"Let's get you home," he said with reluctance. "Nothing we can do for it now." He released me and moved away. "Wait there. I'll get a horse."
I inched closer to the fire to keep warm. Who had set it and why? I clenched my phone, wanting to ask Carter more about Taylor and why my chip didn't work around him. I expected my flaky handler didn't know much more than I did about the man.
"Are you well, Talks to Spirits?"
I whirled. Fighting Badger was outlined against the fire. He remained a safe distance away and was armed with a bow and knives at his hips. It was far too muddy for me to get far running and besides, where would I go? My mouth went dry at the sight of him.
"I tracked him here," Fighting Badger said quietly. "I will find him and make him pay."
"Who?" I squeaked.
"The man who did this." He motioned towards the fire. "He came from town."
It registered that Fighting Badger, the psychopath who killed for friendship, was telling me he hadn't set the fire.
"My brother will take care of you." He turned away.
"Wait. Did you see his face?" I asked.
"No. He moved with stealth. Trained hunter." He tilted his head and regarded me curiously before he moved closer. "Can you see him?" He tapped his head.
Needing to know who it was, I approached until his memories reached me. I hugged myself, terrified by the images in my head. Fighting Badger's churning shadows morphed to show me the distant shape of a man he had tracked. Fighting Badger had been scouting the area around the sheriff's cabin, spotted the man heading from the direction of town, and pursued cautiously.
By the time he crested the hill beside which the sheriff's home sat, the cabin was already ablaze. Shadows interlaced with the memories, but I was able to make out something else. The sheriff had hinted Fighting Badger was able to relate to me, but he didn't mention the madman was tracking me. I saw peeks of my day at the house and my escape last night in his mind.
"You told your brother I was on your land," I said, looking up at him. "Why are you following me?"
The shadows from the fire rendered his features sinister, his eyes holes in his face. "The spirits warned me when you came. They said there was danger."
How is this possible? I didn't know what to say or how to process the idea a serial killer wanted to protect me. Our shared gift was a light in his otherwise dark mind. I could see in his thoughts how deeply it touched him after a lifetime of exile.