Water's Reflection or Hero's Guilt

Chapter Twenty-Three

          The moon shone dimly through the open window; occasionally, clouds hid it from view, darkening the inn room. One of the two beds of the small room was occupied, its user sometimes stirring, huddled inside the blanket as protection against the cold breeze. The other bed was empty.

          Marc observed the room from the roof of a neighboring building; as he had promised, Zhe had found the hideout of the werewolves soon enough. The Soulander stayed true to his word and had told Marc where to find them. Now, however, Marc wasn't sure what to do. Should he leave? He had come to see if Zhe was right, and he had not yet been able to confirm this. He could not see anyone, not through any of the windows.

          He grunted and muttered something to himself. In his head, he heard Thriftwood tell him he ought to let go. But he couldn't, right? She had come here. Of all places June could have gone to, she came to where he was. What did that mean?

          “It doesn't mean anything,” said a voice in his head, mimicking Thriftwood. But he couldn't know that for sure. And he had to know for sure.

          Marc hesitated for a second. The open window was perfect—almost too perfect to be a coincidence. From the rooftop, he could jump and reach an old drainpipe, and use it to climb to the open room. None of the other windows were open. Not even a crack. He had a gut feeling that had to be June's room.

          But still... should he? Should he risk it? If the drain were to give in to his weight, he'd fall. Not fatally, but it would hurt and wake up the whole street. And even if that did not happen, what did he expect to find? June, waiting for him? Begging him to take her with him?

          No. Marc knew better than that. June made her choice. She would not change it if she got another chance. She'd stay with Terrance.

          Then why was he here again? Marc could hardly remember. He wanted to apologize, or to make sure she was alright. Or did he want to ask her if he could come back? Maybe he should leave. Thriftwood was right. He should let go.

          He sighed and weighed everything in his mind for a second. The open window. The one occupied bed. June. Terrance. What happened in Oakes... He still remembered everything—it still hurt to think about it. It was raw inside his mind, how Terrance had threatened him. How June had told him to leave...

          Marc decided.

          The drainpipe made an awful noise when his fingers wrapped around it, stopping his fall. It complained, letting out bloodcurdling cries of rust and bent iron. Marc only hoped no one would wake from it. But, knowing there was no way back now, he grunted and started climbing. At least it did not break.

          He entered the room with as much stealth and grace as he could muster and carefully stepped down from the nightstand onto the floor. Panting, he looked around to make sure his previous assessment had been right; only one bed occupied. No one else in the room.

          But it wasn't June's room.