The raised lines of veins on the clerk?s hand and forearm swelled and spread, mottling with bruise-black and green as the blood vessels ruptured and the venom spread like coldfire under his skin. He averted his eyes from the cyanotic fingernails on his injured hand. The clerk crossed his arms, tucking the discolored, bleeding limb beneath its normal mate.

?I can?t tell you . . They watch all of us, all the time,? the clerk mumbled, glancing furtively around. He stole a look at his hand, and the appearance horrified him. ?Arggh... You know who They are. They?ll kill me.?

?Yes, well, They might kill you if you talk. ? Alysia snapped. ?And I will certainly kill you if you don?t.? A few faces turned, attention drawn by the sharp, impatient words. The clerk?s co-workers carefully kept their attention on their own tasks.

"You don't understand, They have orbs, everywhere. . ." His face blanched greenish-white as the venom seeped closer to his eart. ?Stop... please...,? he whimpered. He shuddered as if a horrible chill had struck clear to his bones and turned his marrow to ice. Indeed, a fine tracery of frost appeared on the corpse-pallor of his flesh, crystallizing around the edges of the poisoned rune-wound on his hand.

?Where are the archives,? she persisted.

The clerk slumped forward, bracing himself and shivering violently. Noting the man's distress, a pair of watchmen stepped forward in alarm.

Alysia growled, ?Quickly now! With a forthcoming tongue, you may survive. I promise.?

?Th- there?s a t-t-temporary p-public in-in-index at the Hall,? the trembling clerk gasped in desperation. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, staring. ?It has all of the c-cases, all of them, now please, Lady Skye! You have w-w-what you n-need, and I don?t want to d-d-die.?

The former clerk had watched his feet continue to carry him inexorably north and east for nearly an hour. After leaving the caf? - The Docket Caf?, it was called - Edwin had found he could think more clearly. Feasting on the thin, fresh blood of innocents had dimmed his terrible hunger of the last month, carnage sating him in a way bread and beer could never have. This awareness led to a detached feeling of guilt in his breast.

As his memories began to return, Edwin Wight mentally replayed the events of the last four hours. They?d screamed at him, at the caf?, calling him a vampire, a zombie, a murderer! His sense of guilt deepened into shame and remorse at his unthinking actions. It was wrong to drink people?s blood. He was sure of that. It was wrong to kill.

What am I becoming? He tried to stop walking, but found his legs would not obey him. He plodded onward, trying to ignore the furtive looks from passerbys. He tried not to think about gashing flesh with his ineffective teeth. That Skye woman did something to me, changed me into a monster, Edwin thought. Haven?t I heard rumors she used to lead an army of the un-dead?

The road he traveled now was quiet and cold, shaded monochrome by towering oak trees that curved malevolently over cobblestones. As he trudged along, the former clerk could hear, in the distance, the sound of wavelets lapping against the shore., Where am I going, he wondered. He rubbed his face. His hands came away sticky, and he saw dried blood next to the almost permanent ink stains on his fingers.

His sense of horror at the sight of blood on his hands was displaced by the return of that abominable hunger. Disgusted, Edwin loosed a strangled cry, shouting, ?Better that I had died than this!?

He began to run.

?Please, ? Edwin weakly managed to stammer as he shambled along through the dark interior of the Manor. He was completely unaware of his surroundings, so focused was he on the slender back of the woman leading him and the gnawing hunger thrilling along his veins. ?Stop a moment, w-w-what?s happened to me? There are these, these gaps in my memory, and I just can?t remember, and I?m starving, hungry all the time!? His voice ended on a plaintive wail. ?Please! Stop! What?s happening?!?

Silence answered his frantic query.

?Tell me!? he raged. Anger cleared some of the hunger-vapor that poisoned his wits. The former clerk clenched his fists impotently and punched a wall that he?d stumbled against. His knuckles cracked audibly and flesh sloughed off, showing gray muscle fiber beneath.

That will be enough of that. Sit down and be silent.

