by Mark Eller
* * * *
Turning to her right, Tessla walked past street venders and storefronts. She walked past alleys and ignored a side street leading to the Hellhole Tavern. From the information given her, her prey had escaped the tavern’s environs. It now wandered the city searching for the escaped spawn.
She traveled down Wanderer’s Lane and turned left when she reached the Warrens. Here the buildings grew closer together until the street became too narrow for a wagon. After walking three blocks, she passed two dead dogs lying against Mother Brood’s front door, flies buzzing lazily around their heads, worms burrowing into their bodies. Tessla kicked the carcasses aside, opened the door, and stepped within.
Inside, her lover waited. His soul, pale blue and translucent orange, was the largest she had ever seen.
“I’ve been worried,” Del said. He tossed her a small pouch. “This is all the cirweed I could chase down.”
Nodding, Tessla tucked the cirweed behind her belt. Del appeared expectant, so she gave him a kiss which seemed to make his senses reel. It did nothing for her. She seldom felt anything since her escape from Hell, and when she did it was mostly discomfort and pain. Sometimes, when the cirweed faded, when the poison eating her almost broke free, sometimes she felt a faint stir when they fucked. Affection, maybe, but she wasn’t sure.
She pulled away from Del’s arms and shook her head at his expectant, sex hungry look. “Hunters seek the spawn. They need to die before they discover Jolson left Yylse.”
Dell’s expression grew wary. His features firmed. “I’ve never killed anyone. I don’t want to start now.”
“You won’t kill,” Tessla laughed, “but you don’t hesitate to maim. I’ve seen your arena fights.”
Del shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t do that anymore.”
“No,” Tessla agreed. “You only take pieces of people’s lives away when you steal.” Smiling, she gently touched his shoulder with black talons. “I’m the one who kills.”
She studied his hazel eyes after giving a quick glance to the side where two of Mother Brood’s children stood. “I need help finding my prey.”
“Harlo would be perfect for this,” Del noted.
“Yes,” Tessla agreed, “but he is not here right now. He is busy playing bandit while shepherding that worthless lordling of his.” She looked toward the children. “No, this time I must use these.”
“Broody will get mad,” Andro, the boy, said. “She doesn’t like it when we go back to the streets.”
“Does she have to know?”
Andro scratched his head and shook a small shower of dandruff free. “Suppose not. She won’t be back for a few hours. Who are we looking for?”
“Something from Hell,” Tessla answered. “That’s all I know. Look for something only a few weeks or months out of the hole.”
The girl, Yarlen, released a quick laugh. “Take your pick. There’s plenty of hellkind wandering around right now. I’ve heard the king ordered them left alone unless they start killing too many people.”
“Most stay near the Hellhole,” Del added. “I’ll take that area. The kids can concentrate on the rest of the city?”
“Agreed,” Tessla said.
While Andro gathered seven children to help with their cause, Tessla settled into a padded chair and waited until each was brought before her. When they came to her, she touched each child, attaching them to the invisible tendrils of her web. Finished, she bid them on their way, and then Del gave her a perfunctory kiss before following out the door. Tessla remained behind, palms flat upon the chair’s arms, fingers spread, an invisible thread stretching from each finger to connect with a searcher.
Feeling like a relaxed spider, Tessla closed her eyes and felt each thread’s vibration. An hour passed, and then two. Finally, she felt a faint stirring along two strands, Yarlen and Andro, only a block apart, and Del was nearby.
After marking the terminus of their threads, she sent a recall along the others. Rising, Tessla stretched and placed the stem of her freshly filled pipe between her lips. Cirweed smoke entered her, centered her, and numbed her pain. She stepped out of Mother Brood’s home, closed the door, and put her pipe away. One of the dead dogs was gone. She smelled the bitter stench of gnome.