Dragging a wagon filled with his father’s rarest herbs and salves, William tugged the reins of his horse as it eased to a stop. He had come to trade with his father’s poultices while investigating the status of Norwich, a perfect financial cover he had so thought. But at the sight of the child-less streets, unmanned market stalls and the silent air, it would seem business was going to be slow—if any at all.

William jumped from the driver’s seat and walked with his horse, entering Norwich. A window quickly shut as he passed a house. People would peep at the slightest opening of their doors and windows, and then shut it when he neared.

“Ointments for bruises, poultices for wounds, balms for headaches,” shouted William. “Cures made by the Howes!”

More closed doors and slammed windows answered his bartering call.

“Ointments for bruises, poultices for wounds, balms for—“

A little boy stood on his path with his fingers in his mouth and a palm sized open wound across his forehead.

William stopped and smirked at the boy. “Hello. What have you got there?”

The boy continued to suck his fingers as drool dripped from his mouth.

He narrowed his eyes and pretended to comically think, “That doesn’t look too good. Here, I think this would help.” His fingers dug into his pockets and pulled out a small clay bottle and handed it to the kid.

The child plucked his fingers from his mouth and reached out to the bottle. He eyed it curiously and then stuck it in his mouth and sucked on it.

His eyes bawled. “No. You’re not supposed to—“

“Francis,” yelled a female voice. A woman ran from the back and scooped up the child on the ground and sent William a glare.

William held his hands out and waved it. “I wasn’t doing anything—I was only trying—“

Cradling her son, she inched back and stuttered, “Diablo.” Then she ran in a panic

“—to help,” continued William, dejected. “I was only trying to help.”

When William backtracked to his caravan, a dark force pushed him off the ground and sent him a couple of feet away. He gasped from the pain from his rear, spreading to his body.

A damonen stood before him, reforming its arm into a broadsword.

As it charged forward, William rapidly scrapped the ground with his feet to push himself up. He then bolted the other way. Soon as his feet accelerated, sooner they did abruptly stop.

Another damonen stood in his path. He faced a third direction but then another blocked him. His head shot to another direction, then to another. But the shadows kept intercepting him. His leg itched to run but no path was available. He then felt his tunic and found the dagger strapped around him and drew it. He held the pommel with shivering fingers and raised it like a sword to defend himself.

“Don’t come closer. I have a weapon,” he shouted threateningly, but his voice rose at the last syllable.

The damonen facing him growled as its limbs turned into hammers.

William looked back as the ones behind him sneered; their limbs also taking form of a weapon. He gulped and tried to clear his mind. As his knees cackled, he closed his eyes, screamed and charged forward.

When his dagger felt like it had been stuck, his left eye slightly opened and then his right did as well.

The dagger had punctured through the damonen’s leg. William and the damonen’s eyes met as it howled in anger. When it reached out to crush William, a blade punctured its chest from behind and slashed down.

The damonen burst into ashes, revealing Isabelle holding her rapier. “I told you, chest, head or gut it,” she said.

“Behind you,” shouted William.

Isabelle swiftly turned around and swung her rapier, clashing blades with a damonen. She stepped back, made two thrusts and slashed the damonen’s calf. As the damonen roared in pain, she leaped and stabbed it right in the head, transforming it into ashes.

William tripped over a wooden bucket as a damonen swung its hammer across him. He landed on his butt and continued to back up while it kept moving forward, trying to kill him.

As the damonen raised its hammer to squash William, a whistle sounded from behind. A rapier cut through the air and punctured its chest. The damonen blew into tiny bits as the rapier fell on the ground.

Isabelle rushed to her rapier, sheathed it back to her waist and gave William a hand. “Let’s leave before more arrive.”

He pulled himself up. “There’s no Cloak. How can—“

“It’s a ritual, the Cloak won’t interfere.” Isabelle dragged him forward.

“Ritual? But—“

“Questions later,” she cut through. “Now we run.”

William contained his questions and let himself be taken by Isabelle.