Edge Of The Blade
Edge Of The Blade
Vera drove through the flooded streets of Greenly Bay in heavy silence, the truck’s tires cutting deep wakes through the murky water that now seemed a permanent scar on the town. The cold night air seeped through the cracked window, bringing along with it the heavy, earthy stench of stagnant floodwater. Every splash of the tires sent droplets pattering against the undercarriage. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles ached.
The deal she had made with Orishirishi weighed on her like a stone in her chest. One child’s life for one ancient dagger. It felt like betrayal. It felt like the only choice she had left.
She pulled up to her apartment building, the headlights cutting through the thick fog that clung to everything like a living shroud. The engine died with a tired rumble, and she sat there for a long moment, staring at the dark windows of her place. The faint glow from inside told her Kane was home. She took a deep breath, the damp air filling her lungs, and stepped out.
The stairs creaked under her boots as she climbed, each step echoing her exhaustion. When she pushed open the door, the familiar scent of their shared space—coffee, gun oil, and the faint musk of Kane’s presence—wrapped around her like a fragile comfort.
Kane was sitting at the small kitchen table, shirtless, nursing a split lip and bruised ribs with a damp cloth. Blood had dried in thin lines down his neck and chest. His face was a map of fresh bruises, one eye already swelling shut. He looked up as she entered, managing a weak, crooked smile.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough. “You’re back.”
Vera crossed the room in three quick strides and knelt beside him, her hands gently touching his face, careful not to press on the worst of the injuries. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the clean scent of the cloth he was using. “Are you okay?”
Kane winced but caught her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I’m alright. Banged up, but nothing broken. Orishirishi paid me a visit wearing Eleanor’s body. She wanted the dagger. I didn’t give it to her.”
He tried to smile again, but it came out more like a grimace. “She wasn’t happy about that.”
Vera’s stomach twisted. She could see the finger-shaped bruises already darkening around his throat. “She hurt you because of me.”
“No,” Kane said firmly, pulling her closer despite the pain. “She hurt me because she’s a monster. This isn’t on you.”
Vera rested her forehead against his for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of him—sweat, blood, and that underlying warmth that always grounded her. Then she pulled back, her voice low.
“She came to me too. At the precinct. She has one dagger already… the one you hid. And she wants the second. She said if I bring her the dagger from Kivior tonight, she’ll return the girl safe. The same way Tommy came back.”
Kane’s expression darkened instantly. He sat up straighter, ignoring the pain in his ribs. “You made a deal with her?”
Vera looked away, guilt and defiance warring on her face. “I didn’t have a choice, Kane. Sandra’s just a little girl. Her parents are terrified. If there’s even a chance to get her back alive…”
Kane stood slowly, wincing, and paced a few steps. The wooden floorboards creaked under his weight. “You can’t trust her. She’s playing us. This is exactly what she wants—us handing over weapons that could actually hurt her kind.”
“I know,” Vera whispered. “But what else can I do? We’ve lost so many already. I can’t let another child die if I can stop it.”
They stood in heavy silence for a long moment, the distant sound of floodwater lapping against the building filtering through the windows. Finally, Kane exhaled. “Then we go to the Thames. Together. We tell them what’s happening and convince them to give up the dagger. For the girl.”
Vera nodded, relief flickering in her eyes. “Thank you.”
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The drive to the Pine Hostel was tense. The truck’s headlights cut through the thick fog rolling off the flooded streets, illuminating twisted trees and half-submerged fences. The air inside the cab smelled of damp leather and the metallic tang of Kane’s dried blood. Neither spoke much. The weight of the decision pressed down on them like the low-hanging clouds overhead.
When they arrived, Kivior met them at the door and his face was etched with concern. He invited them inside the warmly lit room where Lina waited with steaming mugs of tea. The scent of chamomile and honey filled the air. It was a fragile comfort against the night’s chill.
They sat around the small table. Vera spoke first, her voice steady but heavy. She told them everything—Orishirishi’s visit, the deal, Sandra’s disappearance, the threat.
Kivior listened without interrupting, his hand resting on Lina’s. When Vera finished, he leaned back, eyes troubled. “We want to save the child. God knows we do. But there are no assurances Orishirishi will keep her word. We cannot trust her.”
Lina nodded, her voice soft but firm. “She is ancient. Deceptive. Giving her the dagger might only make things worse.”
The conversation stretched long into the night. They argued. They weighed the risks. Plans were formed and discarded. Eventually, a fragile strategy emerged—one they would carry out under the cover of darkness.
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Several hours later, the night had deepened into true darkness. Vera stood alone beneath a grove of old trees on the edge of town, the headlights of her cruiser pointed toward her, cutting through the thick fog like twin blades of light. The air was cold and damp, carrying the constant murmur of floodwater and the faint, distant hoot of an owl.
She held the second dagger, which was carefully wrapped in a red cloth. It felt so heavy in her hand. She waited, heart pounding, breath visible in the chill air.
Then, without warning, Orishirishi appeared from the darkness, stepping out of the fog like a nightmare given form. Eleanor Hawthorne’s body moved with unnatural grace as she approached, black eyes gleaming in the headlights.
“Sheriff,” the demoness purred, voice layered and ancient. “Good to see that you’re here. Did you bring what’s mine?”