Byrn bowed, ready to take his leave, when one of the back doors opened. A young woman stepped out of it, wrapped in a blanket, eyes wide with confusion. Honey-kissed brown hair fell around her shoulders, and an angry scratch marred an otherwise perfect cheek. Byrn could smell her mortality, the blood pulsing through her veins. A snack for his master, perhaps.
"I beg pardon, wherewhere am I?"
Malick swept from his chair, a wide smile on his face. "So the child wakes. Come, come, how do you feel?"
She clutched the blanket tighter, terrified eyes darting from object to object, from face to face. Byrn could feel her brain whirling; feel her fear and confusion. "II amI am unwell."
Malick walked toward her, stopping close enough to touch. "Such a pity, for one so flushed with youth and life to feel ……
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