"Cruel night for a little lost wolf," a voice croaked.
Ella's spine jerked. She scrambled back. Hit the rough bark.
A shadow moved.
Moss. Tatters.
An old woman.
Her hands were too pale. Too smooth.
Dead skin.
"Who are you?" Ella said. She wiped rain from her mouth. It tasted like ash.
The woman didn't glide. She limped. Her boot dragged. She smelled of wet fur and sour pennies.
"I take what I can't use," the woman said. She looked at the silver chain around Ella's neck. "Names. Memories. Lungs. What are you selling?"
Ella looked back. Sarah's window was a yellow square in the dark.
Ella grabbed the pen. It felt like a frozen nail.
She didn't try to be neat. She carved the names.
The parchment smoked.
A smell of burning hair. The ink hissed and burned black holes into the paper.
Her arm burned. Something was digging under the skin.Cold.
Like swallowing a stone.
It settled in her chest. Heavy.
"It is done," the woman said, rolling up the scroll. She handed it to Ella. "Keep this close. It is yours now. Until the debt is paid."
"Wait," Ella said, clutching the scroll. "Who are you really? Why help me?"
A twig snapped. Ella jerked around. The trees were just black, jagged shapes. When she turned back, the patch of mud where the woman had been was empty. Flattened mulch. No footsteps.
The rain didn't stop. It hit her face, but she didn't feel the chill. Her bones felt heavy. Filled with hot lead. The weight in her marrow matched the throb in her thumb.
Roman stepped out from behind a massive elm, his suit dry despite the storm. He watched Ella's retreating figure, the scroll clutched to her chest.
"The first chain is forged," he murmured to the empty forest.
He touched his own chest.
Under the silk shirt, a black vine tattoo curled around his heart.
"Soon, Ella. Soon you'll have no one but me."