Page 10

After a beat, Jon recovered, his tone lowering to a tantalizing decibel. “Actually, yeah. I like that no one else but me knows you like I do. I want to keep it that way.”

Just like that, I was back in the spectral plane in my mind—imagining what he could do to me there. What he wanted to do.

Color flooded my cheeks. “I think I’ll mark your other shoulder for that one.”

Cliff hissed to Jon’s right, but for once, his annoyance wasn’t aimed at us. He pulled back in his seat to peer under the table. A roaming cat with a patchwork of orange and black fur had taken a particular interest in his leg, rubbing insistently. He cursed, nudging it gently with his boot in a fruitless attempt to shoo it away.

I fought a grin as he was uncharacteristically incensed by the second cat that leaped onto the table. It deftly padded gray paws between mugs of coffee, squinting golden eyes in my direction. I eagerly stretched a hand, but the cat was more interested in sniffing Cliff’s sleeve.

“Don’t laugh,” Cliff grumbled.

I bit my lip. “It’s hard not to.”

“ Try .”

“But I thought you loved animals,” I said as he scooped the cat up like a sack of flour.

“Yeah, but I also love breathing without sneezing every two seconds. I’m allergic to—” Two rapid sneezes cut through the sentence. He sighed, gesturing with the cat. “To these .”

He set it on the floor, eliciting a chirp of outrage from the cat. It glared over its shoulder at him, then promptly bathed where it had been handled.

My bottled laughter finally spilled out of me. “I can’t believe I used to be scared of you.”

“I can fix that.” Cliff arched an eyebrow, fixing me with a look that would’ve sent a chill down my spine a few months ago.

“I’m afraid it’s too late. You’re adorable.”

Cliff opened his mouth to retort—only to bury another sneeze into his elbow.

I scanned the room, grateful I didn’t share his affliction. The animals were an unexpected delight in this shocking turn in our morning. Even with Gwen and Hannah in the kitchen, the cozy dining room was alive with activity—paws scuffling, water bowls clinking, and the occasional bark from outside. A sleek black cat sat on the windowsill, basking in the early morning sunshine. A plump white and gray cat was curled up on an armchair, watching us with half-lidded eyes from across the room. Two dogs, a golden retriever and a small terrier, lay on the carpeted floor with tails thumping as they tracked the food in the next room .

My guard threatened to lower. This place held a sense of home , like the building itself wanted to wrap me in a hug and welcome me in.

“Gwen! You got a spray bottle or something?” Cliff called. The orange and black cat beneath the table wove against his ankles again, more demanding. “Your cat thinks I’m a scratching post.”

Dodging the eager dogs, Gwen returned. She set a carton of creamer on the table and scooped the cat into her arms.

“Good girl, Artemis,” she crooned, pressing a kiss between its ears. “Helping mommy push out the unwelcome visitors quicker.”

The sunlight streaming through the window skimmed Gwen’s face as she paced the room, highlighting her skin’s golden undertones. Her eyes were gently angled at the corners and framed by thick, natural lashes. Her raven hair, pulled back in a simple style, would have hit just below her shoulders in soft waves. Though her smile seemed like a rare gift, it lit up her features with a warmth that was both girlish and feline. When she wasn’t calling me a monster, she was undeniably beautiful.

My heart ached a little as I glanced at Cliff. Gwen was effortlessly agile in ways that complemented his warrior’s physique. Her curves were slight where he was sharp and defined.

They would have been striking together, side by side.

Jon muttered something in Spanish I couldn’t quite make out—though I was fairly certain it was a profanity—his eyes narrowed in Gwen's direction. “We’re hardly here by choice,” he said louder. “Once the car’s back in working order, we’ll be gone.”

Gwen eyed him with peculiar caution and set the cat on the carpet. She took a seat at the table across from Cliff. “You two really haven’t changed, have you?” Her voice dropped lower, almost pitying. “Still the same cycle of self-destruction and violence, isn’t it? ”

The bitter tension rifting between them made my stomach twist—though I wouldn’t let them see it. I couldn’t. Hunters lived brutal lives; making enemies was inevitable. I just hadn’t anticipated having breakfast with one of them.

