4 Three

Rose left Ennid's equal parts terrified and elated. She could do this. She would make her mother proud, wherever the stars placed her.

Before she'd ever attempted to hunt a beast, Rose had done all she could to prepare. Researched legends and folklore of men able to transform into monsters, recent areas of sighting. Combat training. The mental preparation it took for Rose to even try to hunt was almost too embarrassing to recall. She wasn't a killer. The thought of harming another person, no matter how evil, made her sick.

All of that changed after Soman, the criminal warlock, was released from prison early in exchange for adopting newly orphaned Rose. After losing her mother, she'd been hopeful hearing she was getting a father. It had been just Rose and her mother for as long as she could remember. Social workers from the orphanage moved Rose and her meager belongings from her childhood home, which she later learned had been burnt to the ground, to Soman's tiny apartment above Chapter 123, a seedy pub, and left her without a goodbye.

Soman took one look at little Rose with her tiny trunk and grimy dress, and immediately brought her downstairs to work at the bar. He took all of her earnings at the end of the night and the next day spent every last coin on ugly women and alcohol. Rose had never hated anyone more. Every time he held out his sweaty hand for her money — checking with the barkeep beforehand to know the exact amount so she couldn't squirrel any away — she imagined chopping it off. Every time he leered at her mandatory serving costume — an itchy dress with almost no back — she thought about carving out his eyes in his sleep. Time in prison did nothing to drive away his bar friends either, and so they knew her also, spending their visits "accidentally" spilling drinks or pawing at her chest. She went to bed on a hay pallet seething, every night. Her rage was a live flame and it burned to be released. She imagined that this was how her mother felt about the beasts and decided to use her anger as fuel. After dozens of books on fighting and sometimes practicing on the light pole in the back alley, she learned how to defend herself. Her hatred needed no honing. It was a scythe, a mental determination.

The night she killed the first beast was one she'd never forget. It was late October, chilly, and after work she'd sharpened her dagger, stole a cloak from Soman, and snuck out the fire escape. The route to Broderick Orville's discreet building four blocks away was etched into her mind, along with all the rumours surrounding the thirty-two year old fletcher. If working at a pub had any perks, it was keeping up on town gossip.

Broderick's newlywed wife had been out slumming it with her over-primped friends and drank a bit too many absinthe sidecars. In a whisper that was more like a shout, she'd told her friends that she thought "Brody" was having an affair. The past month he'd snuck out twice and returned after sunup, distant and moody. Rose, who had been clearing glasses a few tables away, nearly dropped a martini glass. Snuck out twice, didn't come back until dawn. Sensitive to normalcy. She'd found her first beast.

Next month was when she caught him, right when he revealed himself. Rose remembered running into the woods the most excited she'd been in years. It was almost too easy finding him, stalking a skinny buck peeling bark off a tree. She had watched the thing in awe and terror. He was monstrous —with horns longer than her and claws the length of her foot. Still, calling upon her burning rage she had for her father, Rose climbed the tree above the monster and dropped right onto his huge shoulder. The beast, being so surprised that a human, a girl, no less, had snuck up on him that he couldn't dodge the dagger she plunged into his neck. Rose had also discovered that her knife was enchanted that day as the beast fell, crippled by the poison.

After Broderick died, Rose cut out her first heart, recalling what Amazing Anatomy said about organ placement. Once she had the heart stowed in a burlap sack, she hurried to Ennid's. Rose had approached the wizard the day before asking what the best method was for lifting curses off of the hearts of monsters. "Hypothetically", she'd added at his look of surprise. "You'd bring it to me, of course." he replied, amused. Rose didn't think that he took her seriously until the next night when she trudged into the shop covered head to toe in blood and carrying a rotting heart.

She looked behind her shoulder at the quiet, little building before heading down the alley. Chapter 123 was a comfortable walking distance from Ennid's, as was most of the lower districts. Even if Rose were tired she could make the trip. After all, her dagger did most of the work. Rose had caught Arlind Súghall without much tracking. Easy, she dared think, approaching the pub.

She slipped through the back door and hurried up the back staircase to change into the wretched serving dress. Her slightly-reddish hair was in its usual low ponytail and needed only a bit of combing. Swapping her worn lace-up boots for silver pumps, Rose caught a glimpse of her reflection in the hallway mirror and looked away. A haunted look adorned her features, a pale sheen to her perpetually bloodless face.

