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9

Jon

“ D o me a favor and please tell your sidekick to stop staring at me,” Gwen snapped from the backseat.

Sylvia scrambled off my headrest and perched by the window. “Does she have to sit right behind you?” she grumbled. “What if she pulls a weapon?”

“You don’t have to worry,” I said, not bothering to lower my voice. “If she wanted to off me, she’d want to watch the life leave my eyes.”

“I’m more interested in the sound you’d make, actually,” Gwen replied dryly.

Sylvia huffed, fidgeting as she turned her gaze outside.

The marsh was different in the daylight, though very little sun could penetrate the fronds and the moss. The crowded trees and mucky paths were familiar in ways I preferred to forget. I’d slogged through this mud when I was barely eighteen, secondhand clothes hanging off my lanky frame while a veteran hunter barked at me to keep up. Their damn monopoly on quality silver brought us back to their door dozens of times over the years, but unshakeable heaviness always rose within me. Tammy may have spent a lot of time in these parts, but most other outposts didn’t carry the same unsettling reputation.

My eyes fell back to Sylvia at the thought of Tammy, and I was almost relieved to hear Gwen behind us again.

“Slow down here—see that sign on the tree?” Gwen asked.

A metal plate drilled into the bark declared: PRIVATE RESEARCH FACILITY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED .

“Yeah. One of the guide marks,” Cliff said.

She shook her head. “It’s got a new layer of security. See that trip wire up ahead? Releases toxic mist.”

Cliff scoffed in disbelief. “Oh, so they’re melting civilians for wandering too close these days? Can’t say I’m surprised, with that asshole in charge.”

“It’s harmless to humans,” Gwen said too casually. “But it’s a cocktail of silver, bronze, and iron. If you take the car over the tripwire, the bulk of the fumes will come through the A/C.”

Sylvia kept her face pointed toward the window, seemingly calm, but I could see her reflection. Her eyes were wide, lips slightly parted at the imagined horror of her flesh bubbling and melting away.

I resisted the urge to coddle her with an assurance that she was safe. It would be a lie, anyway. She should have stayed behind at the shop. “Any way around?” I asked Gwen.

“Not unless you want to drown this car, too,” she said wryly. “It’s a single-use mechanism. Park here for a second while I trigger it. If you give it a minute, the mist should dissipate enough to be safe.”

“ Should ,” Sylvia echoed hollowly. “Lovely.”

Cliff eased the borrowed green Accord to a stop, the tires crunching over the fallen leaves. He and Gwen stepped out, the humid air scented with moss and earth. He hovered close as Gwen knelt at the base of a towering oak, her fingers deftly tracing the nearly invisible wire. She looked up, meeting Cliff’s eyes briefly. I couldn’t hear what she said, but Cliff shook his head, even as her fingers pulled—triggering the device.

Clouds of mist sprayed from the branches above, the hidden devices coming to life with harrowing precision. I glanced at Sylvia, but she didn’t flinch. She stared vacantly as the mist rained and swirled directly around the space our car would have occupied if we’d continued driving forward.

“At least a wandering fairy wouldn’t accidentally pull a tripwire that close to the ground,” she murmured.

“You’re right,” I said readily, trying not to imagine what a brutal way to go that would be—agonizing and humiliating.

Finally, the mist sputtered out and faded, leaving a faintly metallic stench. Gwen stood, brushing dirt off her black jeans. Dropping the limp wire, she returned to the car.

“Let’s go,” she called over her shoulder.

After scanning the muddy path ahead, Cliff followed and climbed back behind the wheel. He glanced Sylvia’s way before turning to confirm with Gwen. “You’re sure it’s safe now?”

“I can sense it,” Sylvia announced before Gwen could answer. “It’s settled into the ground—not the air.”

Cliff took the car at a crawl nonetheless, waiting until we’d passed the hidden devices entirely before moving at a normal pace. We drove for another twenty minutes, evading two more defense automations as the car bounced over the increasingly uneven ground. Some obstacles we recognized. Others were new—brought to our attention by our backseat driver.

It was with a little bitterness I had to admit Gwen was actually pulling her weight. If she’d wanted, she could have taken us over the tripwire without warning and claimed ignorance when Sylvia started shrieking in pain.

This deep into the marshland, sunlight became even sparser behind the towering trees, each cloaked by a mossy curtain. The faint lights of the outpost were noticeable at once—a sight that made my heart lurch. A vast stretch of water stood between us at the cluster of buildings down in the distance .

The tires struggled against the mud until we reached a spot where the earth became too soft to drive over. Cliff pulled off the paved road, parking the car under the shade of a gnarled oak.

The four of us exited the car, and I paused with a mouthful of rancid air to take in the sight. We were too far away to make out any movement on the massive, dilapidated structure.

