Page 88 of Lost in the Dark

What had her grandmother said of the victims?

Hands shaking, she wracked her memory.

Why, oh why did books linger so long on the monsters, with barely a thought to the victims?

“He comes!” Enulf’s cry reached her. “Run, Anna. Run!”

Demons take it. She was out of time.

“Move, worm.” Rathbytten’s growl reverberated down the cellar stairs. “You serve me and this house. How dare you betray that binding by showing the human her place before it’s time.”

“No,” Enulf growled in reply. “You can’t have her.”

“I am the lord of this manor!” Rathbytten yelled. “I'll take all!”

Sounds reached her from the kitchen above—the smack of heavy fists hitting flesh, followed by grunts of pain. The floor shuddered as something massive fell. Her jaw fell open and she stared upward at the open doorway. Enulf was trying to protect her? Despite everything he stood between his brother and the cellar—for her?

“Focus, Anna,” she breathed.

Twisting around, she stared at the bodies. She had to figure this out. The mora claimed they were trapped here, that he still held them. They were dead, and yet their spirits remained trapped just as their remains were…

She sucked in between her teeth.

Her grandmother had said bodies had power, and to have a piece of the dead was to command its voice—that was why she’d insisted Anna perform a ritual when she died, to prevent her spirit from being bound. Anna had been forced to hide the request from her father—he couldn't abide any witchcraft that might offend the traveling Chastry priests—but she had done as bid.

She could do so again.

Hands shaking, she pulled out a small set of scissors from her pocket, one she’d used to trim the clothes for cleaning, and then hurried to the six bodies. As quickly as she could, she cut a lock of each of their hair, wrapping each into a neat loop and tucking it into the folds of her skirt.

“Anna…” Enulf’s voice broke with defeat. “Run…”

Shoving the scissors back into her apron, she spun around to face the ladder.

Rathbytten’s massive, green-skinned form pounded down the stairs. His beard shone blue and silver, his eyes scorched with fury. Those tusks, yellowed with age and gods knew what else, were as long as her forearm and had their ends sharpened to wicked points.

“I told you never to enter here.” He grabbed her around the waist, trapping her hands against her sides, and carried her out of the larder as if she weighed no more than a chick from the henhouse. The ring of keys fell to the floor with a clatter. “For your disobedience, your life is forfeit.”

“My life was already forfeit,” she spat.

He dropped her on the kitchen floor, knocking the wind from her lungs.

She tried to crawl away and he stepped on her skirts, pinning her in place. “Gude. Come! We shall have our feast today.”

“Brother, please…” Enulf’s voice was thin, pleading.

Her heart lurched at the sight of him, blood streaming from his nose and lip. One arm hung limp, and one of his tusks had been snapped off, the broken tip lying beneath the stove. Yet he still dragged himself across the floor toward her. “I beg you, Brother. We kept Gude, why not Anna?”

“Useless.” Rathbytten sneered. “Your easy meals have made you weak.”

Enulf pulled himself closer. “Gude serves in the kitchen. Let Anna keep house and—

“Enough!” Teeth bared like a beast, Rathbytten stalked to his half-brother and his booted foot cracked into Enulf’s side. The sharp snap of bone reverberated through the air. “You forget our duty—ourplace. We trolls are the true rulers of the north—not some weak mortal man who’d fail to fell a deer. We guard this land until the world remembers the meaning of real power.”

Momentarily freed, Anna crawled to where Enulf’s broken tusk lay. Ensuring Rathbytten remained focused on his brother, she tucked it into her skirts.

She knew better than to run.

“Gude!” Rathbytten bellowed. “Come! We feast!”

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