Chapter 16: [05.3] The Scar that Never Heals

Isla cast the most scathing look she could conjure. Only one of them was bold enough to meet her eyes. She had half a mind to stop and tell them what was what, but she was coming down with a headache, and she longed for her seat by the fireplace.

Her mood had only festered by the time she returned. Nor did the hailstorm help. It came out of nowhere, catching Isla just as she ascended the stairs to her front door. She flung her coat upon its rack and stormed towards the hearth, only to find it dead and the salamander nowhere in sight. Just perfect. At least there's water still in the kettle.

She made for the kitchen cabinets, catching her reflection on its surface. Face as pale as any brown-skinned girl had a right to be, hair brittled from the wind.

Where has that little daemon gone off to? It was usually quick to greeting her home.

Her head throbbed from the cold. Isla paused to nurse her temples. Something red caught her eye as she did so; a droplet just visible against the wooden surface.

Blood? Drying – but not quite. She rubbed the congealing stain from her finger.

A rattle came from the shelves. Isla looked up with a start, seeing nothing but crockeries through the glass.

Another rattle, and this time she spotted one of their mugs shake. Isla opened the cabinet to the sound of a furious chirping.

'How in all the epps did you get in there?' She pulled her salamander out of the mug. The poor thing was trembling in her hand, cackling madly. Some surfaces it could not climb; it must have been trapped for a while. Isla reassured it with a finger. 'There, now. It's all right. I don't—what happened to your tail?' It had been shed off, and now in its place was a stump. That must explain the blood.

No. Daemons don't bleed.

A hand shot from behind, stifling her surprise.

Isla could not breathe – she could not think. She stumbled back with her assailant's weight; fighting as the hand yanked upon her head, exposing her neck.

Isla looked at the assailant above her. If she had to die, at least let her die with a face to curse. A soft chin, dainty nose ... she could see nothing else from her angle, but she caught the flash of a blade ... cold steel grazing her skin ...

A shadow shot past just as the blade kissed her neck, and all of a sudden, she was falling. Her back hit the floor, but she felt nothing.

Is it done?

Someone in the room was shrieking.

Is this death? Screams and the smell of burning hair? If so, it could at least have had the decency to relieve her of her headache, but the pounding had only grown tenfold. Now her neck stung and hip twisted, too. All at once, every pain in her body returned, snapping Isla from her daze.

She rolled and there he was – her assailant, clawing at something on his face. Isla grabbed onto the cabinet and pulled herself up just as the intruder pried the salamander off his face and flung it aside. The creature flew across the room, hitting the wall with an audible splat.

Isla wailed, overcome with a sudden anger. Wildly she reached for the closest weapon and swung with as much force as she could muster. The pan made impact with a dull clang. Spittle and blood sprayed the air as her intruder's head snapped to one side. Isla used the brief opportunity to put some distance between them.

And found that it was not a 'he'.

Isla dropped her weapon with a clatter. Across the room, Haana nursed her swelling cheek and wiped blood off her mouth. A strong sulfuric smell emitted from a patch on her scalp where her hair had been burnt off.

Hail thundered on above them. Isla teetered – the floor spinning along with her head – until her back met the fire mantle. Surely she was hallucinating. The girl before her wore Haana's face but not her clothes. It was the same cloak she had donned that morning, but underneath were pale garments Isla had never seen before.

Haana circled the room, stopping shy of the front door. 'If you hold still, I promise to make it fast.' It was her voice, her eyes. A harder gaze, a higher dialect of their native Srikh, but her all the same.

And that blade in her hand is no vision. 'But ... I don't ...'

'You have been quite a test.'

'Stay where you are!' Isla grabbed the fire iron off its rack and stopped Haana in her tracks. 'Who are you? What do you want?'

'As stupid as you are useless. I cannot understand why anyone would go through all this trouble ...'

This is real. This is no fever-dream. Isla fought down the throbbing in her head. 'How could you do this?'

'Oh, Isla. You must not take it personally. If only the cakes worked – it would have been kinder that way. I even tried fixing you in your sleep; but that lizard of yours ... sticks to you like dung on a shoe, yes?'

The salamander. Isla scanned the walls but could not find it. They said daemons simply vanish in a trail of smoke upon passing. Her eyes misted over. Ten years it had been with them ... And then this bitch ...

'We almost had you,' continued Haana. Let her stall. Isla counted the paces between them. Four, five. 'Before that bastard got in the way. Though I thought you would have done us then ... you had me worried there, I grant you. I thought ... surely, a slip, and then I would see what all the fuss was about. But you are useless, are you not?'

'What are you talking about?'

'May as well be unblooded. Your maid shows greater talent than you.'

Noi. 'What have you done with her?'

'There is no use shouting. Edric's lackeys could never hear you all the way up here.'

Isla pushed forwards, iron pointed straight for Haana's neck. 'Answer my question!'

'Careful.'

'If you've hurt her –'

'You need not vex yourself. She never knew what hit her.'

Isla cried out and lunged, but Haana was fast. She stepped into Isla's attack, grabbed the fire iron by its shaft, and pulled. Isla met Haana's fist before she had time to let go. An explosion tore through her abdomen, knocking the wind and drink out of her. She crumpled, vomiting over Haana's boots. Her ears were ringing, eyes stung from the weight in her head.

She waited for Haana to strike her final blow, but it never came.

There was a clatter. The bitch had dropped the iron – Isla could just see it through the splotches of red in her vision. She tried to reach for it, but the mountain between her temples kept her from moving. It's happening. Isla forced herself to look up. Haana stared down at her, unmoving.

The mountain erupted. Isla roared with the pain.

Haana lifted her hands and dug into her own scalp, ripping into her hair. 'What ... are you ...'

Isla's screams turned into one of horror as she watched her tear clump after clump.

'Get ... out ...'

Blood trickled off the side of Haana's head. Isla could smell it ... taste it ... Isla's nose was bleeding. She wiped her lips, grasped the fire iron in both hands, and climbed to her feet. Still Haana was raking into herself, her fingernails now caked red.

Isla steadied her footing and steeled herself. She stared Haana in the eyes and swung.

Nothing had ever satisfied her as the crunch of bone did then.

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