Free Shepherd Hunted by Christopher Kincaid

image of her shepherd lying on a wagon with those black coins all over him flashed in her mind. Kit clenched her teeth and closed the distance with the teetering wagon. The man shouldering the load didn’t bother to look at her. Bloodshot eyes stared over his vinegar-soaked mask. Kit leaned over the side of the wagon and dropped her cloth shield. A single sniff sent a shower of sparks across her vision. She staggered back, gasping and fumbling with her face mask. Kit could feel the hairs on her tail curl under her skirts.
    But at least she didn’t smell him. She had to be sure. With every wagon she had to be sure. His familiar scent of musty books and wool would stand out like honeysuckle in a midden heap. She would have preferred to save her nose, but sometimes she couldn’t see the face, nor did she want to. The thought of seeing Timothy that way— No. He is alive. He has to be alive. “Fool shepherd. Where are you?”
    She kicked a stone against the wall, and the whitewash cracked. She wiped her eyes. The smoke made them tear. Yes, it was the smoke that made her eyes tear. Nothing else.
    If you are still alive, I will kill you when I find you.
    Kit ignored the chanting and Evelyn’s droning. Why would those people pay attention to an obvious mad woman? It didn’t matter. Kit stopped at another building. She wiped her eyes. Stupid smoke.
    “You better appreciate how I am going to ruin my nose for you.” She lowered her mask and took a deep breath. Her vision tunneled, and it felt like her ears knotted under her hood. But she caught a hint of something on the wind. She took another test. Yes, it’s faint. Musty books.
    He was here.
    Kit gazed around. No carts sat nearby. She looked up at the blackened building. A broken window glittered in the firelight. She closed her eyes and singed her nose again. Yes. It was faint, but it was him. She followed the scent around the building and returned to the spot under the window.
    She grinned and raced for the entrance. Her hands gripped the iron handle, but the door refused to budge. She threw herself at it.
    “And what are you doing?” a large man asked. A dozen other men dressed in soiled clothes stood behind. “That is the house of the Prophetess.”
    Kit cursed. Timothy was in there! She pulled at the door with all her strength. The wood creaked, but the lock held. A meaty hand grabbed her shoulder.
    “Enough of that. You just want to take what isn’t yours after all the Prophetess does to help us?”
    Kit sank her fangs into the filthy hand. The man yelled and fell back. The others behind closed in. She backed into the door. What a fine fix. The scent of him addled her brains!
    A small girl with golden locks darted around the men. “There you are, sis! What are you doing? This is the wrong house, silly.”
    A grimy hand snatched Kit’s. The girl pulled Kit toward the men. “Sorry. Sorry. My sister is lost.”
    “Where do you think you are going?” The man massaged his hand.
    “Home.” The girl looked up at the man.
    The man spat. “Before I heard the Prophetess, I would have made you pay for this.” He held up his bleeding hand. “Count yourself lucky I am a changed man. Don’t come back here again.”
    “Thank you! Let’s go, sis.” The girl tugged Kit past the men and set off at a run.
    Kit’s nose lost the scent of books.
    “Let me go!” Kit dug her heels into the paving stones, but the girl tugged Kit onward. “I need to go back! He’s back there.”
    Kit snagged the mouth of the alley and pulled the girl to a stop. “Let me go.” She pried her hand free. There had to be another way into the building. A dim part of Kit’s mind whispered for her to think before acting.
    “Wait!” The girl tugged at Kit. “Colt is—Can…can you help him? You seem nice and…not like the Prophetess. I thought you would help.”
    How can I get into that building? Kit snatched her hand away. “I am busy. I don’t know what—”
    “This way.” The girl