Iron and Wood #Wattys2017

Chapter Twenty-Five

The area known as Pin Gon Lane was in the west of the town, where the red haze of the drug hung over the streets and mixed with the brown smog.  Addicts slumped against the walls of the brown-grey buildings, pipes glowing in their hands and their eyes blank.  Weeks ticked by, but all faces were anonymous, with no sign of Shal's quarry in sight.

Shal was not the only one in armor.  The mercenaries gathered in the taverns and on street corners, while scantily-clad women were drawn to them like moths to flame.  Shal avoided these packs.  Her black cloak was faded and stained now, the smell of pin gon weighing it down.  

The alley was dark even though it was the middle of the day.  Shal was alone, bending over the body of a man with the imprint of her teeth on his throat.  

His blood wasn't clean, but in this side of town almost no-one's was, as she had discovered very quickly.  The thirst-throbbing of her head would quickly give way to the euphoria of the drug, and Shal wondered if she was becoming an addict.  She had started to crave that feeling along with the revitalization given by the blood itself.

She pulled the bottle out from inside her cloak, and drained the last of the man's blood into it.  Briefly she wondered if this might be her father.  She stared at his now pale face, narrow eyes half-closed, as if she would find the answer there.

He wasn't, she decided.  Shal corked the bottle.

"Freeze, vampire."

Shal blinked.  Someone had put a cold blade at her throat.  In her peripheral vision, she could see a curved Dangyongese sword, in a hand covered with a ragged glove.  

She stood up slowly, the sword following her.

"What will you do?" she asked very quietly.  "Turn me in?"

The sarcasm hung in the air.  Death was nothing in this part of her home country, she could see it now.  There was not a sight of a constable or guard for blocks around.

"The Empire isn't welcome here."  The man's voice was breathless.  "There's a bounty on all blood drinkers."

"I'd say you'd get more money for me from the Empire.  I'm turning around."

Shal turned to see a young boy at the same height as her and a few years younger, greasy hair dripping over his face.  He held the sword with white knuckles.  

She grabbed his wrist, forcing the blade away from her.  The boy struggled, and the blade was back at her throat as soon as she let go. 

"How old are you, fourteen?" Shal demanded, pushing it away again. 

"I'm sixteen," the boy said through gritted teeth.

Shal looked at his arm.  It was thin and malnourished, a twig compared to her own.

"You're desperate."  It wasn't a question.  "Put away the sword.  I want to ask you something."

The boy lowered the sword, but did not sheath it, still watching Shal with darting, wary eyes.  She looked back at him curiously.

"Someone's going to kill me," he said suddenly.  "I-- I messed up, really bad..."

He seemed to struggle with himself for a minute.  Shal felt a rush of pity for him.

"Who's going to kill you?"

"The boss."

Shal's heart jumped.  The boy blinked, focusing on her face.  

"What?  A-are you in trouble with him too?"

"He's in trouble with me," Shal told him simply.  "Do you know where he is?"