“It smells like a fish died eating another fish out here,” Sylvia complained, wrinkling her nose.

Cliff snorted. “If you saw the inside of this place, you’d wish that was what you were smelling.”

Sylvia frowned, looking back at me with a shiver. “I swear I can sense the captive monsters even from here. Aren’t they supposed to be weakened? How do you know some of them haven’t gotten loose from that… What did you call it— the Pit ?”

“You know better than most how paranoid hunters are,” I said, the corner of my lips lifting in a self-deprecating smile. “Nothing gets in or out without them noticing.”

But even I could feel the unsettling quiet here—birdsong swallowed up.

Gwen crossed her arms and leaned against the car. “For all the extra tripwires they invested in, doesn’t look like they’ve reinforced the bridge.” She grimaced at the wooden walkway that stretched over the bayou before us. Rainwater drifted along far below in the swamp, carrying twigs and muck and God knew what else. “This is as far as I take you. You have fun, boys.”

“You’re not coming?” Sylvia asked.

“Hell no. You think I spent six months cutting ties just to get roped back in? Keep my name out of your mouth while you’re in there. I started a rumor that a ghoul got the better of me in Texas. The less of these fucks know I exist, the better.”

Sylvia narrowed her eyes. “Why would you practically live in the outpost’s backyard, then? ”

“You’re the last one who should be questioning lifestyle choices, Tinker Bell.”

“My lifestyle choices these days have involved saving humans , you know,” she snapped, flying closer to me and Cliff. Her shoulders squared with a sense of duty. “Can we get this over with? My skin’s about to crawl off my bones just from breathing the air out here.”

I shared a look with Cliff, lips pressed into a thin line. He averted his gaze to the outpost in the distance, ignoring my silent plea to be the bad guy and break the news. Sighing, I braced myself. “Stay with Gwen, Sylv. Someone’s gotta make sure she doesn’t leave us stranded.”

“ What ?” Her eyes widened with instant outrage. “You want me to babysit?”

Once again, I wished I’d insisted that she stay behind at the shop—where she would be safe in the company of Hannah and a pack of docile animals.

“Yes,” I said, matching the hard edge in her voice. “I’m not stupid enough to invite you into a hunters’ outpost—especially one with updated security measures. You’re lucky I let you come this close.”

The humid air cooled slightly. “ Let me?”

“You know what I mean,” I pushed on, faltering at the sting of betrayal in her glare. “Dozens of hunters from across the country set up shop here for weeks at a time—”

“I heard you before,” she cut in, sighing as she raked her hands through her hair. “I get it. I just hope you know what you’re asking of me. To sit here, helpless, wondering if you’re alright. You know there was something by the car wreck. What if there are more of them—whatever they are?”

Her voice strangled off, her eyes darting between Cliff and me, swimming with shadow. I knew that look well, but it was arresting to see it on her —that crippling fear of being the one thing standing between a loved one and their demise.

I stepped closer and reached out to brush her hand resting at her side—to provide even a shred of comfort. “I’m not asking you to like it. I’m asking you to trust me.”

Avoiding my touch, she flew in an arc out of reach and alighted on a branch overhead. “Don’t make me wait too long.”

“Half an hour, tops,” I said.

Pulling a gun from the waistband of his jeans, Cliff tossed it to Gwen. “Just in case. You remember how to use it?”

She smoothly caught the weapon and cradled it in her hands, scoffing. “If that’s your way of volunteering to be target practice, I’m game.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I’ll have to rain check,” Cliff said, a smirk pulling at his lips. “Think of it as payment.”

His gaze briefly flickered up to where Sylvia sulked, and he added under his breath, “Keep an eye on her.”

Gwen shooed us off with the barrel of the handgun. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry up, would you? I’m not giving up my whole Sunday for this. Just—” She faltered, swallowing the words back as her gaze rested on Cliff. “Be careful. Idiot or not, Iverson’s got this place by the balls.”

Cliff cocked his head to the side, sweeping a glance over her. “You keep trying to convince yourself you're not carrying a torch for me.”

“If you get yourself killed, this will take twice as long,” Gwen returned.

She and I locked gazes, and the faint glimmer of warmth drained out of her eyes. It became obvious that any concern rooted in Gwen did not extend to me, with the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. Memories glimmered behind her steely, kohl-rimmed eyes, promising that she hadn’t forgiven me for what had happened to Luke .

Not that I needed her forgiveness. Not then, not now.

I glanced toward Sylvia, suddenly arrested by the awful thought that she might not be entirely safe with Gwen—not when I had made it clear she meant something to me.

“Stand down, Nowak,” Gwen muttered, following my flighty gaze. “I’m not gonna lay a finger on her.”

