Iris gaped at him. “Oh,” was all she could say at first. “Well, I suppose that would explain why you’re not too fond of this marriage arrangement.”

Talan shrugged and started marching off around the mansion and toward the road that ran in front of Iris’s home. Iris suddenly recalled that she needed to collect her carpet bag. It was still tied to the end of her makeshift rope. She darted over to it and quickly undid the knots before hurrying to catch up with Talan.

“Whatever would drive your father to dislike a young woman so much that he’d rather match you with a stranger?” she asked.

Talan chuckled. “It might have something to do with her dabbling in witchcraft,” he suggested.

“He has that great a dislike of witchcraft?” If so, that was unfortunate. Spells were fairly pervasive in Felise and rather useful. Anyone could use them, but only witches could make them. Iris supposed that any mistrust on Adrian Colt’s end made sense though, given the unfortunate history between witches and those with inherent magic. Even so, that had been well over a generation ago.

Talan shrugged. “That’s not what I said. Dad doesn’t like her using witchcraft.”

Now that was a bit odd. Iris could think of few reasonable explanations for why Talan’s father would accept spells, but not a witch.

“What’s she licensed for?” she asked, curiously. There was a significant difference between witches who could cast complex building wards and those who, for example, could only pedal useless love potions. The difference being that the latter were considered quacks.

“Nothing yet, but she’s got talent,” said Talan. He pulled a small silver flask from inside his jacket and took a swig. “Water?” he said, offering it to Iris.

“No, thank you,” she said. “I thought it was illegal to practice witchcraft without a license. How is she simply ‘dabbling’ in it?”

“It’s just training exercises – assigned work,” said Talan.

“I see.”

At one point, Iris too had considered pursuing a career as a witch. That was before she had discovered that she had neither the interest in magic nor the talent for it. She much preferred studying plants for the sake of knowledge instead of practicing the most efficient ways of extracting miniscule amounts of power from them.

Even so, Iris had taken one or two classes, and there had never been any take-home work from them. Unlicensed witchcraft it was, then. At worst, worthy of a healthy fine.

“She’s a beautiful woman, my Eliana,” said Talan. There was a faint note of longing in his voice, and Iris had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that she wasn’t meant to pick up on it. She dreaded to think of what would have happened if they had both stayed dutifully in their rooms.

If Talan was aware of Iris’s discomfort, he didn’t acknowledge it. He forged ahead, ready to continue crooning about his love.

“She – hang on.“ He paused and stopped dead in his tracks. Iris nearly bumped into his back.

Suddenly, Talan grabbed her and pressed the both of them against the side of the mansion. They had nearly rounded the corner to the front, and Talan was staring with rapt attention at something that Iris could not see from her angle. She tried wriggling free. This was most improper, especially seeing as Talan had just been singing the praises of another woman moments ago.

“Mister Colt,” she hissed, “If you would please unhand me, that would be most appreci –“

“Shh!” Talan cut her off and clapped a hand over her mouth. They stood in deep shadows, and Talan’s now faintly glowing eyes were mere inches from her own. “Wait here,” he whispered, and when it became clear that Iris would not protest, he stepped back and wrapped the shadows even more

closely about his body.

He disappeared entirely.

Iris’s breath stilled. Something must be wrong. Something was wrong. Cold fear began to trickle down her back, and each second stretched to an eternity. Perhaps Talan was acting purely out of caution, but some instinct told her he wasn’t.

A loud pounding on the front door of the McClaine mansion echoed through the night. Iris jumped. The Veil family – they must have come for her.

Iris’s knees gave out, and she slid to the ground. From where she sat, she could hear the high tones of a woman’s voice demanding that the door be opened. More pounding. More demands.

But Iris’s father would not open that door for any reason tonight. He would do whatever it took to keep his daughter safe. And Iris, with a twinge of panic, realized that she had put herself in immense danger. What would it take for Tilda Veil to tire of the front door and prowl about the mansion’s perimeter, seeking another entry?

That, however, was a fear that needn’t have crossed her mind. Moments later, there was a massive, splintering crack from the front door, this one louder than any of the previous pounding. More yelling joined Tilda’s voice including, Iris realized in horror, the familiar cadences of her father and brother.

She sprang to her feet and skirted along the remainder of the mansion’s wall until she could peer around the corner. A tall woman in billowing black skirts stood on the front steps. Light from the foyer spilled out across her furious features, igniting her flaming red curls. She was engaged in a struggle with another man – perhaps Adrian Colt – and he held her pistol-carrying arm aloft.

As Iris watched, Tilda kneed him in the groin. Adrian released her, staggering back, and she leveled her gun at the older Mr. Colt. Two more men ran up from behind her and entered the house. Other members of the Veil family, most likely.

Adrian seemed to be speaking, trying to calm Tilda. He held out a placating hand. She spat in his face and took a step forward, pressing the gun to his forehead. Her expression was drawn, yet fury hardened.

All the lights in the mansion went out. The scene before Iris disappeared. A gunshot rang out, rattling her bones. Someone yanked Iris back, deeper into the shadows.

“I thought I told you to stay put,” whispered Talan, now visible again. Iris stared at him wordlessly as he tugged at her arm, backtracking towards the rear of the mansion and the woods that bordered the

lawn. Only when they’d entered the safety of tree cover did Iris find her voice.

“Talan,” she choked, “Your father, h-he –“ She wasn’t able to finish the sentence. Talan placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.

“ He’ll be fine,” he said, keeping his voice soft. Iris couldn’t see his face. “You don’t know my dad. He’s a hard man to kill.”

Iris nodded, numbly. But she couldn’t shake what she had seen and heard: a gun pressed to Adrian Colt’s head; it’s shot ripping through the night air. She did not push the issue with Adrian’s son. Instead, she quashed her panic and followed him through the woods.

A Shot in the Dark

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