Hannah returned with a basket of muffins, seeming to force herself down into a seat beside Gwen. For a moment, Hannah seemed unsure of what to do with her arms—folding them, then resting them on her lap—until Gwen stopped her fidgeting by taking her hand and gently squeezing it on the table.

I watched how Hannah’s eyes nervously settled on Jon and Cliff seated directly across from her. “I know they’re intimidating, but they’re not so bad once you get to know them,” I said.

Jon cleared his throat delicately and whispered under his breath. “I don’t think it’s us, Sylv.”

I would have protested, but then I realized her eyes were actually locked on me . And it was no wonder. Other humans who’d seen me were hardly shaken by the sight of a fairy after coming face to face with a bloodthirsty monster.

Hannah took a deep breath. “So, you’re still real. You can all see her, right?” Her laugh was taut. “Fairies are real .”

“More than that, sweetheart.” Cliff turned pointedly to Gwen. “You seriously didn’t tell her?”

“There was no need. I’m retired,” she answered sharply, releasing Hannah’s hand so she could fold her arms over her chest.

Cliff’s mouth dropped open. “ Retired ? What—for how long?”

Gwen’s gaze flickered to Hannah guiltily. “Six months. She wasn’t supposed to get mixed up in any of it. Why am I not surprised you’d be the ones to come along and screw things up?”

Tearing her eyes away from me, Hannah gave Gwen a hurt pout. “What were you thinking—keeping this from me?”

“I told you I used to hunt,” Gwen mumbled .

“Obviously I thought you meant, like, deer! Not vampires and werewolves! Should I be grateful I didn’t find one of those playing fetch with the dogs instead?”

I squirmed. All three of us may have trespassed, but I suddenly felt like the worst offender. “Should I wait outside?”

“ No ,” everyone other than Gwen said at once.

“It’s fine, honey,” Hannah said, offering the same small smile she’d given me outside. “This is a lot to take in, but I’ll cope.” She stared for another beat like she could force herself to get used to my existence. “I like your tattoo, by the way.”

My hand leaped to my cheek, words failing me for a moment.

“Thanks,” I bit out, combing my hair to curtain the black mark—because it was easier than saying, it was branded onto me by force to permanently ostracize me from my people.

Hannah stood, scooping up her emptied coffee mug. “The omelets should be about done. We’ve got ham and bacon.”

“Sylv’s vegetarian,” Cliff announced, though I had never seen him look so pleased about it.

Although Hannah’s expression puckered, she didn’t recoil this time. “The muffins should be safe enough. Is there anything else I can get you, Sylvia?”

I hesitated—the way she inserted my name felt curiously similar to how Jon calmed victims by saying theirs. Manufacturing a sense of connection , he called it. Still, Hannah seemed sincere.

“Strawberries, if you have them,” I answered.

Hannah gave me a small smile—as though both awestruck and amused that I had requested something so mundane and not some celestial recipe dipped in shimmering blue goo.

“I’ll see what I can rustle up,” she said. With that, she vanished back into the kitchen.

Gwen leaned halfway across the table to glower at Cliff. “I should put a knife to your throat, the way you keep talking to her. You jumped her, and now she’s making you breakfast, for fuck’s sake.”

“I never minded your hands at my throat. But that would ruin this lovely…” Cliff grimaced as he rubbed the trailing edge of the lace tablecloth between his fingers. “What is this, a giant doily?”

Jon tugged the basket of muffins toward him. He picked up a blueberry one and gave it a brief inspection before tearing off a piece to offer it to me. We dug in hungrily, sharing a delighted glance as the distinct buttery sweetness hit our tongues. After weeks of shadowing a hunter’s life, I quickly learned to cherish the rare gift of a home-cooked meal. Notes of cinnamon carried on the next bite, and for a moment, I was sitting in the Elysian kitchen corridors, sneaking extra tarts with Damian and Kyra.

