Could he be transforming into more a part of the forest? One with roots? Not a pleasant thought. Kerrick sighed. Not much he could do about it. Instead, he focused on the task at hand.

From their vantage point in the woods to the east, Mengels appeared to be a ghost town.

“It’s almost winter. Maybe they’re all inside,” Flea said in a hopeful tone.

Kerrick just looked at Flea.

“Yeah, well. It’s better than them all being captured or killed by the Skeleton King.”

Pointing to the buildings, Kerrick said, “There are no signs of a fight. The windows are intact. No burned buildings. No scuffs in the dirt. No bloodstains. There’s another explanation.”

“And that is?”

“You tell me.”

Flea huffed, but gazed at the town. One of the larger towns in Sectven, it had survived the brutal plague years almost intact, a rarity in the Fifteen Realms. Kerrick believed it was the cool heads of Mom and other town officials who had kept the population calm, plus the dedication of the surviving town watch who’d stayed at their posts even when friends and family died around them.

“There’s no smoke coming out of the chimneys,” Flea said. “And there are no wheel tracks in the mud from yesterday’s rain. No sign of wagons or horses, either. They’ve left town.”

“Very good. How long ago?”

Flea drew in a deep breath. “There’s a slight odor from the chamber-pot dumps and no fresh horse droppings—just a few dusty-looking piles. A week, maybe two?”

“Which one?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think about the past few days, Flea.”

He dipped his head, letting the bangs cover his eyes. “If they’d left within a week, we’d have seen them because the only safe place is east to Tobory Realm or northeast to Pomyt Realm. So two weeks.”

“I concur. You’d make a good scout.”

Flea stood a little straighter. His swiped the hair from his face, exposing a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “And trade in the luxurious life of a death magician? No, thank you.”

“You’ve been hanging out with the monkeys too long.”

“I consider them my mentors.”

“No, no, no. I can think of a better mentor for you.”

Suddenly wary, Flea crossed his arms over his chest. “Who? Avry?”

“Oh, no. She’d smother you. I had someone else in mind.” Kerrick waited to see if Flea’d take the bait.

“Who?”

“My Great-Aunt Yasmin. She’d set you straight in no time.”

Flea gaped at him. “Isn’t she, like, a hundred years old?”

“She’s ninety, no, ninety-one by now. But don’t let her age fool you. Grown men are terrified of her.”

“Uh-huh,” Flea said, catching on to the joke. “Nice one, Kerry.”

Surprised and impressed that Flea knew Great-Aunt Yasmin’s nickname for him, he said, “Touché. Who told you?”

“Belen. He told me to never use it or you’d pound me. You won’t, will you?”

Kerrick laughed. “Back before the plague, I would have. Now I think it’s very foolish to fight over something as silly as a nickname.”

“The stakes are a lot higher now,” Flea agreed.

“Yes, and we should get back to the task at hand.” Kerrick sniffed the air. “I think there are a few citizens still in town.”

“How can you tell?”

“From the smell. After two weeks, the dumps wouldn’t be pungent and there’s a faint tang of lime which means someone is making sure the smell isn’t worse. Come on.” Kerrick retreated deeper into the forest.

“Where are we going?”

“The Lamp Post Inn is on the western side of town.”

“Do you think Mom’s still there?” Flea hurried after him.

“If she’s not, I’m sure she left a message for Melina.”

Hux waited for them. They mounted and Kerrick urged Huxley into a gallop. The sun hung low in the sky and he didn’t want to lose the light.

Taking Huxley almost to the edge of the forest, Kerrick stopped the horse when he spotted the red wood of Mom’s inn through the bare trees. He and Flea inched closer and studied the inn. The shutters were closed and no smoke curled above the roof. No lights gleamed under the door or through the slats. All seemed quiet.

He signaled Flea. Since the forest almost grew to the inn, it didn’t tug as hard on Kerrick as they crept toward the back door. It was locked. Flea grasped his sword’s hilt and kept an eye out while Kerrick popped the lock. They entered the common area. Dust coated the bar, tabletops, and Mom’s teapot collection. No tablecloths or silverware in sight and only a pile of ashes remained in the hearth.

Kerrick checked the kitchen while Flea searched the guest rooms upstairs. The oven was cold. No dirty dishes had been stacked in the sink. Food hadn’t been abandoned. Which meant they hadn’t left in a hurry.

Returning to the common area, he joined Flea.

“The rooms are empty,” Flea reported. “Beds are stripped and the lanterns are cold and without oil.”

“Thoughts?”

“They’re gone. But they had enough time to pack.”

“I’d agree with you except for one thing.”

“And that is?” Flea asked.

“Mom’s teapot collection on the mantel. No way she’d leave without it.”