“If you try, it’s not me you’ll need to worry about,” I replied, eyeing Sylvia’s perch in the branches above us. A cryptic smile played on my lips and seemed to rouse Sylvia slightly, even though her pretty features remained a taut mask of wary concern.

When I turned, empty duffles slung over my shoulder, Sylvia didn’t say a word.

Cliff and I set off along the bridge, beginning the long trek to the outpost. The wooden planks, dark and perpetually damp, creaked under our weight. I slowed my stride and glanced at the brackish water below. The bridge was elevated twenty feet—a drop that made my stomach churn, even if I’d crossed these planks enough times to avoid the trick ones. The unsteadiness of the bridge was yet another method of deterring wanderers, but one of these days, the precaution was bound to backfire. I white-knuckled the railing, watching algae drift in the gentle tide.

The bridge gave a sudden, jarring tremor. I glared as Cliff passed me with deliberately heavy strides.

“Really?” I barked, irritation mingling with my queasiness.

His laugh echoed across the marsh. “Afraid of a swim?”

“Asshole.” But the word lacked its usual bite. Amid the old wounds surfacing and the persistent uncertainty, falling into stride beside Cliff brought a peculiar comfort. He’d been right here with me the first time I’d crossed this bridge, and against all odds, he was still by my side now.

The marshlands stretched in all directions, the mist oddly thick for the warm morning. The stillness unsettled me; the croaking of frogs, the birds calling out, the distant splash of wildlife moving in the water—none of it was here the way it should have been. When I glanced back the way we’d come, I could scarcely make out the bank against the haggard tree line. The car wasn’t visible at all.

“Sylv will come around,” Cliff said, following my gaze. “I’m sure she’ll cool off before you guys get your freak on again tonight.”

I snorted in protest, but worry overtook embarrassment. “I hope so. Still, I’d rather her be upset about staying behind than having her see that place. If she saw the Pit for herself…” I pushed the image from my mind. “She might look at me different. Dunno if I could bear that.”

“You’re overthinking it. After keeping her in a box for two nights, I doubt much is gonna shake the way she looks at you.”

He said it nonchalantly, but dammit, my heart stuttered. I felt like a teenager dying for more detail— How exactly does she look at me? What have you noticed? Has she told you anything? If going down this road distracted me from looking at the water below, I supposed it was worth a shot.

“Maybe you’re right.” I hesitated. “The other night, in the spectral realm—”

Cliff groaned over me. “Spare me the slutty details, please.”

“Keep your shirt on.” I shouldered him, my grin flickering as I pictured Sylvia’s earnest expression peering up at me, her scarlet hair fanned over my shoulder. “Do you believe in soul bonds?”

He stopped in his tracks. “What?”

“A soul bond. Or something to that effect, anyway.” Heat rushed to my face as his bewildered stare bore into me. “Like maybe… some people are just made to find each other on some cosmic level, you know?”

“Holy fuck. You spend two months with a fairy, and now you’re talking like you walked out of a John Hughes movie. Who are you?”

Gripping the sturdiest part of the railing, I came to a stop and cast my gaze over the rippling, dark water. “I know it sounds insane—believe me, I know. But I’ve had this tug inside me since I met her. Lately, it’s… It’s hard to ignore.”

“You sure that’s your upstairs brain talking?” Cliff asked, quirking a brow.

I conceded a smirk at that, but my heart was pounding. Sylvia’s face was seared in my mind like a brand— my addiction . As real as the mark she’d carved into my shoulder.

“You, of all people, know how much sleep I’ve lost over what happened,” I said. “Losing my dad. Losing everything . I mean, why us? Why were we the ones to be burned with all of this?”

I faced him with a hard, pleading look as the memories resurfaced—family photos splintering, beloved kitchen wallpaper curling away under the heat of the roaring flames, Cliff’s unyielding grip on my arm as he peeled me away from the wreckage, from my father’s corpse. I dropped my stare, shuddering.

Sobering up, Cliff followed my gaze to the water, where the idle ripples distorted our vague reflections. I quelled the memory of acrid smoke with the smell of cinnamon and rain— her scent.

“Sometimes I wonder if she is the reason,” I said, finally ejecting my point. “Maybe everything I went through—all that loss, all that suffering—it was all leading me to her . Like we were meant to meet even if…”

Even if she’s not like us , our shared silence echoed.

Cliff’s gruff voice softened with a level of concern that toed the line between insulting and comforting. “Jon, I get it. I do. After the fucked up shit we went through…” He sh ook his head. “But I think the truth is worse than any kind of fate or destiny bullshit. Sometimes, people just suffer.”