He stopped, looking around. He stood in a parlor of sorts, a room open and uncluttered. The cold stone walls of the Manor were hidden almost entirely by well-tended tapestries in shades of sand and ivory and rust. The woven fibers depicted deserts with twisted trees and jagged cliffs and sea-elves dancing upon a cerulean sea. The floor was carpeted with a rug woven of amber and rose-hued fibers.

Heavy shades were drawn across several windows, blocking the burning light of the setting sun. Candle stubs, smelling of beeswax and honey and cinnamon, flickered in several holders throughout the room. He was standing at a small bar crafted from honey-blonde wood to match the parlor?s other furnishings.

Edwin?s bloodshot eyes stared blearily at the room, taking in the warm, lovely atmosphere. He sensed shadows swarming and scurrying about him and jerked his head dizzily from left to right to track them, but they vanished. He clasped his hands over his mouth to try to keep from screaming.

?Sit down,? Alysia repeated, aloud, ?and shut up.?

He sat abruptly. Thinking he should be feeling something, he looked at the backs of his hands. The greenish flesh was bruised and torn, oozing something black and oily, but there was no pain. Alysia held out a full wine glass to him, and he wondered when she had poured it. The glass smelled of an unfamiliar spice, fermented grapes, and blood.

Is that bloodwyne, Edwin wondered. The smell was horribly tantalizing to him. Maybe it is poison. Certain of his damnation, he reached for the glass.

?No,? murmured Alysia, answering his unspoken thoughts. ?Nothing so crude. It?s bloodspiced wine, and it may restore you somewhat. Drink it, and let us see if I may find some answers for you.?

Edwin paused with indecision, panting, wondering at his need for air. If I am a dead thing, how is it that I still breathe, he wondered. The former clerk?s legs burned with exhaustion. Over his rattling gasps, he could hear the road nearby, with its traffic of travelers headed from Rhydin City to Mount Yasuo and beyond. Then. . . the smell of warm flesh and blood, human and equine, then the familiar spark of flesh-hunger groaning in his belly. No! Not now... not now! Just a bit farther. . . over that rise is the road. Then along the road to Rhydin, and then to the nearest temple. . . so far. He wept dry tears in frustration.

?Ahhh, too tired to run now, my little pet. . . Foolish slave.? The laughing words hissed in his mind. ?Do you know what you face upon escape from my realm, Ser Wight? Dare you face the fires of retribution from those who loathe your kind? They will hunt you down and destroy you.?

?Better to be destroyed than this,? he mumbled aloud, then shrieked in despair, ?Better I had died! Damn you to Hell, bitch!? Rebellious anger lent a surge of strength to Edwin?s weakening body. He snarled something inarticulate and staggered on. Thorny vines grasped at his limbs, tearing the sturdy leather of his boots and staining his clothes and exposed flesh a mottled, sappy green. He scrambled up onto an embankment, lurching onto the road and into the path of a wagon pulled by a fat chestnut pony.

Edwin had time to stare at the wagon?s driver for a few seconds, then whimpered pitifully and collapsed.

?Woah, watch it ther?, mister!? The driver, a bearded half-elf merchant shouted, then cursed in dismay. First the pony, then the wagon wheels neatly trampled the exhausted clerk. With eyes wide and nostrils flaring in alarm, the pony shied and trotted forward several yards away from the body. The merchant looked over his shoulder at the form crumpled on the road, then reluctantly got down from his seat. ?Uh. . . oh. Oh no,? he muttered. ?Oh no, oh, this is bad.?

Nervous, he thumped the casks piled up in the wagon bed as he walked past them. The half-elf bent over Edwin, noting the man?s pallor, tattered boots, and the green stains on his trousers. ?Here, are ye? dead or alive?? He waited, fearful.

After a moment, a breathy wheeze issued from Edwin?s gray lips. ?...?live... I think, but... so... terribly thirsty.?

?Hey, I got some casks of rice wine in the wagon. Bound for the Dragon.? The merchant?s anxious explanation was lost as he banged open one of the casks, cupped his hands into the pale wine, and turned back to Edwin. ?It?s a bit shaken, y?see, specially after runnin? over you like that, but...? He dripped the wine over the pallid clerk?s mouth.

?GNAWR.? Edwin snarled. With teeth bared in a rictus grin, he lunged for the half-elf?s throat.