Thief With No Shadow by Emily Gee Page A

lamia, were always female, and liked to lie with men when in their human form. It was said that men enjoyed their embrace.
    And psaarons... Psaarons lay with humans to punish them, to hurt them.
    Or so the myths said.
    “The first time, it was Alain’s sister. She hanged herself afterwards. She was as old as I am.”
    Melke closed her eyes. She didn’t want to hear it.
    “Her brother, my great-grandfather, he wanted to save his children. He threw the sal Vere fortune into the sea, all of it, until there was nothing left. But it made no difference. His son was next. Pascal.”
    There was silence while the words settled, the weight of them dreadful.
    “Pascal didn’t kill himself, but he never spoke again. He was mute. He and his father drowned, years later.”
    Too horrible. Too much. Melke opened her eyes, stretching them wide. The images inside her head remained, shadowlike, hovering at the edges of her vision.
    Liana sat, holding Hantje’s hand in a tight grip.
    Melke swallowed. She made herself speak. “And next was your mother?”
    The girl nodded, staring down at Hantje.
    “I’m sorry.”
    A tear slid down Liana’s cheek. She brushed at it roughly with the back of her hand,
    They sat in silence and candlelight for long minutes. The only sounds in the room were the stirring of the curtains and Endal’s soft exhalations. Liana’s voice was loud and startling when at last she spoke. “She jumped off the cliff afterwards, into the sea. I was only a baby. Bastian was nine.”
    Poor Bastian , was Melke’s instinctive thought. He’d been old enough to understand what had happened to his mother, to know why she’d killed herself. She closed her eyes again, briefly.
    “I don’t really remember my father. After... Bastian says he hardly ever came home. He lived in the caves, searching for the necklace.”
    Bastian was a tough man with a mercenary’s face, but he’d been a nine year-old boy once. All Melke could think was, Poor Bastian.
    “Father found it when I was six.” Liana smiled, but it was without happiness. “He gave it to Bastian and...”
    The pause was heavy. It grew in the room, sucking Melke’s breath. And what?
    Liana turned her head. She stared at Melke. Her eyes were hazel, bright and sharp. “He wanted to be with my mother, so he jumped too.”
    Melke couldn’t breathe, couldn’t inhale, couldn’t—
    “Excuse me,” she said, standing and pushing the chair aside. Her steps were fast and clumsy as she ran down the corridor and through the kitchen. She slammed back the bolt on the door and rushed outside. She could breathe here, huge gasping breaths.
    What had she done?
    Melke sat heavily on the ground and hugged herself, her eyes squeezed shut against tears. Endal sat down beside her. He whined.
    She cried in the dark and empty yard while Endal lay beside her, pressed against her hip. She felt his warmth, the softness and thickness of his coat, and smelled the hound-scent of him.
    The tears stopped. It was impossible to cry forever. She’d learned that as a child. The air was dry and cool against her skin, the ground hard. Endal was a solid warmth.
    It was dark.
    Self-loathing gave way to fear. It’s dark.
    Blackness, darkness. It was impossible to move, to breathe. Panic rose in her chest. There was a scream inside her. She was alone in the dark and she would die here. They’d hurt her. They’d make her beg. They’d—
    Endal shifted against her. He laid his chin on her knee.
    Melke shut her eyes. She inhaled a shuddering breath that smelled of dust and dryness and hound.
    This was no cell with a stone floor and rough, dank walls that pressed in on her. There were no guards. She was free.
    And she had done a terrible wrong.
    She stood, stiffly and clumsily. Her heart hammered in her throat. The breaths she inhaled were shallow, panicky. Darkness smothered her. Her eyes were wide and sightless. Endal leaned against her leg.
    It took forever to reach the farmhouse. Minutes. Hours.