“You don’t understand,” I muttered. He couldn’t register that look on Sylvia’s face when she spoke of her lost father. I knew that vacant, mournful stare—because it was like looking at myself. Cliff hadn’t met someone whose soul seemed tailor-made for his.

“I understand more than you think,” he replied quietly. “But this? With her ? You may as well be trying to hold onto a ghost.”

I peeled myself away from the railing and readjusted my grip on the bags slung over my shoulder. I’d been broken for so long. There was no way to explain how badly I wanted to feel whole again—even if grasping at something intangible was the only way to do it.

“Hey—you’re listening to me, right?” Cliff called after me.

I shrugged, forcing my thoughts into the here and now—onto one step in front of the other. “Of course,” I said. “You’re right. It’s only a temporary thing. What else could it be?”

Cliff fell back into stride, eyes narrowing on me.

“But let’s be honest here—you’re clearly jaded because of Gwen,” I added.

He cursed under his breath, jaw feathering. “Can’t believe she retired,” he muttered, taking the bait. “Such bullshit.”

His disdain made me falter, a thread of guilt tugging from my chest as I thought about the daydream I’d woven with Sylvia where I retired and started a new life. Even if I’d callously shut down her suggestion of making it a reality, entertaining the fantasy felt traitorous with Cliff beside me.

“And the fact that she left us in the middle of the night has nothing to do with it?” I prodded.

“Ancient history.”

“Clearly.” I wasn’t cruel enough to remind him of his foul mood and excessive drinking that followed her sudden absence that fateful morning. “Come on, you can't be shocked after how much she was pulling away toward the end. There’s no rule about staying in it for life. Maybe this is a good thing.”

“Seriously? She was one of the best in the game. What a waste.”

I scoffed, unable to mask my venom to spare him. “She was decent at best.”

“She got the run on you .”

“One time,” I muttered.

“And you still have your panties in a twist over it.”

“She shot me!”

“It barely grazed you,” Cliff said breezily.

I rolled my eyes. “Fuck, you’re insufferable when she’s around. And look—I stand by what I said. None of us sign a damn contract when we start hunting. Her heart clearly wasn’t in it even years ago. Let her live a normal life without policing her.”

From the corner of my eye, I sensed Cliff’s dark look—a questioning one. We’d been down this path years ago when he’d slammed the door behind him hard enough to make that shitty Iowa motel rattle. I never thought I’d be the one poised to run, though—even if it was just a distant daydream.

“There’s never a normal life after touching this world,” Cliff said with finality. “You know that. And the real point is, she moved on too quickly from me.”

“It’s been five years at least, Cliff.”

“Please—it takes a lifetime to get me out of your system.” His insufferable smile turned considering as he gave me another look over his shoulder. “You know, she might’ve been jealous as fuck if I had shown up at her door with a tall brunet on my arm…”

I scoffed out a harsh laugh. “She wouldn’t have believed it for a second.”

“What, you don’t think I can pull someone as incredible as you?”

“I’ve seen you pull.”

His smirk returned. “Yeah, you have. Come on, aside from being covered in blood every other night, you’d date me, right? ”

“Even if I swung that way, you’re not my type.”

The walkway abruptly stopped rattling when Cliff stopped dead in his tracks. I walked past him without a second glance.

“How the hell am I not your type?” Cliff snapped. “I’m everyone’s type!”

“What’s the big deal? You’re not even into me.”

“That’s beside the point! What’s your type, then, tough guy?”

“I don’t know, man.” I glanced back, assessing him as he caught up. Gripping the railing tightly, I assured myself we weren’t far from the end. “You’re shorter than me, for one thing.”

“Oh— two inches , you bastard. Try again.”

“I’d need someone more rugged.” I couldn’t fight a grin at his outraged scoff. I was only sad Sylvia was missing it. “But who can be tender with me, too, you know?”

“Fuck off, I can be tender!”

“And you fly off the handle at the drop of a hat. You’re literally screaming at me for no reason!”

A blur of gray and brown fur suddenly darted in front of us, dropping from the tangle of branches overhead. Cursing, Cliff staggered back into me. I shoved him off, a coil of anxiety surfacing at the thought of our combined weight splintering the rotted wood, careening off the sharp drop—

A squirrel skittered up to the railing at waist level, bushy tail twitching. Not this again . Cliff gripped my jacket with one hand. The other whipped his handgun from its thigh holster so quickly that I struggled to track the movement.

I groaned. “Come on, don’t shoot it.”

“You know these fuckers have it out for me! Ever since Virginia. It’s a curse. I know it’s a curse.” His aim was centered with deadly precision on the squirrel’s tiny, furry skull.

“We don’t know that.” I stepped in his path to push the gun down. He leaned to the side to lock gazes with it over my shoulder as the squirrel chittered. It stared back at him, glossy eyes vacant.

