Wolves Among Us(9)

Mia gasped as the whites of the dead woman’s eyes reflected the moonlight. The man dragging her stopped, his shadowed face directed at the window. Mia ducked down, forcing her fingers into her mouth for something to bite down on. Had he seen her? He might come for her next. He might kill her—Alma and Margarite, too.

She lurched across the floor to the door, pressing her back into it with all her strength, the wood making tiny scratches all over her back. She bit down onto her fingers until she could no longer taste the salt on her skin, until she tasted blood from the little thin red indentations along her fingers. She licked them clean and made a fist instead, pressing it onto her lips. Any minute Bjorn could return. Any minute they would be safe. Any minute.

Alma turned, still asleep, as was Margarite. Please, blessed mother of Jesus, Mia prayed silently. Do not let them wake. She sat, pressing with her back and then her legs, pressing until her muscles cramped. She would bar the door. Nothing she could do about the window. She was probably a fool for barring the door when he could come in through the window, but she had to try. If he came in through the window, she had her blade.

She did not know how long she sat, pushing against the door. Darkness deceived, changing the shadows all around her so that she could not fix with certainty upon a time. At last she heard church bells, twelve in all, as rain pummeled the roof and ran in through the window. Mia watched it run down her wall and across her clean floor in unpredictable rivers, stirring up mud and ruining all her work. Her clothes stuck to her body, sweat drying in patches but leaving her sticky and sour.

She heard the torrent grow harder. Rain would wash everything away before the new morning. Everyone in town would be waking in a few hours, stirring the pots, tearing off hunks of bread and cheese to set out for breakfast. Children would be fetching new wood or eggs. Only Mia would remember what had happened in the night. There would be no footsteps, no trace of the murder. What would she say to Bjorn? Bjorn would think Mia had nightmares. He would tell her to work more, that he could protect her from everything except her own imagination. But tired bodies were not prone to bad dreams, and so he would urge her to work more.

Mia saw Alma kick off the blanket, flopping over onto her stomach, her thumb in her mouth, her hair flayed in wild directions all around her head. Mia did not like it. The girl should be hidden until Bjorn came home, until they were safe.

Please, Mia thought, please let Bjorn come home soon. Please let me hear his footsteps. Please. Bjorn will make us safe.

Mia jerked awake. How long had she slept? She heard Bjorn’s footfall stirring the dead, wet leaves along the path. She checked from the window’s corner to be sure. Bjorn had returned.

Mia threw open the front door, racing for him, calling his name. He caught her by the waist.

“What is it, Mia? What is it?”

“A man came. He killed a woman, right on our very own path, right in front of the door.”

“What?”

“I wanted you to come home so badly. I thought he might kill us, too.”

Bjorn pulled her in closer, one hand still around her waist, the other going to her cheek. He looked all around at the ground, wet with puddles and washed clean of any footsteps. He frowned.

“I know, Bjorn, there is no evidence. But you have to believe me.”

He softly brushed her hair out of her face. “It has been a hard winter for you. Could you have been dreaming?”

“No. No, it was no dream. The rain washed the footprints away. But they were here.”

“Why would they come here? If you think clearly, you will see that it must have been a dream. Who would come to the sheriff’s home to commit murder?”

“I don’t know. And I couldn’t understand what they said. But I did see it happen. Someone died.”

He felt her forehead. “You’re warm. Do you feel well?”

“Bjorn—”

“I do not know what you saw, Mia, but there’s no evidence here. No one in town is even stirring. I just returned from there.” He looked thoughtful. “Are you sick? Do you want me to call Father Stefan?”

“I know what I saw,” she said, pushing against him.

He took her in again. “Shhh. I will ask the innkeeper if she has hosted anyone who would cause trouble. If it happened as you said, I will arrest him and have him hanged by dusk. Does that please you?”

She nodded, knowing he would feel her nod against his chest. She did not want to speak.

He pulled her hand up to his face, looking closely at the reddened teeth marks visible across her hand, frowning.

“What did you do to yourself?”

Mia tucked her hand in the folds of her shift.

Bjorn hesitated before speaking, as if judging whether she was able to discuss his work in her condition. “The town has been buzzing with gossip since Cronwall abandoned his wife. I have been called on to settle fistfights between men who think Catarina caused it and men who think Cronwall found another woman in a faraway city. There have been wives scolding their husbands for not stopping Cronwall from leaving, and a few bawds even blame me.”

“I am sorry.”

“Please do not add to my burdens. I will find the man, if there is one. If he was real, he’s probably a trader. Already gone by now.”

“But what about the woman?”

He sighed, closing his eyes. Mia tried to soften her demand.