Datura rolled up the whip she had braided with shards of sharpened metal tips. She stuffed it in the leather pouch and slung it over her shoulder, so the pouch hung at her left hip within reach of her hand. She pulled her favorite curved dagger from her drawer and polished the etched blade. She examined the razor edge of the blade before slipping it into the sheath in the sleeve of her shirt. With a bend of her wrist, she could access the handle with one hand. Tugging on her leather belt around her waist she ran her hand over the half dozen small patches sewn on it to be sure each contained their choice poisons. Then she slipped on her black cloak and pulled the hood over her head and the black scarf up over her face leaving only her dark eyes visible. The dark cloak dragged an inch from the ground covering her entire body down to the knee-high black boots.

On the table sat the one poison she would likely not be able to use again. She covered it with a napkin to take her mind off of it. Every night when she closed her eyes she would dream of the girls. She would wake up in a cold sweat and swear she heard Brute’s raging voice.

It had been years since she had given the Imp the sacrifice and her guilt never faded. Neither did her paranoia. He would figure it out one day. Whenever she would go into town day or night, she expected to see Brute watching her. How long would it take him to figure out it was his own sister that took his daughters from him? That his own sister had been the cause of his wife leaving him. Datura shook off the shame and grabbed the spotted flower from the table.

She slipped into the narrow passage between the walls of the castle and made her way up the stairs. To any man, the halls she walked would be as black as coal. For her, the lack of torches made it as bright as noonday. She watched as a rat scurried down the hall ahead of her to get away.

When she came to the split in the hall she silently slipped to the left and stopped outside King Baron’s room. She listened holding her breath to the sound of sleepy breathing on the other side. Wrapping her fingers around the latch she eased the latch back with a nearly inaudible creak. Then she pushed the door open slowly listening for a change in his breathing. She inhaled and released a sigh. He lay on his side facing away from her. Datura walked around the bed and lay the potted flower on the table beside his head.

Baron had grown much thicker since his wife had died, yet he still retained his athletic strength. His dark hair was a tangled nest upon his head. Datura wanted to lean down and kiss his brow but feared he would awaken with a start. So, she did what she always did and just watched for a minute as his chest rose and fell. Finally, she crept back to the hidden door and pulled it shut behind her. Baron awoke and looked around feeling as if he were being watched but the room was silent and dark.

Datura made her way through the passages descending down and down until she reached the ground floor. Outside a mist fell from the bright night sky. She slipped from the bushes in the garden and walked down the steep hill that led to the Crull district. The houses changed from stone to wood as she entered the poorest district of Windal.

The moan of a drunk in the alley rolling over in the trash he slept in turned her head briefly. He did not see her. She pulled up her hood and pulled her dark scarf over her face. She preferred to blend into the shadows at all times. At the corner, by the old Crull pub, she turned up the street and made her way to the small cottage of Abigale.

As Abigale slept inside, young Nabal walked the streets each night. Datura followed once again. The small dark-haired boy slipped into the shadows of the alley and stalked in the darkness toward the store. Datura followed curiously. He pulled a small knife from a pouch at his side and slipped it in the crack of the alley door. He looked each way and coughed as he jammed the handle with his palm covering the sound of the door opening.

Like a phantom, he vanished into the opening. Datura edged to the window and looked inside. The boy moved deftly through the dark store slipping bread, meat, and coin into the leather bag he carried. A lantern lit up at the top of the stairs and the boy slithered like a weasel through the cluttered room and out the back door.

She followed him until they were well away from the store, then gliding up behind him she tapped him on the shoulder. He spun his blade flashing out in his hand. He saw no one. Datura sat on the brick wall above his head, as if she were on the ground.

The boy breathed heavily and stared wide-eyed into the dark alley. Datura ruffled through the leather bag she had pulled from his shoulder. She pulled out a hunk of bread and tore off a piece. The boy felt along the ground in the darkness below feeling for the bag.

Datura looked down into the window at the people sleeping inside. She smiled to herself wondering what their reaction would be if they opened their eyes to see a silhouette of a person sitting on the outside of their dwelling, suspended unnaturally in the air. Datura dropped down making no more sound than a leaf in the forest as she fell. “Are you looking for this?” She stood upright on the ground.