“Come on.” I pushed Cliff forward, leaving the squirrel behind us. Cliff flinched as it gave a shrill squeak, but when nothing further happened, he flipped the safety back on his gun and tucked it out of sight.

“Whatever. Like I was saying—you wouldn’t stand a chance with me,” Cliff went on, salvaging his dignity with a sweep of his hand through his dark blond hair.

My smile dropped into a grimace. “Dude—”

“You’d wake up in a hospital bed.”

“You wish,” I scoffed.

A beat passed between us as I tried not to think about it. Tried not to picture—

“Are you blushing?” Cliff demanded.

“Nope. Don’t even try to make this about anything other than your vanity.”

“You are .” Cliff chuckled fondly at my expense. “Lightweight.”

The last stretch of the boards bridging us to solid ground grew narrower, slick with moisture. This area was sturdier, swaying less with each lap of water against the poles that vanished into the depths. The outpost rose as a single-story fortress from the water, the air heavy with the scent of decay and something sharp and metallic. The weather-beaten wood of the structure had turned smooth from years of harsh weather and the rough hands of hunters. Old—but impossible to infiltrate. The wood was reinforced with iron and steel at every opening.

Abandoned supplies lined the railings surrounding the outpost—cages, nets, assorted hunting gear. I lifted a brow at the sight of a crossbow protruding from a canvas bag.

We approached a few hunters who idled outside the entrance, smoking and talking. Their conversation quelled, and they eyed us with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Any lost hikers who’d trespassed this far would certainly turn tail upon seeing even one of these guys. One of them, a burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard and a missing tooth, chuckled as we passed.

“Hey, pretty boy,” he called out, nodding at the gun holstered on Cliff’s thigh. “Know how to use that thing?”

Cliff kept his gaze fixed ahead with militant focus, even when the jeers turned vulgar—though admirable in their colorful description. I pushed them from earshot as the bouncer peeled away from the shadows of the entryway to stop us before the final walkway leading to the building. He was a monolith of a man, likely pushing seven feet tall. I was generally one of the tallest people in any given room; lifting my chin to meet his appraising stare felt strange.

“State your business,” he rasped, voice coarse from years of chain-smoking.

“Just a couple of researchers collecting data,” Cliff said casually.

“Who’s your coordinator?” The bouncer asked, providing the second half of the pass phrase.

“Tammy Gordon,” I answered.

With a quiet shiiink , he withdrew a machete from his belt. “Follow me.”

As we trailed behind him along the walkway, I braced myself for what had to come next, but a glint from above distracted me. Nestled discreetly under the weathered wood overhang was a sleek camera pointed in our direction, its modern casing a harsh contrast to its surroundings. The state-of-the-art security measure proved Gwen’s claim about the upgrades.

A chittering hiss came from within a stack of crates near the door. Leathery wings and clawed hands poked through the slats. Ahools. They were often mistaken for bats, though they could grow to be much bigger.

Strange—they normally avoided humans unless provoked, and they weren’t native to this area to begin with. I’d heard about the versatility of their wing hide, though, and had no doubt these people were delaying the kill until the little beasts were fully matured.

Something else thudded, water sloshing. I jerked my attention back down, noting that one of the luggage-sized crates near the edge of the wrap-around walkway was a tank. A creature surged back and forth inside, palms beating on the glass. White-blonde hair drifted around a slender face. The hollows of her cheeks were pronounced, and her large eyes were flooded with unnatural blackness like the dead of night.

“A siren?” I breathed.

I’d never been able to observe one openly. No one could—not without being glamoured into a watery grave. A siren’s captivating eyes were just as dangerous as those razor-sharp teeth. This one appeared to be in a bizarre state of in-between—part decay with hints of beauty meant to lure unwitting victims into diving after her.

She made a pitiful crooning noise.

“Dumb bitch,” the bouncer buttered. He stormed over and pounded a fist on top of the grimy glass case. “How many times have I told you to keep your mouth shut?”

The siren gave a waterlogged screech, covering her eyes with taloned hands. The bouncer pounded again, smirking as she curled up at the very bottom with animal disdain twisting her pretty features. He sauntered back to us.

“Don’t worry, boys. She can try, but we keep her half-starved. Too weak to hypnotize a damn frog.”

That pleading, frightened look on her face didn’t bring any sense of comfort. Sylvia’s face flashed through my mind’s eye.

“What are you going to do with her?” I asked.

“She’ll be shipped off soon enough. Something about breaking down her blood for medicine—bullshit, if you ask me. They’re paying top dollar for us to keep her breathing, though. ”

“Who’s they?” Cliff questioned, stealing a glance at the siren with uncertainty that mirrored my own.