That’s not your home anymore . The harsh voice at the back of my head pulled me back, then grounded me in comfortable numbness. Don’t waste your tears on people who wouldn’t do the same.

Gwen took a long gulp of coffee, moving her guarded stare between Jon and Cliff over the brim of her mug. “If no one sent you, what the hell are you doing in Cypress Hollow?” she asked. “Is it a hunt? Those black-eyed demon kids aren’t back, are they?”

“Supply run,” Cliff said. “Barely got enough silver on us to buy a lap dance, and you know the bayou outpost is the prime place to stock up. Had to make do without any bullets while taking out a vamp coven the other night.”

Somehow, that was enough. The wavering panic in Gwen’s face melted into a weary sort of understanding. “You’ve faced worse odds than that.”

“A couple of dead men walking shouldn’t be giving fate the finger any more than we already do, right?” Cliff offered a good-natured smirk—until he saw Jon reaching for a second muffin. With a betrayed double-take, Cliff tugged the basket away. He glared toward Hannah’s distant movements in the kitchen as though we had agreed to sell enemy propaganda.

Jon shot him a look—a resounding what the hell?

“Don’t eat her muffins!” Cliff hissed under his breath like it was obvious. “Whose side are you on?”

I pouted at him—those seconds had been for me , too. Still, I bit my tongue and followed Jon’s lead on treading carefully with… whatever the hell this was.

Gwen rolled her eyes at the exchange. “Jesus, I forgot how territorial you can be.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Cliff shot her a look that could strip paint.

Jon waited until Cliff wasn’t looking before pilfering a second muffin. Without breaking his conversational posture, he discreetly tore off another piece, and I flew down to snatch it. I mouthed thank you , lifting my eyebrows conspiratorially as we both took cautious bites like children sneaking sweets after curfew.

A cruel smirk touched Gwen’s full lips as she leaned back, studying Cliff. “You look good, I’ll give you that. Still drowning your emotional constipation in the bottle?”

Cliff’s smile was downright icy, his gaze roving over the crowded bookshelves and reusable grocery bags neatly tucked by the door. “Says the woman who’s one glass of chardonnay from being some housewife cliché. What happened to you?”

Her eyes flashed—this had struck deep. “The same fucking argument. Retiring isn’t giving up, you know. You can make a difference without violence.”

“Next time I cross paths with a werewolf, I’ll be sure to invite it to the block party.”

“You’re talking mad shit for someone who’s buddying up with a non-human. Are you insane?”

Their combined stares drifted toward me, making me squirm uncomfortably, dodging eye contact. I would have preferred to eat in peace, away from the ex-lovers’ quarrel, but I brushed crumbs from my hands and eased forward to hover over the table.

“I may not be human, but I'm not a monster, either,” I cut in over Cliff’s retort. “And I’m not here to cause trouble. They’re just helping me travel west.”

“A hitchhiking fairy,” Gwen scoffed, turning dubious eyes to the boys. “You realize their M.O. is glamour and deceit, right? No offense,” she tacked on, sparing me a hasty glance.

“She saved my life,” Jon said. I became aware of his shadow darkening over me protectively.

“So, it’s a bargain.”

“ So , you can shut up about her,” Cliff said. “She’s not glamouring us. End of story.”

Gwen arched her brow. “Now I’ve seen it all,” she muttered.

I was almost relieved when Hannah returned, arms laden with a skillet and a colorful bowl.

“Careful, love,” she said with a tight laugh as she served up four omelets and set one in front of Gwen. “There’s all kinds of local legends about having to be polite to the Fair Folk, you know.”

I looked over my shoulder, my gaze catching Jon’s in a brief, unspoken exchange. The dark gleam that had surfaced there perfectly mirrored my own curiosity. I turned back to Hannah, trying to school my desperate hope that those vague legends Jon had scoured online weren’t just whispers of the past.

