Sharp Teeth

The next morning, Irene found her sister staring at that little vial filled with blood again. "You've been looking at it since last night." She said as she walked into the living room. "Aren't you satisfied?"

Ivy sighed. "No." She said bluntly. "I feel like we're being played."

"Then why did you let the thief go?"

"I don't think he's the one playing us." Ivy shot Irene an annoyed look. "Don't you find it odd at all?" She tapped on the simple glass vial. "It's just normal glass – you know the bats always go above and beyond when it comes to making sure everything they own is fancy." She then took the simple silver knife in hand and twirled it between her fingers.

Irene yawned. "Maybe they just hate us so much that they didn't want to spend any of their money on fancifying the things meant to kill us." She suggested. "We have the proof we need, it's not like the shape of the vial or the fanciness of the blade matters."

Ivy shook her head. "That's not my point, Irene." She tapped on the vial. "What if the blood here is not accursed?"

Irene stopped mid step. "That's impossible."

"Is it?" Ivy asked, her gaze focused on her sister. "Why? Perhaps they knew we would send someone to steal the thing and placed a fake bottle and knife in there."

Irene's lips curled down with a frown. "Then, they would surely not pick such a simple vial, or waste one of their kitchen knives."

Ivy rolled her eyes. "My point is, I want you to smell the thing."

Irene's face went pale. "Eww, no." She said with disgust. "You know I hate the smell of accursed blood."

"I know that you've never smelled accursed blood before. Mom hated the smell of accursed blood." Ivy replied with a deadpan face. "Stop making excuses."

"But-"

"Irene!" Ivy shouted. She removed the cork of the vial and walked towards Irene.

Irene took a few steps back. She still remembered the stories her mother told her about the sweet, delicious temptation of accursed blood. She had done everything in her power to protect Irene from that temptation. She didn't want to be subjected to it now!

Yet, Ivy approached her with firm steps, and held the vial under the pouting Irene's nose.

"Sniff it." She ordered her. Irene shook her head, holding her breath.

"I can always splash some on you?" Ivy suggested with a wicked smile.

"No!" Irene exclaimed. She paused. "Hang on." There was no sweet smell anywhere. She snatched the bottle from her sister's hand and sniffed it. "Wait." It smelled no different than ordinary blood. It was a thick, slightly metallic stench, very much similar to all the prey she had hunted before.

"So?" Ivy asked. Irene walked towards the table and grabbed the knife from inside the case. "I really, really hope I'm mistaken." She snarled before tilting the vial and letting a drop of blood drop onto the silver blade.

"Irene! What in the name of the old gods are you doing, have you lost your mind?" Ivy shouted as the possibly deadly weapon rested in Irene's hand.

"It's going to be just a scratch." Irene mumbled. She placed her pinkie on the sharp edge of the bloody blade and applied some pressure.

A few seconds passed in silence as she pressed down with more and more force.

Ivy sighed. "I take it that the blood is not accursed."

Irene gritted her teeth.

"Let me try." Irene snatched the knife and stabbed her palm. Or, well, she tried to. "Yeah, no." She mumbled. The blade couldn't pierce her skin. "Not accursed."

Irene felt lightheaded. She could feel the blood rushing to her head. Her hearing grew sharper. "Find me that thief!" She growled as she held onto the table. It cracked and bent under her weight. "Bring him to me!"

Aoric pulled the hood of his cloak further down to cover his face. It was fairly early in the morning, and the cold of the previous night still lingered. The sunlight couldn't pierce the thick layers of clouds hanging over the city.

Just the thought of spending a few hours climbing down the mountain in this cold, misty weather made him want to curl up somewhere and sleep. For a long time, preferably. He already missed his warm bed at the Rooted Inn. It took all of his willpower to crawl out of bed and leave the inn this morning.

He passed by the Cathedral, then walked past the mansions on the northern parts of the city. A while later, the city walls entered his view. They were just as tall as on the southern side, but these walls looked much more battered, and not at all well maintained. Moss and vines grew all over them, and he could see plenty of hand and footholds he could use.

A faint smile appeared on his lips. He was almost out of this damned city. He made sure his things were nicely secured on his belt and walked towards the wall. Once he was back at the village, he would give some of the coin to the orphanage – enough to close off his dept. Then, he would finally be free.

He heard a low, but fast approaching tapping sound behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, only to see the wolfdog of that woman clad in black rushing at him. His heart skipped a beat, and he began running. He just needed to get off the ground!

He reached the wall, reached for the first handhold he could see. As soon as he grasped it, he pulled himself up. His heart raced as the wolfdog's footsteps approached. He reached for the next place to hold onto and pulled himself up some more.

He glanced down to look at the large beast chasing him. It couldn't jump so high, could it?

The wolfdog ran to the wall, then leapt up and pushed itself along the wall. Aoric's eyes widened as it reached him with ease. He felt a sharp pain on his leg, and then felt himself being yanked off the wall.

He hit the stone paved road below not a moment after.