Chapter 99
Thomas stopped, clutching me to him as he bent into the wind. "Hear that."
I listened, only catching brief snatches of sound I couldn't place. "What is it?"
He kept moving, bringing me closer to the source, because when he finally stopped again, I heard it. A piano, its vibrant notes drifting in and out of the snowstorm. I knew that song. I hated that song.
"The Scratching Post," I called toward Thomas's neck. "The brothel at the end of town."
It hadn't burned down. By luck or by design, it still stood while the rest of the town was no more. Did that mean everyone had flocked there? Judging from the music pouring out of it, someone was having a party.