They kept to the woods instead of the main road. Talan set a breakneck pace through the dense shadows, seeming to predict every bramble and fallen log. Meanwhile, Iris trailed behind.

On a normal day, she quite liked the woods and would happily spend hours poking around at the groundcover. This mad dash, however, was far from normal, and Iris was ill at ease with running in the dark. She’d hitched up her skirts, but they kept snagging on raspberry thorns. At one point, a stray branch caught her braid, yanking her head back. It wasn’t until she ran face-first into a cobweb, yelping and coughing and spitting, that Talan finally stopped and turned around.

“Iris, hush,” he hissed, “You’ll bring the whole Veil family down on us.”

“It’s Miss McClaine to you,” she insisted, not for the first time, and likely not for the last either. There had already been one or two times already where she’d caught snatches of Talan muttering something that sounded suspiciously like Miss Stick-up-her-ass in response. She wiped the remaining cobwebs from her mouth. They were not friends. They barely knew one another. All that kept them tied together was the faint thread of circumstance, which Talan could break at any time.

“And that’s easy enough for you to say!” Iris continued. “I can hardly keep up at this ridiculous pace in this ridiculous dress and this ridiculous time of night being chased by a bloodthirsty shadewalker because of my absolute fool of a brother…” She was rambling now. Dry sobs hitched in her throat. “And who knows if he’s even still alive?”

Her eyes stung, and the tears finally boiled over. Damn those tears. This was a terrible time to let herself think. They were still far too close to the McClaine mansion, but try as she might, Iris found that she could no longer hold herself steady. She sank to the ground with quick, shallow gasps, trying to control her breathing. A stick poked into her back, and she winced, jerking away. “Ouch! How are you not constantly impaling yourself on branches? Is it some fancy shadewalker trick of yours?”

Talan’s faintly glowing eyes took in the sight of her rumpled dress and mangled braid. Iris was sure that she had a small bird’s nest stuck in her hair by now. She didn’t know how much he could see in this poor lighting, but she must look a miserable mess. The very thought left her feeling angry, but that at least was preferable to feeling sorry for herself.

After a moment, Talan seemed to deflate.

“Sorry,” he said. “Hang on a moment, I think I can help with that, at least.” He crouched down and rifled

through the thick leaf litter that coated the ground. Whatever it was that he was looking for, he found it quickly, picking it up and cradling it in his palm. Within seconds, light emanated from it. “There we go,” he said, satisfied. He tossed the glowing object to Iris, who caught it reflexively and quickly brought it closer to her face to examine it.

It was just a small stone, hardly any bigger than her thumb. It wasn’t very bright. A candle would have been preferred. And yet, it gave off just enough light so as to chase away the shadows immediately about her. It was a curious thing, to see a shadewalker’s magic in action. Iris opted to focus on that rather than her circumstances.

She looked up. “Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t mention it. It’ll only last a few hours at most,” he said. And then he paused, as if trying to come to a decision. “I was friends with Tilda once, a long time ago,” he said, slowly. “Us shadewalkers tend to know each other. Anyways, she’s always been known for caring very deeply for her family – what’s left of them – and I’m sorry about what happened to her brother, but that doesn’t make this right. It wasn’t your fault. I’ll get you out of here, and I was being serious earlier about my dad. He’ll be fine, and he’ll keep your family safe, at least for tonight.”

“Forgive me for finding that somewhat difficult to believe,” said Iris, thickly. The image of the gun against Adrian Colt’s head was still freshly painted in her mind’s eye. “How can you be

so sure?”

“Because he’s my dad. He’s been in far deeper shit than this before.”

Iris frowned at him, thinking. Nothing good would come of arguing against Talan’s faith in his father. Such a strange thing too, to be so trusting of the man who was willing to marry him off. Iris found it odd, but her situation wasn’t altogether too different either. She dropped the issue. Something else that Talan had just said a but moment ago was also starting to bother her now. She rubbed her thumb over the stone in her palm, tentatively.

“Mister Colt,” she began, “You said that you were friends with Tilda Veil a long time ago. What changed?”

Talan’s luminescent eyes flicked up to meet hers. “I disliked her methods,” he said. There was a hardness to his voice. Iris raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

A bit of silver flashed before her. Talan had taken another swig of water from his flask. He wiped his mouth and stood.

“Now, break’s over. We’re nearly to Whychfeld, and I’ve got a girl to get home to,” he announced. He flipped out a pocket watch and checked the time. Iris had trouble believing that he could see the watch face in this light. “It’s a quarter-past-three in the morning,” he added. “We should make it in time for the first train.”

As it turned out, Talan had been correct. They did manage to make it to Whychfeld, and with time to spare, before the first train to Lyndemar left.

Talan held the door to Whychfeld Station for Iris when they reached it. She nodded her thanks and stepped inside. The station was a small building made of red brick. Its main central room was taken up by lines of wooden benches, stacked back-to-back. The ticket window was set into the wall to the right of the entrance door; the plaque above it reading TICKETS in bold, black lettering. A brass window

grille separated the rest of the station from the ticket clerk perched on the other side.

Across the room stood another door, flanked by arched windows whose glass puckered with bubbles. Steam swirled beyond them, and Iris heard the faint hiss of a train just outside the station. This door must lead to the station’s single platform.

Other than Iris and Talan, there were only two other travelers waiting for the five-o-clock train, and both of them were dozing near the exit to the platform. Pale, early morning light filtered in through the windows and across their forms. Whychfeld had been equally sleepy when they had made their way through the town. They had only encountered a sole motorist and a yawning woman who was too focused on opening her shop to have paid them any heed.