“Hell if I know—ask the marshal if you wanna outbid for her.” The bouncer positioned himself before us and grunted, gesturing for us to hold out our arms. “Test of humanity. Roll up your sleeves.”

I exchanged a look with Cliff as we complied. Code phrases could only get us near the door. The process of actually getting through was far less pleasant. The bouncer’s machete glinted in the hazy sunlight.

Clearing my throat, I said, “Last time we came by, it was a smaller knife.”

He seized my wrist, wrenching my arm out. “Don’t be a pussy.”

I gritted my teeth, but the incision was surprisingly delicate. The silver blade drew a narrow line of blood across my forearm. Next, he produced an iron bar to press firmly over my skin. The bouncer gave Cliff the same treatment. No acrid, smoldering effects followed, nor any of the general agonized symptoms that would be drawn out of a monster.

The bouncer wiped the blade on his shirt and sank into a chair by the door that looked barely capable of supporting his weight. “Go on,” he grunted.

I pulled open the thick, iron-banded door and stepped inside.

“Okay, I thought that was gonna be way worse,” Cliff murmured under his breath. He tapped off a quick strip of gauze before handing me the roll.

“Dude, right?” I said, sharing a small laugh. I rolled the sleeve of my khaki green shirt back down after covering the wound. “Tiny back there has a delicate touch.”

“ Tender enough for you?” he sneered.

I pretended to consider it. “Almost.”

“Bastard.” Cliff elbowed past me. “Let’s lock down that silver first. ”

We paused shortly after the door shut behind us, taking in the unfamiliar layout of the outpost. While there were still hunting trophies in abundance, the usual stalls and tables were nowhere to be seen.

“Where the hell are the weapons?” Cliff muttered as we strolled further inside. The floor was made of the same dark wood as before, scuffed by countless boots.

“Maybe they moved their supplies to one of the rooms.” I noted the four doorways along the wall that branched off into other spaces, but they were shut tight. The only other exterior door led to the side outdoor area which housed the Pit.

Despite the lack of ammunition and weapons for sale, there was more energy about the common area than I’d ever witnessed. There appeared to be more archivists and strategists present than before, consulting groups of hunters with maps and diagrams. The most familiar sights were the shooting range and the bar—the latter of which was unusually empty.

As for the shooting range in the far corner, a row of four hunters were taking aim at moving targets. Cliff looked longingly in that direction before tearing his gaze away. There was no time.

“Even the fucking community supply cache is gone,” Cliff said. “What the hell is this place for, then?”

I had no answer for him, surveying the common area again slowly. Activity by a stack of crates along the wall caught my attention. For a hopeful second, I thought they might hold the cache—until I saw a group of people packing unusual items inside.

Nudging Cliff to follow, I approached them casually. A foul smell surrounded the area—chemicals used for taxidermy. I caught a glimpse of werewolf pelts and polished horns, which were typically sold off as practical wares for hunters. But I also noticed spiked tentacles, ugly mounted ghoul heads, and a full basilisk statue poised in mid-strike.

“Need something?” one of the men at work snapped at me. He looked too slight to be a hunter—maybe an archivist.

“Just curious,” I said. “We haven’t been around in a good couple years. Where’s all this going?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Classified. Take it up with the marshal.”

I had to clench my jaw to keep from pressing. Too much push-back could land us in hot water with the usual crowd that ran around this place. I thought about pressing my luck and asking where the supplies were kept—particularly the silver, but Cliff elbowed me.

“Hey—is that Cain out there?”

Following where he pointed, I saw movement through one of the windows. Sure enough, Cain was outside the Pit with a newblood—a young man with dark hair. If Gwen was to be believed, Cain wasn’t the marshal anymore, but surely he could still snag us some silver.

As we passed through the doors, I couldn’t help but thoroughly examine the Pit. The massive, circular chain-link cage was suspended over the wooden walkways over the murky bayou. Although it had been reinforced and patched many times over the years, it looked almost the same as when I’d first stepped into it. The iron and silver chains hanging from the domed ceiling were a new touch, though.

A fairly small creature was curled up on the concrete base.

Cliff gave a low whistle. “What do you think? A familiar? An alp?”

“Hard to say when it’s calm,” I murmured back. At first glance, the creature looked like a dog—unusually large, but the sort of lovable mutt that should have been found dozing on a living room rug .

I scanned the area, curious of what other creatures might be entering the Pit sometime soon. Slight movement caught my eye from around the corner of the building. Surrounded by heaps of garbage, a seemingly human person was tied to a stake, hands behind his back. His blond head was lowered, and the air seemed to shimmer around his skin—burning in the overcast sunlight. I was surprised that they would keep a vampire around to this point of weakness; he wouldn’t be much good for training in the Pit.

