Free Crescendo by Becca Fitzpatrick Page B

any of our tests. Nothing in the scene before me had.
    “I’m looking for a man,” the man in the cape said to the bartender, who was positioned behind a waist-high table that I assumed served as the bar. “I was told to meet him here tonight, but I’m afraid I don’t know his name.”
    The bartender, a short man, bald except for a few wiry hairs standing on end at the top of his head, eyed the man in the cape. “Something to drink?” he asked, spreading his lips to show jagged black stumps for teeth.
    I swallowed the nausea that rolled through my stomach at the sight of his teeth and stepped back.
    The man in the cape didn’t show my same revulsion. He merely shook his head. “I need to find this man as quickly as possible. I was told you’d be able to help.”
    The bartender’s rotted smile faded back behind his lips. “Aye,I can help you find him, m’lord. But trust an old man and have a drink or two first. Something to warm your blood on a cold night.” He pushed a small glass at the man.
    Behind the hood, the man shook his head again. “I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry. Tell me where I can find him.” He pushed a few warped tokens across the table.
    The bartender pocketed the tokens. Jerking his head at the back door, he said, “He keeps to the forest yonder. But m’lord? Be careful. Some say the forest is haunted. Some say the man who goes into the forest is the man who never comes back out.”
    The man in the cape leaned on the table dividing the two and lowered his voice. “I wish to ask a personal question. Does the Jewish month of Cheshvan mean anything to you?”
    “I am not a Jew,” the bartender said flatly, but something in his eyes told me this wasn’t the first time he’d been asked the question.
    “The man I’ve come to see tonight told me to meet him here on the first night of Cheshvan. He said he needed me to provide a service for him, for the duration of an entire fortnight.”
    The bartender stroked his chin. “A fortnight is a long time.”
    “Too long. I wouldn’t have come, but I was afraid of what the man might do if I didn’t. He mentioned my family by name. He
knew
them. I have a beautiful wife and four sons. I don’t want them harmed.”
    The bartender dropped his voice, as if to share a piece of scandalous gossip. “The man you’ve come to see is …” He trailed off, casting a suspicious look around the tavern.
    “He’s unusually
powerful
,” the man in the cape said. “I’ve seen his strength before, and he is a mighty man. I’ve come to reason with him. Surely he can’t expect me to abandon my duties and family for such a length of time. The man will be reasonable.”
    “I know nothing of this man’s reason,” the bartender said.
    “My youngest son has contracted the plague,” the man in the cape explained, his voice taking on a quiver of desperation. “The doctors do not think he’ll live long. My family needs me. My son needs me.”
    “Have a drink,” the bartender said quietly. He nudged the glass forward a second time.
    The man in the cape turned abruptly from the table and strode toward the back door. I followed.
    Outside, I sloshed barefoot through the icy mud after him. The rain continued to pour down, and I had to walk carefully to avoid slipping. I wiped my eyes and saw the man’s cape disappear into the line of trees at the edge of the forest.
    I stumbled after him, hesitating at the tree line. Cupping my hands to hold back my wet hair, I peered into the deep shadow ahead.
    There was a flash of movement and suddenly the man in the cape was running back toward me. He tripped and fell. The branches snagged his cape; in a frenzy, he struggled to untie it from his neck. He gave a high shriek of terror. His arms flailed wildly, his whole body twisting and jerking convulsively.
    I shoved my way toward him, twigs scraping my arms, rocks stabbing at my bare feet. I dropped to my knees beside him. His hood was still mostly drawn, but I