On Death's Honor

Chapter 41: No Such Thing As Bad Manners

"Beamol . . . Is your uncle?" I asked, following the boy throughout the city. The buildings were closing in together, becoming more and more crowded the further we walked. And while I should have been more focused on the potential that this kid could be leading me into a trap, I couldn't tear my eyes away from his head. The bronze-colored skin, I knew, he got from his father, whichever brother that could be.

But he had blond hair, and, from the few times I was able to see his full face, dark, stormy gray eyes. Or maybe I was just imagining it? Every bit of me wanted to spin the boy around, make him face me so that I could get a proper look.

You're just paranoid, I tried to tell myself. He's not who you think he is. Beamol has three brothers. This kid's father could be any one of them.

"Yeah," the kid responded. "He's a bit of a brooder, but he's my uncle."

He has good reason to be, I thought. The man had his entire life turned upside down, all because of me.

"Say, have we met, before?" The kid asked suddenly, turning to face me. "Not many know my uncle's first name."

He did have gray eyes. And that face. If he had a bit more of a feminine touch to him . . . If his cheekbones were not as prominent, his jaw not as broad . . .

Beamol, what have you done?

"I . . . Suppose we have," I said awkwardly, tearing my eyes away from the boy. My pulse pounded loud enough in my ears that for a moment, I couldn't hear anything else.

Remember to breathe, Wrenva. But I couldn't. If this boy was really who I thought he was, then either I was dealing with a seriously deranged skinwalker and a grieving father, or Beamol had accomplished the impossible. Skinwalker. Let's go with that.

No way the real kid was alive.

"Are you alright?"

I closed my eyes.

"I have a condition," I said, refusing to look at him. "Please, just take me to your uncle."

If his father sees me, however . . .

"Very well," he said, although I could tell that he was starting to become cautious. "I have to help my father with some things, but my uncle will surely be home, soon." He stopped walking, pointing towards a narrow, tall house to our right. It was every bit as gloomy and dark as the rest of the city, blending in perfectly with its surroundings. "Just wait outside on the porch."

I nodded to show I understood.

"Thank-you, Travik," I said. The boy paused.

"You know my name?"

"We've met, before," I reminded, my palms beginning to sweat. He wasn't a skinwalker. They never went by false names. "You were incredibly young."

"Oh! So did you know my mother?" The boy asked, brightening up a bit. "Father doesn't talk about her, much, but-"

"Can't say I did," I lied, shaking my head. He obviously was hoping for a different response, but he attempted to shrug off the disappointment, anyway.

"Oh, well. Hope my uncle can help you."

"Thank-you."

Still, the youth lingered for a moment, conflicted about things that remained a mystery to me. The he shook his head with a sigh, giving me a brief wave before rushing down the street to where I assumed his father would be.

What am I getting myself into?

-.-.-.-.-.-

The Caster of Truth was exhausted after a long day studying ancient, cryptic tomes. He supposed he shouldn't complain - after all, he could have been stuck reinforcing seals to cracked portals like his fellow peers. Yet, the only reason he got out of that was because he was distracted, rather than him finding something better to work on.