“My threshold for rudeness must be high, seeing as I haven’t cursed Cliff yet,” I said.“What sort of legends have you heard?”

A playful, conspiratorial look crossed Hannah's face as she took her seat, looking around the table. “Half the folks in town will tell you they’ve seen flickering orbs of light over the bayou—especially on cloudless nights. My Tante Halle swore up and down that she saw them herself, dancing where the moonlight touched the water.” She smiled as she spoke, warmth bleeding into her voice that had me leaning forward. “Rumor was, if you got caught watching, they would lure you in and entice you to wander off the path. If you strayed too far, you’d be lost to the swamp forever.”

Gwen chuckled dryly. “Fairies wouldn’t flaunt their presence so openly. Correct me if I’m wrong.” Her gaze cut to me for confirmation.

A beat of surprise rippled through our side of the table, and her expression fell as she realized her mistake.

“You’ve seen fairies before?” Jon asked, leaning in. “When? Where ?”

Gwen gave him a funny look. “You didn’t hear about it? There was an incident some two years back. A fairy triggered a trap in the swamp. Outpost residents caught it and kept it caged under archivist study for months off-site, studying it until—” She stopped short, eyes cutting to me. Her jaw feathered, and I got the strange feeling that she was appraising me.

“It didn’t end well,” she finished, quieter. “People got hurt. Rumor has it that the off-site location was burned, and the fairy went with it.”

My head spun. More fairies entangled with hunters. That dank room beneath the old church flashed through my mind’s eye—the smell of charred wood and ash stinging my nose at the memory. At least that place was done for, abandoned.

“Are there any being held captive now?” I asked, my voice thready and harsh. My heart pounded in my ears. “Anywhere else?”

“I dunno about now ,” Gwen said. “I’ve kept my distance since calling it quits half a year ago. Didn’t like the way things were headed.”

I turned, trying to read Jon and Cliff’s stony expressions, but they were inscrutable. All I could think of now were those weakened monsters that hunters trained with in that enclosure— the Pit . Was it possible my own kind were among them? The thought twisted my gut like an iron dagger.

No—I wouldn’t let myself imagine it.

Jon broke the heavy silence, shifting his attention to Hannah. “What can you tell us about the car?”

Hannah gave him a nervous smile. “Oh, uh—it’s probably fucked.”

“No shit,” Cliff muttered.

She ignored him. “You’re probably better off selling it for scrap, but I may have a gutted model or two that could have the parts you need to get it back up and running. I’ll see what I can find and get back to you with a quote.”

“How long will that take?” I asked, feeling another prickle of guilt. Another indefinite delay. More time before I fulfilled my promise to Mother.

“A day or two, maybe."

“What about a loaner car?” Cliff asked, jutting his chin toward the window that framed the view of the auto lot below.

Hannah chewed, regarding the three of us thoughtfully. A furrow pulled between her eyes. “Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like you could use a break.”

Cliff chuckled darkly. “We’re not really the vacationing type.”

Hannah’s lips quirked up at the corner, shooting Gwen a knowing look. “Where have I heard that before? Yeah, I’ve got a couple in the back I can spare. Do what you gotta do.”

Jon sighed with relief. “That’d be great, thank you. We can hit the outpost and stock up in the meantime.”

Gwen rubbed between her eyes, sighing audibly. “Guess I’m going with you, then.”

“What?” Hannah straightened sharply, her fork clattering onto the plate. The golden retriever padded over, snuffling the ground for a fallen bit of egg .

“Sorry, did I miss the part where someone invited you?” Cliff demanded.

“Well, good luck finding your way there without me,” Gwen said. “They rerouted the road about a year ago—you’ll go in circles if you don’t know what you’re doing. A few too many lost hikers and monsters with vendettas found their way there.”

Cliff took a beat, studying her intently. Slowly, he smiled. “Oh, I get it.”

“I can guarantee you don’t.”

Cliff folded his arms on the table, cocking his head to the side as if goading some shared secret out of her. “You’re still worried about me.”

