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Matthew stared up at the full moon where it shone down through the thick maple leaves. The smell of autumn was in the air, hints of burning wood and rotting leaves. It made his skin prickle with the sensation of the seasons changing. Of magic swirling through the atmosphere promising so many unknowns to come.

He loved it. He hated it.

After so many years with so many changes, all he wanted was a brief space of time where nothing changed. Yet he couldn’t avoid it, which meant he had to prepare.

He reached for the sharpened daggers in his sheaths, the dual blades having been his companions for so many years he’d lost count. He relied on them for survival, for the only employment that kept him occupied—the only way he could keep his mind off the past.

Something moved up ahead, and Matthew ducked behind the tree, not wanting to be seen until he was ready. The figure stepped through the shadows. His pose was relaxed, his stride even. He had no idea someone was waiting for him in the darkness, ready to tackle him to the ground and set the edge of the finely honed blade to his throat.

Matthew drew a breath, then another, his mind going quiet. Then he leapt.

October 10, 2024

He swung down his dagger, aiming for his target’s chest, but the figure moved at the last moment, swinging up an arm to block the strike. Matthew’s grip on the blade prevented it from flying out of his grasp, but he didn’t have time to follow up with a second attack before the figure barrelled a shoulder into his gut.

The air fled from his lungs, and he dropped to his knee. He rallied quickly, but before he leapt back to his feet, the figure was… gone.

Matthew spun in a circle, not sure what to make of the suddenly empty road, then cursed. His client would not be thrilled.

November 14, 2024

Matthew arrived home that night exhausted and feeling older than he had in years.

That figure had outmanoeuvred him. When was the last time anyone had managed to do that? When he’d been training. New to his blades.

He brushed his fingers over the hilts, reassuring himself that they were still there. That he was still there. Still strong. Still capable. Whatever had happened tonight, it hadn’t been because he’d been any slower than usual.

No. That figure had been quick. Really quick. Unnaturally quick.

A shudder ran through him as he landed on the only reason that might have been possible. His client hadn’t mentioned anything about magic, but clearly his target wasn’t human. Not fully anyway.

And if that were the case, his client had some explaining to do. Not to mention a massive owing surcharge.

 

***

 

As soon as Matthew changed out of his leathers into a set of every day clothes of wool and cotton, he headed back out into the weather for the tavern on the corner.

The wind had picked up and rain had started to fall, but there was a hint of snow in the air, a threat of a storm to come. He pulled up the collar on his coat and pushed through the door into the warm, familiar space of The Widower’s Head.

“Heya, Matty,” Toby, the barkeep, greeted as Matthew stepped up to the bar and lay down his coin. “Rough night?”

“Couldn’t get much rougher. Don’t suppose you have any messages for me?”

As if the client would have left a follow-up warning to his request.

“Not today.”

Matthew nodded and quaffed the ale as Toby set it in front of him. “Anything you can tell me about the last delivery? Anything about the person who dropped it off?”

Toby raised an eyebrow. “You know I’m not supposed to answer any questions like that.”

December 2, 2024

Matthew said nothing, just stared at Toby until the barkeep waved his hand with a “Pah.” He turned his back and grabbed a glass to start cleaning, a sure sign that he was stressed. “They were a quiet type, you know? Didn’t show much of their face, didn’t say much. They dropped the package. It had your name on it. I called you. Not much more to say beyond that.”

Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Not much doesn’t mean ‘nothing.’ Spit it out, Toby. I know you’re holding something back.”

Toby’s shoulders slumped, and he whipped around, setting his hands on the edge of the bar. “What do you want, Matty? You want to see me dead? I don’t pour generously enough for you?”

Matthew scanned the bar quickly to make sure no one was close enough to hear, then leaned in close. “I was outmatched tonight, Toby. If I’d been any closer, you would have lost your favourite customer.”

Toby shrugged. “We all gotta lose sometime, Matty. Sorry to say, but that’s not my problem.”

So much for friendship.

“They used magic.”

This made Toby stiffen. He set the half-cleaned mug on the bar and rolled his muddy brown eyes towards Matthew’s face. “Magic?”

Matthew nodded. “No bullshit. They moved like vampire-fast, but they didn’t reek of death. Not a bloodsucker but something else. If this person marked me, I’m done unless I get to them first, and the only person who might know where I can find them is the person who hired me. And if this person isn’t stopped? Well, there’s no guarantee they won’t come for your pub next, Toby. You’d be doing us both a favour.”

Toby scrubbed a hand over his face. “Gods-damn, Matty. I’m going to get an ulcer over this.” He squeezed his eyes shut, his lips moving silently as though he were debating something with himself. Finally, he sighed and pinned Matthew with a hard stare. “Fine. The only thing I can add is that the person had a mark on their face. I only caught a glimpse of it, mind, but it was there. Almost like the outline of a butterfly wing.”

Matthew’s blood turned to ice. “Blue?”

Toby frowned. “What?”

Through gritted teeth, Matthew asked again, “Was the mark blue?”

“Um… might have been, yeah. The lighting’s not exactly great in here. It was dark. Could’ve been blue.”

A bead of sweat dripped down Matthew’s spin, followed by a chill that raised goosebumps on his arms. The Blue Butterfly had hired him to go after this person?

Considering she was considered the best assassin along the Rode Coast, what in the seven hells was she doing hiring out? Hiring him?

He hadn’t wanted to believe it before, but now the answer was screamingly obvious. Someone had set him up to die.