“A vigilante then.”

“I wouldn’t say that either. This is personal.”

“Ah, I see. Someone has harmed you.”

“Usually I do the harming, actually.”

“Like with those men in the alley?”

Bryony wasn’t used to being surprised, but whatever this—this—creature was, he seemed to be making a habit of it. “You were watching?”

“As I said, I’ve been burned before. I like to get the measure of a potential partner before I formally meet them. And the fact that you arrived early to our meeting and observed me from the shadows tells me you like to do the same.”

“That is true, not that it did me any good. You spied me immediately. Or should I say smelled my scent?”

A full-throated laugh made his hood slip away from his face slightly, though he was quick to draw it back into place. Not quick enough, however: she’d gotten a glimpse of his strange features, there and gone again. And yet she still didn’t know what he was. His skin was hidden beneath a thin layer of blueish fur, some of which was longer, like human hair, framing his blunt features. His eyes, or what she’d seen of them, had been as dark and round as marbles.

“My sense of smell usually defeats my sight, though both are impeccable, at least by ghastly human standards. Why haven’t you run yet? My disguise failed me, and yet you’re still here.”

“You watched me in the alley. So far, you’re proving to be less a monster than those thugs. A better conversationalist too.”

“What if I show you these?” He shoved his sleeves up one at a time to reveal large, padded paws. With a sharp sound to rival a sword being drawn from a scabbard, five slightly curved claws emerged from each appendage.

“Handy,” Bryony said. “I must secret my many weapons under my clothes, while yours are a part of your body. I must say, I’m a little jealous.”

“What is your name?”

“Bryony,” she said. There was little risk in sharing her first name, especially this far from Marchessault where her identity was all but unknown.

“I’m Dagr. Like the one you’re hiding behind your hip but spelled differently.”

“You saw it?” she asked, revealing the blade.

“I sensed it. I am certain you understand what I mean.”

She did, of course. Honing one’s physical senses—sight, smell, taste, hearing and touch—had been a focus of The Crimson Daggers, but so had developing nonphysical senses. She still vividly remembered the first time she participated in a training mission while blindfolded with her ears and nose stuffed with cotton. At the time, it had been nothing short of frightening, and she’d failed miserably. But she stuck with it, improving with each attempt, and eventually emerged victorious.

“I won’t hire a guide who I haven’t even gotten a good look at,” she said.

“You’re assuming I want the job.”

“You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t. Especially considering you’re the one who’s been watching me from the moment I left your friend’s tavern.”