“You’ve got to be prepared for any of its forms,” Cain was saying to the newblood. “Tell me—what are the signs that it’s about to shift?”

“It’ll pause, but only briefly,” the young man answered with an eagerness that should have been saved for a university classroom. “Striking mid-shift is the best way to take it out—”

“And if there’s no time to strike?” Cain said.

“Take the opportunity to get out of range and assess the new threat it turned into.”

Cliff sauntered forward to interrupt. “And you might wanna be prepared for your mind to go blank the moment you step in there. Takes time before you start thinking clearly in the heat of a fight.”

Cain’s weathered face split into a grin. “Well! The Appalachian Reapers finally grace us with their presence. Here I thought some ghoul or other got the better of you boys.”

“The Appalachian Reapers?” The young hunter was slack-jawed. “Seriously?” He cast furtive glances between us, eyes flicking down searchingly.

I chuckled. “I’m guessing you heard the rumor that one of us cut off a hand to use as bait?”

The kid’s face flushed. “I-I mean—I didn’t believe it or anything.”

“You’ll learn soon enough, Brandon,” Cain said. “Most assholes in the business like mixing their information with whiskey.” He gave Cliff and me a fond smirk. “But the truth’s nothing to sneeze at. Two men against a pack of feral whistlers out in the belly of the mountains, protecting a pregnant civilian while they were at it. Should’ve been torn to pieces by all accounts. Hunts like that are once in a lifetime, boys.”

Brandon continued to gape, starstruck. “It’s an honor to meet you,” he stammered.

If we had the time, I wouldn’t have minded sitting down with a beer so Cliff and I could regale Brandon with further detail—especially about how the woman hadn’t just been expecting. She’d been in the throes of labor pains, and I’d muffled her raw screams into my jacket to avoid being detected by the whistlers crawling in the forest around us.

“You just keep that weapon raised, kid,” Cliff said.

Brandon chuckled self-consciously. “Easy for you to say! Is it true you nailed twelve of those whistlers with headshots while it was practically pitch black out there?” His eyes flickered not-so-subtly to a tattoo that peeked out from under Cliff’s collar.

Cliff pulled at his shirt and angled his head to reveal the full design—skeletal antlers inked in a delicate circle on the right side of his neck to commemorate the hunt. Brandon inhaled a reverent gasp.

“Missed plenty of shots out there, too, but lucky we were stocked up,” Cliff said, then turned pointedly to Cain. “Speaking of—can you clue us in about what the hell happened to the supply cache? And the silver vendors?”

Cain waved a dismissive hand, perhaps to distract from the discomfort lining his face. “New systems got put in place, I’m sure you’ve heard. Not much I can do about it, seeing as I’m not the marshal anymore.”

“Can’t you just sell it to us?” I asked .

“Supplies like that aren’t sold anymore. They’re earned. Provide for the outpost, and the outpost provides for you.”

“Sounds like you handed the place off to a cult leader,” Cliff scoffed. “Seriously— Rhett Iverson ? That crazy-eyed bastard shouldn’t be in charge of a McDonald’s, let alone an operation like this.”

A burly hunter approached—one of the Pit keepers. “You heading in there, or what?” he directed at Brandon. “Bets closed five minutes ago—they’re getting antsy.” Behind him, at least a dozen other outpost denizens surrounded the Pit in anticipation. The bookie leaned against a stack of crates, counting a wad of cash.

When Brandon paled, Cain clapped his shoulder. “Keep your wits about you. Understand, boy? Remember, you can call it off at any time, and one of the keepers’ll subdue the beast.”

Nodding shakily, Brandon tugged at a cord around his neck, rubbing a set of beads between his fingers. He froze when he noticed me watching.

“Good luck charm?” I questioned.

He cleared his throat. “My sister got it for me from some tourist trap in NOLA. I know it doesn’t do anything, but…”

“Hey, I get it,” I said, flashing the azabache bracelet on my wrist. “Some things just make us feel safer.”

Brandon straightened, bearing more confidence as he headed for the Pit door. It was strangely detached from the buzz of energy in the air—the understanding that hunters, cleaners, and archivists alike had bet money on how long he’d last before getting maimed or calling it quits. The kid looked so scrawny. I could hardly believe Cliff and I were just like him, once upon a time.

If we made it, so could he.

He circled the sleeping dog slowly while spectators jeered at him to attack. Brandon started to ease forward, only to lose his nerve and back off. I had no doubt Cain had trained him thoroughly, but that didn’t change the fact that he was too young and nervous to initiate the fight. If Tammy were in Cain’s place, she would have been barking orders for Brandon to take control, to strike .

“We saw some crates being packed in the building,” I said, drawing Cain’s attention away from the nonexistent battle. “Where are they being shipped?”

