Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Seventy: An Absence

"Who are you?" Jordan gasped.

The hooded figure in the doorway hadn't moved. It hadn't so much as appeared to breathe, but he could tell it was watching him. There was no sign of the guards who had run past. No one had passed since those awful cries, and Jordan had a feeling no one would.

His lunge from the table was taking its toll. As the burst of energy wore off, his limbs began to fail him, until he was relying on the counter to stay upright. His dagger felt woefully small, even if he had known how to use it. Yddris's 'stab and run' advice only worked if one was in a position to run, and Jordan didn't think he'd be able to crawl to save his own life.

It didn't surprise him that he got no response, but all the same he felt a surge of frustration.

"Jordan..." Grace whispered behind him. "Don't."

Nearest the motionless figure, Nova had somehow gotten hold of a meat cleaver, and hefted it slowly in one hand. She didn't look strong enough to wield it, but her expression was hard, and Jordan was certain she could land a good swing if she wanted to.

He could hear the collective heartbeat in the room, it seemed, though he knew it was only his.

The figure cocked its head one way and then the other, and Jordan went cold when he realised it was examining him; he had no hood up and it could see exactly who he was. Before, the rules of the Unspoken felt oppressive, but now having his face revealed to this murderer struck him with terror.

Slowly, almost as if it was teasing him, it lowered its sword and turned away, disappearing down the corridor into the servants' quarters. Ren, who had remained eerily quiet through the whole encounter, yipped and bounded after it.

"Ren," Jordan croaked. "Get back here."

She ignored him, disappearing a flash of dark fur.

"Why didn't it attack?" Jeorge asked, sounding more curious than rattled. "I thought it killed Unspoken?"

"Maybe only trained ones?" Grace suggested without much conviction, still barely above a whisper. "Jordan, where are you going?"

Jordan paused for breath at the kitchen door, feeling sick with pain. Nova was suddenly beside him, dark eyes intense. "You're not seriously going after it?"

"Ren went after it..." he said weakly. "And it...it saw me. It knows who I am."

"And you're going to...what? Ask it nicely not to tell anyone?" the Angel hissed.

"Why didn't it attack me?" Jordan echoed Jeorge. "It didn't even try."

"There's one possibility," Nova said. "And you won't like it." She glanced behind them and fell silent as Grace hurried over, tucking her hands around Jordan's arm and gently tugging at him to come back.

"You need treatment," she said. "Let the guards deal with it."

"It killed the guards." He had no evidence, but all the same he knew it to be true. He could sense it. "The guards can't do shit. And if it gets after the others..."

"You can't do anything," Grace cried. "You warned them! That's all you can do for them!"

Jordan allowed himself to be led back to the kitchen table. He was relieved – more relieved than he cared to admit – that he'd been robbed of a chance to get answers. Not that expecting answers was particularly clever. He didn't even know if the thing could talk, and though it had walked away without touching him, he couldn't guarantee it never would. Perhaps it had been luring him out.

He blinked. The whole thought pattern sounded so unlike him it was rattling. Since when was he the type to run after murderers? He swallowed. Nictaven was screwing with his head.