Song recommendation for this chapter:

Game of Lies by Robert D. Sands

Song no. 1 on our VAESEN playlist on Spotifyhttps://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Vj7oMU7QlEWhue0rJ3VOy?si=6276d08dd50a429a

The little creature gave up its attempts to free itself. Like a puppet without strings, it hung in Zane's grip and clung to the joint to find some support. The many beads in the wild, straw-colored hair tinkled woodenly, and the small chest rose and fell in heavy breaths. Then, the creature narrowed its eyes suspiciously.

"What do you want?" After what felt like an eternity, Zane heard the cheeky voice reminding him vaguely of a crow.

"Orestes, the fence - where is he hiding?"

"Orestes?" Zane saw the black eyes widen again. "I don't know any Orest-"

Before the little trickster could finish, his grip on his throat had hardened again, and he squeezed hard. Zane could feel the flesh under his strong fingers, and with his keen hearing, he could literally hear the bones groaning under the pressure... just a little further, and he could have snapped his neck like a rotten twig.

"Don't play games, or you'll pay with your life!"

As soon as he had uttered his threat, a new smell mingled with the stench that polluted the air around him: fear. To him, it smelled almost as sweet as a mild summer rain.

"It's all right!" the Pukwudgie gasped. "Let me live!"

Zane loosened his grip but bent down menacingly toward the creature, revealing his fangs in a sinister growl.

"One more try, and I'll snap your scrawny neck!"

The little goblin swallowed hard. Zane felt the Adam's apple bounce under his fingers before the pale lips first pressed together and then - finally - opened for the desired information:

"You'll find Orestes in the shadow of the old cathedral, in the 13th Lightless Lane, which branches off to the left. Follow it to a colorful scrap of cloth; behind it is the entrance to his store," the creature croaked hoarsely.

"There you go," the Cait-Sith snorted and let go of the handle with a jerk, causing the small body to fall back onto the damp pavement with a dull thud like a piece of dirt. Without paying any further attention to the gnome, Zane was already turning away when he heard the croaking voice behind him again:

"Curse you, dirty cat!"

He jerked to a halt. His head turned dangerously slowly back to the ugly heap that had jumped onto his thin legs. His hands, hidden under his coat, twitched. Zane's instinct screamed to tear this worthless rat to pieces. Killing had always come as easy to him as breathing.

'Sometimes you show more strength by sparing a life instead of taking it,' Kaie's voice was suddenly carried to him from his memory, like leaves on a playful fall breeze. Only they cut into his flesh like blades.

Nevertheless, Zane sucked the air deeper into his lungs and averted his eyes from the unworthy worm. He didn't have time to deal with this worthless scum anyway.

"You're moons too late to curse me," he growled instead and disappeared into the shadows of the night.

A little later, the exiled warrior crept through the shadows of the Cathédrale Saint-Louis-des-Invalides, whose once imposing golden dome was now just a half-ruined ruin. The stone guards sat on the pillars and broad cornices, lurking with glowing eyes so that Zane ducked past the rubble with a racing heart, constantly having to pause and only making slow progress.

When he finally reached the alley the Pukwudgie had described, the moon had already risen high and cast its silvery-white light on the city. Part of him almost expected the cunning gnome to have played a trick on him and deceived him. But indeed, at the end of an alley between the dilapidated houses, the perforated scrap of cloth was waiting for him. Invitingly, as if beckoning him in, the dirty fabric danced in the balmy night breeze.

A faint light shimmered behind the entrance, allowing him to see the colorful patches that had been unable to save the torn fabric. A glance at the half-ruined, war-ravaged building suggested that it could only be another of the many dilapidated dwellings of a shabby vaesen. But the impression could not have been more deceptive, and that was a good thing. After all, it was better not to be caught doing dirty work - or to hide well among the vermin.

"How fitting for a rotten cheat," Zane muttered quietly, pushing aside the curtain and stepping into the dilapidated building. He was immediately hit by a disgusting stench, causing him to reflexively pull the collar of his coat over his face and sensitive nose.

Shelves lined the small room's walls in the golden glow of a few burnt-out candles. They were crammed with all sorts of useless junk such as jars of pickled dead creatures, bones and other bizarre remains. Countless fairy wings glittered in one jar, next to another filled to the brim with troll eyes. Chests, some open, some closed, adorned the corners, and in a bucket stood some guns of humans like umbrellas.

At first glance, nothing was breathtaking, but Zane knew better. A fence wouldn't just display his valuable goods like that, either. Somewhere, there was a secret cellar or a safe room—and there were undoubtedly the real treasures, for which a select clientele with an eye for the exotic would spend more money.

So the owner of this junk couldn't be far away.

"Hello!" Zane called into the silence and stepped up to the counter, where one of those old-fashioned table bells stood, which he hit with the palm of his hand. The annoying ringing filled the air but stopped without a response.

Zane's brow furrowed, and he lowered his hand to his coat collar. At that moment, he noticed another note in the air, and he would have recognized it among thousands: metallic, iron ... blood.

He immediately lifted his nose slightly into the air, and at that moment, something shimmered in the corner of his eye. Behind an archway of piled stones leading to the next room, the moonlight felt its way into the room - and made a black puddle glisten on the cold stone.

The Cait-Sith immediately circled the counter with lightning speed, and at that moment, he realized what he had smelled when he entered. Following the instincts of the predatory cat within him, his neck fur bristled inwardly as he carefully guided his steps through the archway into the back room. His ears listened attentively to the silence to avoid missing any sound in case someone was still there and tried to attack him from the shadows. Although his eyesight was much better than that of many other creatures, even in the darkness of the night, as an Otherworlder he could not come close to matching the skills of many night creatures.

Half crouched, he crouched behind a shelf in the front corner before sticking his head out. His silver-blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkness as they followed the wet spot and found its source:

The pitiful corpse of the former satyr Orestes lay next to an overturned table amidst broken pieces. His throat had been slit, and the goat's eyes, which all satyrs possessed, were so twisted that only the whites could be seen. The human-like face with the distinctive goatee had frozen into an expression of horror at the moment of death.

"Shit!" Zane hissed into the semi-darkness, staring at the damned fence that was his only lead to the exotic weapon the human pack had used to murder Kaie.

No! This couldn't be true!

In blind desperation, he stepped towards the satyr and knelt beside the fence. Placing the flat of his hand on the creature's chest, he could still feel a little body heat emanating from the dead man - the murder couldn't have been too long ago!

In a flash of presence of mind, Zane leaned closer to the creature, opened his lips slightly, and inhaled deeply, hoping to catch a hint that might reveal the culprit.

Just at that moment, the Cait-Sith shivered as a breeze brushed the back of his neck, bringing a completely different smell to his senses: grave soil and the sweetness of death.

'Vampire!' his instinct warned, and his muscles tensed, ready for battle. He had to get away, and he had to get away now! Because if a bloodsucker strayed into this area, it could only mean one thing: Bounty hunter!

"Well, well ... what have we here?" a male voice, as soft as black velvet in a coffin's deathbed, rang out at that very moment. "Looks like this is my lucky day."