Nabal fell backward at the sudden voice before him. “Who is there?” His voice trembled.

Datura knelt before him and looked into his eyes. She was mere feet away and he could not see her. He searched the darkness with panicking wild eyes. “I am like you Nabal.” His eyes fell on her at the sound of her voice, but she could tell they still could not pick her out in the dark. “I do what I must. To survive this harsh world, we have to do many things we are ashamed of.”

“What do you want with me.” Nabal felt out with his hand. “I don’t have anything of value, just a few coins.”

Datura leaned back so his hand would not brush her. “I want to teach you how to fill this bag with more than week-old bread.” She walked up the wall to avoid his touch and stepped down behind him as he reached further forward. “I want to teach you to be one with the night.” She whispered directly into his ear.

Nabal jumped forward with fear. “How do you do that?” He swung his hand where her voice had tickled his ear and caught only air. “How can you see anything at all? This night is thick as mud.”

“Do you want my help or not Nabal?” Datura spoke as soft as silk as she backed up the wall again, her voice barely reaching his ears.

“What are you?” Nabal asked looking upward. A shadow on the wall blocked the stars above. A figure stood on the wall looking down at him. His knees gave out and he fell to his butt. He pushed with his feet sliding his butt back to the wall behind him. The figure blocking the stars knelt down beside the lantern that hung from an outrigger on the wall. The spark of flint gave Nabal the flash of a woman sitting on the brick. Then the lantern slowly glowed to life. Before him now was a pale woman with eyes as black as oil. Blue veins crept up her neck to her cheekbones. Her hair was pulled back in a single tight braid. Her black cloak hung down around her like the wings of a bat as it slept under an awning.

“I am just a woman.” Datura held one hand before her eyes to block the darkness flowing from the lantern to blind her sight. “A woman that knew your father once. When he was a good man. When you were not yet born. He has forgotten you Nabal. I have not. I have come to do what your father should have done. Teach you to care for yourself. Since you have already chosen a profession, I will just make you much better at it.”

“You want to make me a better thief?” The boy laughed, “Are you a banshee?”

“Hardly boy.” Datura sliced her palm with her hand. Blood oozed out and dripped on the ground near him. “I bleed just as you do.”

Nabal put his finger in the blood and lifted it to his face to examine it, “you say you know my father? Who is he?”

“That is something we will have to come back to at a much later time. For now, how would you like to see the world outside of Windal?”

“I’m only thirteen, my mother would have a handful of my hair when I got back.”

“Oh, Abigale. She is an old friend of mine. I will speak with her. She won’t trouble you. Between you and I, she has been wanting to spend time with that hairy-chested man that has been hanging about.”

“My mother is an upright woman; she is not like those women at the pub.” Nabal huffed.

“I agree, but even an upright woman gets lonely Nabal. I meant nothing by it.” Datura covered her heart with her hand.

“Why would I want to leave Windal?” Nabal stood to his feet still looking up at the woman on the wall.

“Do you like taking three coppers at a time from poor Crull merchants?” Nabal looked down his cheeks burning. Datura tossed his bag at his feet. “There is a trade road that runs along Windal wood all the way to Larsa and Shinar. Much deeper pockets travel that road. You could fill that bag with much better loot.”

“I am small, and they have guards for their caravans.”

“If the man in the store had seen you, would you have fared better?” Datura stood and walked down the wall to the ground beside him. “I will teach you to be as silent as the snow. You will be under my personal protection. I promise to bring you home in one piece.”

“Why would you do this for me?” Nabal looked up into her eyes studying her.

The stone pulsed against her neck. The Imp in the stone was why. He demanded it to her like a hammer inside her mind he relentlessly pressed it upon her. “You will one day make it right for the Crull.” She lied.

“How will I do that? I’m the poorest and smallest Crull of all the boys my age.”

“One step at a time Nabal.” Datura held out her blood-covered hand. Nabal stood a moment looking at it. She held her palm up patiently waiting until the boy cautiously took her hand. “First, let’s take a walk.”