The rasp of a match. A scent of sulfur. The torch blazed to life again. Crouched before me in a pool of blood was a man with wild eyes and knotted hair. More blood dripped from his mouth and covered his hands, which held a haunch of meat. I fell back, struggling to find air. This was the cave in the side of the cliff where Aleks had told me he made his modest home; I had come here hoping to find him, after he escaped from the village square. But this—this was not Aleks.The man—could I even call him such?—took a step closer. That haunch of meat he was devouring had a hand, fingers. They were still clutching the top of a gilded cane I could not have forgotten if I tried. Baruch Beiler was no longer missing.I felt my vision fading, my head spinning. “It wasn’t a wild animal,” I forced out. “It was you.”The cannibal smiled, his teeth slick and stained crimson. “Wild animal . . . upiór. Why split hairs?”“You killed Baruch Beiler.”“Hypocrite. Can you honestly say you didn’t wish him dead?”I considered all the times the man had come to the cottage, demanding tax money we did not have, extorting deals from my father that only dragged us deeper and deeper into debt.
