Wolves Among Us(10)

“There would be a body. If it happened.” Mia added the last bit out of obedience. She did not need to be right. Not if it added to his burdens. Not if her sex was prone to imaginations. “Do you want me to go back out and look?” he murmured, sounding so tired. “I will do it, if it will give you peace.”

Alma stirred inside the house. She would want to eat soon. Bjorn was surely hungry too. Mia straightened herself at once, standing back from Bjorn. She needed to do better for everyone’s sake. She had slept, and she could not prove the events had been real. It might have been imagination, the most universal of women’s sins. Father Stefan would be angry with her.

The sun would be on the horizon within the hour. It would be a beautiful spring morning.



Stefan’s fist hit the door again and again. He would go on hitting it, splintering it if he had to, until Bjorn answered. He could apologize later.

Mia appeared.

“Mia, get Bjorn. Immediately,” Stefan said. She looked terrible, as if she’d had no sleep. Stefan wished she would take better care of herself. Bjorn said other women flirted with him daily, but Bjorn always remained faithful. How long would he stay strong under such temptation? Still, Stefan could not warn Mia. The sacrament of confession could not be broken, even to aid a struggling soul.

Mia shook her head no. “Let him sleep for a few more hours, and then I will send him to you.”

“Wake him up, Mia. Now.”

“Father, please. He is exhausted. Let him sleep.”

Father Stefan stuck his foot in the door, pushing it open wider. “Forgive me, Mia, but I must get Bjorn.”

“What is it, Stefan?”

Bjorn appeared from the bedroom. His face sagged with exhaustion. Stefan pushed the door open all the way, going to Bjorn to whisper, keeping his back to Mia. Bjorn nodded then pointed at her.

“She heard an argument last night in the woods beyond our home. A trader, she thinks. No one she recognized. I thought it had been a dream.”

Mia couldn’t help it; she smiled at her husband. She had not imagined it. She had not been a poor wife to tell him.

“The merchants are going mad with speculations,” Stefan said. “The rumors will ruin them all. People will go to another village to buy.” Stefan had one hand on Bjorn’s arm, pulling him toward the door.

“Let me get my cloak,” Bjorn said, stepping back into the bedroom.

“Have you had breakfast?” Mia asked Father Stefan. He looked at her as if she spoke another language. She waved to the little table by the fire. “Breakfast?”

“No,” Stefan said. “Thank you,” he added. “Do you want to tell me what you saw?”

Bjorn stepped out, ready to go. “Keep the food warm, Mia. And don’t go into town today. Not until I know who is among us.”

“But I do not want to be alone.”

“I’ll send Erick to check on you,” Stefan said, holding the door open for Bjorn before following behind. “He will even stay with you if you feel uneasy.”

“But what should—”

They closed the door and were gone.

Mia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and it came away with bits of straw from the floor and mud. She pinched herself as punishment. She should have washed herself. She must have looked like a fool.

Margarite stirred. She probably needed to relieve herself before the pain returned.

Mia went back to her life.





Chapter Five


The two bodies splayed across the church steps had none of the peaceful repose Stefan was accustomed to. There was no embroidered pillow or handsome cloak. Their limbs were spread apart, splattered with mud. Stefan crossed himself, wondering again if this was a dream. Shiny fat flies buzzed around Cronwall. His face was bloated. The woman lay facedown, thrown over him as if in an embrace, her skirts exposing her slender white calves. Stefan had never seen a woman’s calves, but he cleared his throat and tugged at the edge of the skirt to cover her, looking away from her body. He saw Bjorn taking in the scene with an expression of sadness and anger. A dark resolve passed across his face.

Bjorn had no other hesitation, no signs of shock. He set to work with a pursed mouth, pulling out the pockets lining the man’s belt. They were filled with money. Using his foot, Bjorn rolled the woman’s body off the man’s, her dead eyes open to the morning sun.

Stefan shielded his eyes from the glare, craned his neck, and leaned closer in. He wanted to be mistaken. He asked God to take it back, to make it go away.

It was Catarina.

Stefan inhaled with a high-pitched, keening gasp, like a child about to burst into a wail. Bjorn gave him a withering glare. Stefan knew he shouldn’t react to death this way. He saw it every month. But he wanted to point out to Bjorn that death and murder were not equal. Death was natural, to be expected even. Murder was a stunning perversion.

“What do we do?” Stefan asked.

Bjorn held the fistful of money out to the crowd. “This was not a robbery. Did anyone see anything? Does anyone want to speak?”

No one in the growing crowd moved.

“Why would both bodies be left on my steps?” Stefan asked.

Bjorn watched the crowd. “This is a message.” He watched the crowd, his eyes moving back and forth, searching for something Stefan did not understand.