Not that anyone would notice.

Rose rushed into the bar and retrieved her tray, smoothing down her skirt before striding out on the floor. The pub closed at two, and it was nearing one thirty. The only people left were her father and the visitor he swindled into talking to him: a dark-haired man facing away from her. They were both obviously drunk. The mystery man's curly head nodded like a madman while Soman talked quite loudly. When she'd left, he'd already been drunk, otherwise there would have been no way to slip off. The usual barkeep was on vacation, so she'd quietly left.

And what luck she did.

"Ross! I mean, Rose! Get over here and refresh our drinks," Soman shouted suddenly, noticing his adopted daughter's presence.

Steeling herself, Rose pasted on a pleasant expression and breezed over. "What would you…" she began, then faltered. The dark-haired man drinking with her father, no longer facing away, looked at Rose, his ebony eyes glittering with a gloss of drunkenness.

"Hello," he drawled in a gravelly voice, thickly imbibed.

"Er..hello. Can I- Would you like—?"

"Rose, get two whiskeys on the rocks and quit your droolin'"

She waited for the man to look away and laugh, but he said nothing. In fact, he was looking at her so deeply that she was frozen. A smile played on his wide lips, elongating his square jaw.

"Rose!"

Rose jumped, nearly dropping her tray. The man looked away, finally, and Rose ran off. With shaky hands she poured the drinks, staring at the back of his curly head. Men had looked at her plenty of times, but not like that. Soman had never allowed her to have a lover, not that she wanted one. Maybe…

Whiskey spilled over the edge of the glass.

"Crap," Rose swore quietly, mopping up the puddle.

Without looking the man's way that time, Rose delivered the drinks and went to clean tables. Still, she could feel those eyes on her back. To block out the image she thought about her mission. The next prospect on her list was a man named Anthony, last name undetermined. A report in the Daily Tale last week held a strange furred monster accountable for a raid near the Grand Park. Rose wasn't sure how she'd manage walking that far — the park was far uptown, near the palace. She had no carriage or horse, and certainly no money for a Royale Car, mechanical transportation reserved for rich or royal folk with the fees for those contraptions. Not that she was bitter. It was only a minor obstacle.

"Rose!" came Soman's voice again. She didn't bother looking friendly as she walked over.

The men had started a game of poker, something Chapter 123 forbade but who was Soman to follow the rules.

"Rose. Since ol' Johnny is off tanning his seersucking white ass, we broke out the deck. Be our dealer."

There was zero room for debate. Avoiding both men's eyes, Rose pulled up a chair and took the dirty deck of cards from Soman, who deliberately brushed his fingers against hers. Trying not to look disgusted, Rose shuffled the deck with a practiced hand. Although never having played herself, many under-the-table games played by bargoers gave her a skill she'd likely never have use for.

As she dealt the cards, the men argued over terms. Soman, an experienced gambler, demanded a million dollars, an outrageously ridiculous demand for an outrageously drunk man. For all its outrageousness, however, it certainly looked like the dark-haired man could afford it. There was money in that fine tunic and clean shaven face.

"Done," he slurred, rattling the table with a slammed fist.

Soman guffawed. "And your demand?"

He thought it over, first inspecting his hand as only true players do. "A kiss. From the lady."

Rose looked up in alarm. The nerve. The arrogance. Assuming that she would accept such an offer. Was it that obvious to those around that Soman was Rose's boss?

Soman laughed harder. "Oh, do another. You can have at her. Guardians know she's whored her way around this bar."

Inside, Rose saw red, but in a show of immense strength — the strength that stopped her from slitting the warlock's throat every day — she turned the first card over, completely ignoring the black eyes searching her.

"Alright. Then you must come to my castle for an..extended stay."

"Castle, you say?" Soman hummed, pretending to think it over.

Just say yes, Rose wanted to scream. Any vacation he took would give her the perfect opportunity to hunt Anthony.

"Sure thing. Now let's—"

"I want a promise."

"Sure, sure, I promise. Now turn the cards, Rose."

Giddily, she started the game, even risking a glance at her savior. His brows were knitted in concentration as Soman put three chicken bones in the pot. For once, Rose paid attention to the game and secretly prayed that the dark stranger won. For all his wickedness, Soman was especially crafty and could bluff his way out of anything. They were both drunk. Perhaps she could throw a few cards. Increase the odds.

