He collapsed next to Raif, holding the boy’s head in his lap, but he could think of nothing. There was nothing to say, nothing to do. He sat, gently rocking the corpse in the warehouse full of corpses, the rats in the shadows the only witnesses to his agony. Rocking back and forth, the vast emptiness around him still seemed to echo with his cries.
Targ went to Sarah’s house; he knew Marissa would still be there. The blood was off him. He had swum in the bay to get rid of its sight and scent. But it was bad. The curse had raged through his veins, alive with its deadly passions. Now it was all through, all done. If only the second one hadn’t begged so much, if only he hadn’t cried . . .
Inside the house Sarah and Marissa sat in the main room as if waiting. He guessed that Marissa must have told her friend that this was the night of Cade’s vengeance. It didn’t matter. He sat next to them, thankful for their silence, their lack of questions.
Cade came in an hour later. They were all shaken from their private thoughts by the sound of his fist on the door. Sarah went to the door and looked through the grate, her face turning white at what she saw on the other side. She unbarred the door to let her brother-in-iaw enter.
The smell of the corpse wafted in with the wind. Targ growled at the scent but he said nothing. Sarah stood to one side of the door. The other two sat facing it silently. Facing Cade.
He stood there, holding Raif’s body. Behind him the gray night Writhed, outlining his powerful form, along with his pitiful burden. The light was not bright, but it was bright enough to show his bloodstained clothes. Bright enough to show the one tear winding its way through the scars and drying blood on his face.