“Are you well known here?” asked Talan. He kept his voice quiet.

Iris hardly had to ponder the question. Her family was certainly was known in Whychfeld, and if she wasn’t known directly, she was at least known of.

Iris plucked another twig from her hair. She had been having a terrible time detangling the matted mess.

“Yes,” was her answer. “I suppose I am.” She didn’t comment on Talan’s unasked question – whether the ticket clerk would recognize her. Talan nodded.

“Take a seat,” he said, “I’ll get our tickets.”

Iris didn’t bother to protest. She was simply too tired. She sank onto the closest bench and watched as Talan strode up to the ticket window. He was a tall man, with broad shoulders. At some point after their late-night dash through the woods, he’d produced a work cap from his rucksack, which he’d hidden most of his dark blond hair under. And he had muddy green eyes behind his spectacles, Iris recalled. She had expected blue after seeing them glow last night. They were very kind eyes. His Eliana was a lucky woman.

Talan paid for the tickets and strode back to Iris. Blearily, she blinked at him.

“Up with you, Miss,” he said. “It’s nearly five, and by the sounds of it, the train’s already here.”

Iris pushed herself back up to her feet and collected her carpet bag. Yawning, she followed Talan to the

platform door. One of the sleeping passengers was starting to stir. He blinked owlishly a few times and then rubbed his eyes. Once more, Talan held the door for Iris, and she stepped back out onto the open-air platform.

The steam engine was not visible from where Iris stood on the platform. It had stopped too far up ahead. However, the steam itself enveloped her in a white cloud which was soon dispersed by the summer morning breeze.

Before them stood a line of gleaming red passenger cars. Gold paint outlined the frames of windows and doors. A conductor stood outside the nearest one, waving passengers towards him. Iris and Talan trotted over to him, pausing only long enough for the conductor to inspect their tickets. Then, they were climbing inside. Talan had only purchased tickets for standard seating, so there were no private cabins for them, but Iris didn’t care. She stumbled into the nearest available seat, not even bothering to tuck her carpet bag into the overhead compartment.

Talan took the seat next to Iris’s. There were so few passengers to board that, within minutes, the car

doors slid shut, and the train whistled, hissed, and jerked, rumbling to a start. It rolled forward, and Iris relaxed. Her eyes fluttered closed, just for a moment.

Or at least, it seemed to be only a moment.

When Iris finally awoke, the sun was high in the sky. It looked to be nearly noon – she must have slept for hours. She straightened in her seat. Her nap had not fully refreshed her, but she was no longer running on fumes. Nor was she dashing through the woods at midnight to escape a vengeance-minded shadewalker. Iris shuddered. It was time to gather her wits again. Next to her, Talan had propped his head against his fist. He appeared to be dozing, but as soon as Iris stirred, he opened his eyes

and looked at her.

“You’re awake,” he observed.

“Yes,” she said, dryly. “I am aware of that fact.” Talan snorted in response, which was a relief. It was not

her intention to be rude, but her traveling companion did seem to tend towards the obvious.

After a moment, Iris smoothed some of the wrinkles in her skirt and shifted in her seat to turn towards him. A thought was forming in her head, one which she needed to express.

“You have been very kind to me,” she began. “Unnecessarily so.”

A furrow appeared on Talan’s brown. “Um, you’re welcome?” he said. “What are you getting at?”

“I imagine that my presence – that of an unwedded woman who was meant to marry you this very morning, now traveling alone with you – may cause some tension between yourself and your Miss

Eliana, and I have no wish to be the source of any ill will between the two of you.”

Talan simply shook his head. “Do you really think she’d think highly of me if I’d just deserted you?” he asked. “Let’s see – how would this go? ‘Hey Eliana, remember that job up in Whychfeld last week? Turns out there was this gal that Dad was going to force me to marry even though I really didn’t want to. Guess what, I stood by and let her get murdered instead. Aren’t you proud of me?’” He gave Iris a pointed look. “No, I don’t think that would have gone over too well. And I was well on my way to running off to be with her anyways. You’re fine.”

He sat back as Iris pondered his answer. Before she could reply, however, Talan cleared his throat and added something else that caught her attention.

“And it’s ‘missus,’ by the way. Mrs. Eliana Prewett.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She’s a widow.”

“Oh,” said Iris. “I see. My condolences to her. Was her loss very long ago?”

Talan shook his head. “No,” he said. “It was less than six months back, and her husband’s death had been pretty hard on her. She even quit her job as a maid in Senator Kharten’s house after it happened.” He took a swig from his water flask and gazed off, as if looking very far away. “She said that she’d felt like a lost soul until she met me.”

Iris frowned. She quite disliked the Kharten family. The Senator’s son had always been an offensive bastard towards her, and there were rumors that the family had gotten off rather lightly during the reforms which led to regulations in witchcraft. Enough money would certainly allow for that. It was for the best that this Eliana had left her position as their maid.

She came to a decision and held out her hand to Talan.

“Mister Colt,” she said, “You seem to be a trustworthy man. I would very much like to call you my friend,

with your permission.”

Talan glanced first down at Iris’s outstretched hand and then back up to her. He raised an eyebrow.

“You’re supposed to shake it,” said Iris.

“Are you always like this?” asked Talan. Iris frowned.

“Like what? I’m always myself, if that’s what you’re asking.”

At that, Talan grinned and gripped Iris’s hand, shaking it firmly. Iris decided that there was a certain brightness to his character when he wasn’t trying to be serious. It was rather nice.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Good. We’re friends, then.”

“Good,” said Iris, and she smiled.

Friend

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