Gwen let out a short, stunned laugh. “For fuck’s sake…”

“It’s alright, you don’t have to say it. But gotta admit, I can't blame you.”

“The sooner you’re done there, the sooner you’re gone, right?” Gwen asked. She seemed to savor the way his crooked grin froze.

Lips pressed into a thin line, Hannah touched Gwen’s arm gingerly. “Honey, can’t you just give them directions?”

“It’s not that simple. Things have gotten more complicated with the new management taking over. These two may be idiots, but I don't want their blood on my hands, either.”

Jon straightened. “New management? Cain isn’t the outpost marshal anymore?”

Clicking his tongue, Cliff shook his head. “Don’t tell me he finally kicked the bucket—I liked that guy.”

“Don’t get weepy—Cain’s still around, as far as I know, but he got talked into handing the keys over. Some cleaner showed up and flashed a bunch of cash to invest in upgrades for the outpost. All of a sudden, he wasn’t just some cleaner anymore. He started calling the shots.”

Cliff's expression darkened. “Who is this guy?”

“Goes by Rhett. ”

Fresh tension seized the breakfast table.

“Rhett Iverson ?” Jon questioned.

Gwen narrowed her eyes, then nodded. “Why, you know him?”

Jon and Cliff groaned in unison, and I recalled the two of them griping now and again about some hunts gone wrong. The name Rhett had come up once or twice—and I suddenly remembered why.

“Wait,” I piped up, looking between the boys. “Is this the prowler incident guy? Is he the reason why you won’t hunt with anyone else?”

Cliff nodded. “It was a few years ago… A short while after you ditched us, actually—” This he aimed at Gwen, whose eyes went wide with outrage.

“That’s not what—I didn’t mean—” Gwen started.

“Don’t interrupt. So we got looped into this hunt with a couple of cleaners looking to kill this prowler,” Cliff went on, turning his attention between Hannah and I. “These things need to be burned to keep them from reanimating. Simple enough, but these guys—Rhett and Jameson—they wanted extra hands. Especially Rhett. Turns out his friendly attitude was all because he found a client willing to pay for anything he could salvage.”

“He didn’t bother to tell us he was after the prowler’s eyes because he didn’t want to split the payout,” Jon said, pushing a hand through his hair. “So when the time came to burn the corpse, he said he’d handle it. Instead, he tried to knock us out and ran off with the head to remove the eyes. Next thing we knew, the body was back on its feet and slashing its way toward us."

Cliff shook his head. “He was pissed when we got the upper hand—looked like he wanted to kill us both then and there. But he was smart enough to know we'd cave his chest in if he tried it. ”

“And that’s who’s in charge now?” I asked, looking at Gwen in alarm.

She rubbed between her eyes again, giving a half-hearted shrug. “Money talks. He brought along updated security and some new systems that are helping the outpost make bank. That’s what rubbed me the wrong way—it isn’t about targeting the monsters causing the most bloodshed anymore. It’s all about collecting what's most valuable.”

Hannah shuddered. “That doesn’t sound like any place you need to be,” she told Gwen pleadingly.

“I know what I’m doing. I’ll just get them as far as they need. As much as I try to be a heartless bitch, I'm still a work in progress.” She shared a chuckle with Hannah, interlacing their fingers together. “Hey—you wouldn’t want your new customers to bite it before they have a chance to pay you, right?”

Hannah kissed the back of Gwen's hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Text me every five minutes, you hear me? And at least finish your breakfast before you head out.”

I looked between the muffins and fresh fruit laid out on the table. Anxiety had suddenly ruined any appetite I'd had. But this venture was absolutely necessary—we needed that silver.

Cliff idly watched Gwen, who picked at her omelet meticulously. He lifted his eyebrows, shooting Hannah a humorless smile. “She likes her eggs scrambled, by the way.”

Gwen stood, jabbing her finger at the door. “Out. You’re eating on the porch, asshole.”