Then the stranger put in double the chicken bones and Rose forgot her plan. Maybe she wouldn't have to do a thing.

Soman was calculating attentively. The cards visible weren't very good and to bet again would seem too eager, but if he called then his partner could raise a bet again. He doesn't have a good hand, Rose thought gleefully. The warlock eventually called, and was answered by a pile of cold bones.

"All in," the stranger declared, swigging down the last of his drink. She joyously watched Soman squirm. The audacity alone was entirely foreign to him. He was used to winning.

As if remembering this himself, Soman shoved his own pile of bones forward, glaring at the smirking man. She could almost hear his thoughts: Either way, he won, but no way would he forfeit. Slowly and with barely contained smugness, he laid down his pair of fours. The stranger looked at the cards, nodded once, glanced at Rose, and laid down his hand.

For a moment there was silence.

Soman exploded. "Cheater! You cheat!"

Rose grinned at the cards. A full house. A beautiful full house. She stood and moved to clear the cards, but a clammy hand seized her by the hair.

"You," Soman hissed, foul-breathed in her ear. She gasped in pain as he pulled her off the chair. "Threw the cards, didn't you? Eager to be rid of me?"

"Come, Soman. A deal's a deal," the stranger said from somewhere behind her.

Soman growled. "I will be going nowhere."

"You promised."

He turned on him. "You.."

Rose took the chance and twisted, aiming a kick at Soman's pudgy stomach. The warlock wheezed and fell back against the table, knocking off the contents in a shower of glass and chicken wing bones. He looked up blearily.

"You little bitch!"

Rose backed up a step as he picked himself off the floor and came after her. The dark man stepped in his path, much taller now that he was standing.

"Soman-" he began, but was interrupted.

"Take her. She will take my place for the promise. I don't want to see her ungrateful face here anymore." He breathed heavy, wild-eyed.

Rose's jaw fell open. She must have heard wrong. "Soman-"

"GO!"

Go stay with the stranger to his castle? Leave the pub and Soman?

"When do we leave?" she asked breathlessly.

It didn't matter if the stranger had been an ogre, she would have gone. There was nothing there for her but bad memories and pain. And Ennid, she thought with a pang, but he would more than understand. Soman was drunk and an idiot and would likely regret this tomorrow when he woke up with no way of getting money or entertainment, but he looked deadly serious standing there.

"I was thinking now," the stranger insisted. Spittle was growing at the corners of the warlock's puckered mouth.

It took Rose thirty seconds to sprint upstairs for her trunk. It was hers as a child, and only contained her maps, few books, clothes and weaponry, and mission journals bursting with paper clippings, diagrams, and theories as to where the rest of the beasts presided. When she reappeared, the stranger was waiting by the entrance while Soman looked on furiously. She rushed over without a second glance, threw open the door, and stepped outside.

Had the air always smelled this sweet?, she wondered, rushing down the pub's front step and out into the empty street. Was the sky always so beautiful? Vaguely aware of her surroundings, Rose stumbled down the road, wanting to skip and shout,"I'm free, I'm free!" She could go anywhere. Sail to Atlantis. Visit the palace. Live in a library with two cats and a rabbit. Visions of a life spent in finery swept through her head. Going to parties. Meeting new friends. Days upon days to plot her next mission and the freedom to do so without looking behind her shoulder or padlocking her trunk.

Only when the man cleared his throat did Rose remember that she wasn't alone. She'd walked two blocks without realizing.

"Forgive me for being so rude," she smiled at him. "It's just..I haven't…"

"That's quite alright," he replied, sounding momentarily not incredibly intoxicated. "I just realized that I don't remember your name, and seeing as how you are my new guest, it would be rude of me to constantly refer to you as her or woman.

Beaming, Rose dipped a curtsy and answered," Rosabella Anne-Marie Quienland. But I prefer Rose."

"Rose," he repeated. "Rose. Well, you're certainly as beautiful as one."

Rose didn't blush, nor did she even acknowledge the compliment. Rose wasn't listening at all. Warning bells were ringing inside her. A thrumming of the blood and sharpening of the senses. A familiar feeling.

There was a beast nearby.