Tax

Distant bells rang the New Year, and here was a sign, this…lurker, that a month yet spanned the remainder of night. It perched atop the Library of all places, as if peering over the edge of reason. Henna recognized it from nursery rhymes. This was about payment. The old way.

Sorley, behind her, shifted his weight, drawing a creak from the belted instrument he wore. The lurker fled.