothing left but the dregs of the ale.
Victoria came bustling out a few minutes later and gathered up all the dishes. "I've had a room prepared for you, sent up a pitcher of hot water and soap. If you want a bath, I'll see it's done, my lady."
Adamina shook her head. "The hot water is all I need, thank you. The meal was delicious." She glanced around the few people who still remained, bent over their ales and clearly reluctant to venture home. Victims, or did they fear becoming victims? Looking back at Victoria, she asked, "Who should I speak with to learn all I can about the people who were taken?"
"Anyone, really," Victoria replied. "It's a close village, and so small that it's hard not to know everything about everyone. I moved here from a larger town, and it took some getting used to, let me tell you. Not as difficult as getting used to those woods, though. They always seemed gloomy to me, spooky even."
"You have good instincts," Adamina replied. "If you can spare the time, tell me about the women and children who were taken. Otherwise, send me to someone who can speak with me for an hour so."
Victoria pursed her lips in thought. "You'll want to visit Matlock—Peter Matlock, that is. He's what passes for a healer around here; we have to send up to Norton for a real healer when it's bad enough. He probably knows a few things people like to think the rest of us don't, if you follow. He'll still be awake this hour, hoping to be of some help before another dies, bless his soul. Just turn right out the front door, stay on this side of the street until you come to a building with an old green door."
Adamina nodded and stood, set a few coins on the table. "Thank you, madam." Victoria tucked the coins away, and bustled off. Adamina fetched her cloak from beside the fireplace and headed out.
The old green door proved as easy to find as promised, and she gave it several soft raps, squinting through a dirty, smudged pane of glass, unable to catch more than shadows and a couple of flickering lamps. After a moment, the door swung open. "Has there been—oh! My lady, please come in." The man in the doorway hastily stepped back, pushing at the slightly crooked spectacles he wore, combing through messy brown hair as he hastened over to where he had been reading a book and drinking what smelled like mulled wine. "Can I offer you a drink?"
"No, but thank you," Adamina replied, and sat in the second chair when he gestured she should. Exhaustion washed over her, made her eyes heavy, but she pushed it away. "Victoria told me that I should speak to you about the women and children who have died, that you might know something that connects them that no one else in the village knows—or should know, anyway."
"Peter Matlock," the man said. "An honor to meet a Huntress." He took a gulp of wine. "I can tell you something, actually. The women had all been sealed, and the children were witch-potentials."
Adamina's mouth tightened. That unpleasant, though not entirely unexpected complication. She'd just been hoping for an easier, less dangerous cause.
If whatever was stealing people was seeking out sealed witches and witch-potentials, then they needed the raw magic energy, and that meant there was warped magic or a curse involved. Combined with the fractured whispers she had been hearing since her arrival, she dreaded what she would find when she finally entered the forest. And that definitely killed any hope this would be an easy, quickly resolved problem. She'd still try, though; there'd been enough death already. "Who else here has been sealed or will be considering it when they come of age?"
Picking up the book he had set aside, Peter pulled out a small slip of stiff, crackling paper filled with neat lines of writing. "These are all of them. I was considering speaking to them, but I was
Victoria came bustling out a few minutes later and gathered up all the dishes. "I've had a room prepared for you, sent up a pitcher of hot water and soap. If you want a bath, I'll see it's done, my lady."
Adamina shook her head. "The hot water is all I need, thank you. The meal was delicious." She glanced around the few people who still remained, bent over their ales and clearly reluctant to venture home. Victims, or did they fear becoming victims? Looking back at Victoria, she asked, "Who should I speak with to learn all I can about the people who were taken?"
"Anyone, really," Victoria replied. "It's a close village, and so small that it's hard not to know everything about everyone. I moved here from a larger town, and it took some getting used to, let me tell you. Not as difficult as getting used to those woods, though. They always seemed gloomy to me, spooky even."
"You have good instincts," Adamina replied. "If you can spare the time, tell me about the women and children who were taken. Otherwise, send me to someone who can speak with me for an hour so."
Victoria pursed her lips in thought. "You'll want to visit Matlock—Peter Matlock, that is. He's what passes for a healer around here; we have to send up to Norton for a real healer when it's bad enough. He probably knows a few things people like to think the rest of us don't, if you follow. He'll still be awake this hour, hoping to be of some help before another dies, bless his soul. Just turn right out the front door, stay on this side of the street until you come to a building with an old green door."
Adamina nodded and stood, set a few coins on the table. "Thank you, madam." Victoria tucked the coins away, and bustled off. Adamina fetched her cloak from beside the fireplace and headed out.
The old green door proved as easy to find as promised, and she gave it several soft raps, squinting through a dirty, smudged pane of glass, unable to catch more than shadows and a couple of flickering lamps. After a moment, the door swung open. "Has there been—oh! My lady, please come in." The man in the doorway hastily stepped back, pushing at the slightly crooked spectacles he wore, combing through messy brown hair as he hastened over to where he had been reading a book and drinking what smelled like mulled wine. "Can I offer you a drink?"
"No, but thank you," Adamina replied, and sat in the second chair when he gestured she should. Exhaustion washed over her, made her eyes heavy, but she pushed it away. "Victoria told me that I should speak to you about the women and children who have died, that you might know something that connects them that no one else in the village knows—or should know, anyway."
"Peter Matlock," the man said. "An honor to meet a Huntress." He took a gulp of wine. "I can tell you something, actually. The women had all been sealed, and the children were witch-potentials."
Adamina's mouth tightened. That unpleasant, though not entirely unexpected complication. She'd just been hoping for an easier, less dangerous cause.
If whatever was stealing people was seeking out sealed witches and witch-potentials, then they needed the raw magic energy, and that meant there was warped magic or a curse involved. Combined with the fractured whispers she had been hearing since her arrival, she dreaded what she would find when she finally entered the forest. And that definitely killed any hope this would be an easy, quickly resolved problem. She'd still try, though; there'd been enough death already. "Who else here has been sealed or will be considering it when they come of age?"
Picking up the book he had set aside, Peter pulled out a small slip of stiff, crackling paper filled with neat lines of writing. "These are all of them. I was considering speaking to them, but I was
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