Huffing, Cain shook his head. “I don’t know all the details.”

“Why?” Cliff cut in. “You ran this place for—how many years? Decades? Why wouldn’t you want to get all the information you can about what comes next for it?”

“What do you want me to say? I’m old, boys! I was ready to pass the mantle, and the new marshal assured me that the bounties and supplies are going to a good cause.”

“But how do you know for sure if you can’t say what cause it’s going toward?” I pressed.

“Look around you, boys!” Cain gestured widely. “You ever seen this place more lively? We can afford better supplies, better protection. Hell, hunters can actually make a living around here now, thanks to the marshal. I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth—not at my age.”

One of the spectators viciously clanged on the chain-link exterior of the Pit, finally rousing the dog. It lifted its head to find that Brandon had invaded its enclosure. At once, the beast was on its feet, hackles raised and teeth bared.

“Strike, boy!” Cain shouted. “Before it changes!”

Brandon looked cemented to where he stood for all of three seconds. Then he gave a war cry and lunged. Before he reached the dog, its fur shivered, and it grew in size. In the blink of an eye, a bear had taken the place of the dog, rising onto its hind legs to tower over the kid .

A massive paw swung, catching Brandon square in the chest and sending him onto his ass, blade skittering out of reach. He howled in pain, clutching his front as crimson seeped through his fingers.

“Get him out!” I shouted.

But the head Pit keeper at the door shook his head. “ He needs to call it.”

Brandon was in no state to call anything. He scrambled back in a panic as the bear loped for him. He made a valiant attempt to dodge, but it was no use. The monster caught Brandon’s hand in its jaw first. His ear-splitting shriek made my nerves stand on end.

“The fuck are they waiting for!” Cliff growled, stalking forward to grab one of the cattle prods leaning against the Pit. Cain and I followed his lead, but I had the sick feeling we were too late.

Blood spilled over the already-stained concrete floor of the Pit. Bits of Brandon’s mangled hand and arm lay scattered in several directions. Cliff elbowed past jeering spectators to get in reach of the bear. He managed to get a good jab at the creature’s flank, but it jolted out of reach of all three of us—taking Brandon with it.

The bear had caught the kid’s shoulder in its jaws. Jerking back, it sent Brandon down on his back and braced a paw on his body, spasming its head side to side until there was a sickening pop—followed by a wet ripping sound.

Brandon’s scream drowned out the roar of the small crowd.

Finally, the other Pit keepers set to work. They strategically surrounded the chain link enclosure, lunging cattle prods through the fence with well-placed strikes to make the bear retreat. No one seemed keen on trying to remove the severed arm from its jaws .

I didn’t realize Brandon had stopped screaming until I saw him being dragged from the Pit—fully shocked into silence, gaze distant.

“ Pinches pendejos ,” I muttered, regrouping with Cliff and Cain. “That alp wasn’t weakened enough. Putting a kid alone up against a monster like that?” I gave Cain a hard look. “Is that part of the new system ?”

“It hadn’t shifted into a fucking bear before, I’ll tell you that,” Cain sighed. “Excuse me, boys—I need to be with him in the medic’s room.”

He looked almost relieved at the excuse to end our conversation. He disappeared past a group of bettors arguing with the bookie about technicalities and payouts. I couldn’t banish my own memories of the dismembered revenant I’d been pitted against five days in a row when I was Brandon’s age. Many had bet against me, not bothering to hide their disappointment when I emerged victorious day after day.

If Brandon pulled through, at least I could rest assured he wouldn’t be fighting any more monsters.

“Poor kid,” Cliff murmured as we abandoned our cattle prods where we’d found them.“They made sure the alps were half-dead before pitting us against them, didn’t they?”

I heaved a sigh. “Nothing’s right about this place—not that there ever was. But this is different.” I glanced in the direction Cain had vanished. “If there was anyone around here who could tell us what the hell is going on, it’s him.”

“Maybe if we root around, we can scrounge up some silver and be gone before they know it,” Cliff said dubiously.

As much as I wanted to get the hell out of this place and return to Sylvia, I hesitated. “If there’s a demand for specialty non-human parts, it’s worth looking into. Do you really buy that these things are going to a good cause? ”

“It’s bullshit,” Cliff agreed as we circled back around the Pit. “But if Cain’s keeping his mouth shut about it, what are the chances we can get any of these assholes to clue us in?”

I came to a sudden stop as I caught another glimpse behind the back of the building—the captive burning slowly in the sunlight. As my eyes flicked toward Cliff, I found that he had followed my gaze, expression thoughtful. He and I shared a look.

“Looks hungry,” I muttered.

Cliff casually picked up one of Brandon’s severed fingers from the gore that sprayed along the edge of the Pit. “You don’t say?”