Page 9

When we set out the next morning, the sun was barely a sliver on the horizon, casting a faint golden glow over the town of Cypress Hollow. The air was thick with remnants of last night’s storm. A heavy fog hung low, shrouding everything in a ghostly mist so dense that I could scarcely discern the outlines of the buildings we passed. If not for the low sounds of the waking city—the faint clink of silverware, the hum of large vehicles, muted chatter behind curtained windows—I could have believed we were entirely alone.

Though Halloween had been over a week ago, there were still neglected remnants of the celebration scattered through the city—a jovial purple and green clown figurine posed on a balcony, a cluster of flickering skull-shaped lights above a door frame, a faded poster announcing a parade slicked to a light post.

My mind still buzzed with all that I had seen of the holiday when we had cut into Tennessee to take out a vicious spirit—the revelry, the costumes, the lavish sweets, and ample drinks. A part of me wondered what this city had looked like in the peak of it all or whether we were far better off not inviting any added spirit activity to this historic area.

Moisture from the damp air condensed on my wings, bringing with it a ripple of irritation. Flying was one of my greatest joys, yet a damn nuisance when the area was wet . My wings had taken all night to completely dry. Between that and the soreness from the other night’s hunt, I was fighting twice as hard to keep my flight at a level pace. Despite the autumn breeze pushing through the tangle of trees that intersected weathered buildings, sweat beaded beneath my hooded knit top.

I smelled the auto shop before I saw the yellowed sign stabbing the air—the salty scent of wet earth and the metallic tang of what I’d learned to be gasoline . Gulf Auto Care sat on a secluded lot near the outskirts of town, where paved roads became gravel and the marsh began to reclaim civilization in swathes of unruly vegetation. As I landed on the chain link fence to catch my breath, I swore I was looking at a forgotten relic—the weathered two-story building, a couple of sturdy garages nestled beside it, stood in the shadow of massive, gnarled oaks draped with moss that drifted like locks of hair in every gust of wind.

One of the garages was open, giving view to a couple of sleek, well-kept cars that drew Cliff’s eye immediately. He whistled low under his breath. “Is that a fucking Challenger ? Who keeps classics exposed like that?”

“Idiots,” Jon agreed, a little smile tugging on his lips. “Or someone who likes to show off their trophies.”

The lot was a maze of cars, parked across the dirt lot in front and gathered behind a chain link fence that wrapped around the back of the garages. I squinted— too damn tired for this— unsure how we’d pick our battered 1972 Pontiac from the mix. Jon and Cliff pushed toward the back, empty duffle bags slung over their shoulders. With a groan, I spread my wings and flew to catch up.

“ Stars, is everyone in this town out of a vehicle right now?” I grumbled when I was back between them.

I tried to read their faces. Did they have even a kernel of the anticipation and anxiety that was making my palms sweat? We’d have a hell of a time trying to explain ourselves to the owner if we were caught breaking in. This little adventure was a risky move, but it was even riskier to leave the veritable armory that remained in the trunk. If any sane human found that kind of firepower, they’d call the authorities in a heartbeat.

With a little murmur, Cliff broke ahead of Jon and I like he could hear the car calling to him by name. Following him, I saw that his instincts were correct—our car was parked near the front of the fenced-off lot.

Cliff produced a lockpick like it was a bodily function, and before I could fully register his movements, the padlock clicked open. The thick chain wound between the fence slithered to the ground in a defeated heap.

Pushing inside, Cliff threw a grin over his shoulder at Jon. “How long did it take me to pick that?”

“Wasn’t timing you," Jon scoffed.

He winked, drawing an eye-roll out of Jon. “Of course you weren’t.”

As we drew closer to the car, the knot in my stomach clenched. It was hardly a wonder I hadn’t noticed the car from further away; the damage from the accident had left it scarcely recognizable. Once sleek contours were now marred by dents and scratches. The hood was crumpled like paper. An echo of fright shot through me—the crippling panic of seeing Jon slumped in the passenger’s seat, wondering if he would wake up.

“Can they fix it?” I asked, hoping I sounded less anxious than I was.

“Fat chance in a town like this.” Cliff brushed a hand over the battered silver paint, his striking features etched with grief that cut through me. I’d seen how hard he and Jon worked on keeping this car running like it was a living creature. He glanced up at me as he rounded toward the trunk. “We’ll see. I’ll take a look under the hood and see what’s not completely fucked.”

“Can I fly in and check the engine?” I asked, eyeing the crunched hood. I doubted this would be like other times he’d guided me through checking the engine for loose or damaged parts, but it felt wrong not to offer. Guilt churned through me for distracting him with ice before the wreck, even if I still firmly believed he should have swallowed his pride and pulled off the road. “I’ll be able to see it better than you—just tell me what to look for.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Jon chimed in. “You’ll slash up your wings in that mess.”

Cliff softened at the disappointment on my face. “I’ll finish teaching you all about fuel injectors when we’re not dealing with a death trap. Capiche?”

I nodded, forcing a smile. When he looked away, I studied his face for any sign of lingering resentment. A goddamn liability. Words either spat carelessly under duress, or—

Or he’d meant it.

As the hunters rummaged for the spare set of keys they’d kept, I wondered if I could at least search the front seats for my snowflake necklace. When they popped the trunk, however, my attention was drawn to a familiar buzz of energy.

“The gemstone,” I blurted as I wheeled around to the back of the car. “It’s in my bag. Can—can you give it to me?”

Jon located the sliver of amethyst after digging through my belongings. He gave me a curiously meaningful look as he handed it off to me. I swallowed hard, wondering if its power would be too tempting if I started carrying it regularly.

But I settled my resolve and nodded at Jon. “After that strange feeling by the wreck, I—”

Before I could finish, the early morning stillness was shattered by a scuffle of movement. Footsteps beat against the ground. A bark .

I tensed, whipping my head around to find the source. There was no tingle of a monster's presence, but—

A blur of fur shot out from between cars, lunging for Jon.

In an instant, I was back in the Dottage basement. Decaying jaws snapped in the dim light, ripping into Jon’s flesh. His face would soon pale with infection, and then, the voices— the voices .

A guttural “ no! ” clawed up my throat. They couldn’t have me again. Couldn’t have him . Mist shrouded my hands, stolen from the saturated air. Jagged icicles took form, ready to plunge through skin and bone, ready to end this before it started—

“Stop, hey!” Cliff’s voice snapped me back to the present as he waved a hand in front of me. “It’s fine, Sylv—just a golden retriever.”

Breathing heavily, I saw Jon stumble back against a nearby pickup truck as the silky-haired dog hopped up on its hind legs and shoved its muddy front paws enthusiastically against him. Jon used one hand to hold it back, but it bounced up again in determination to lick his face. Even as I lowered my hands, I couldn’t consolidate the riotous terror pounding through my veins with Jon’s growing grin.

Steadying my breath, I tucked the gem shard into my pocket. I tentatively flew closer, managing a weak laugh as the dog whimpered for affection and wagged its tail so hard that its whole body swayed. “Pet it before it eats you alive.”

The dog’s excitement drew the attention of at least three more dogs who observed with interest. A few others snoozed under the trees indifferently. I spotted the sharp eyes of a couple of cats peeking out from beneath ruined vehicles.

“Strays?” Jon straightened, placating the golden retriever by stroking its head.

“They’ve got collars,” Cliff said. “Gotta belong to the owner. Looks like they’re shitty at being guard dogs. We should get on with it before they start barking, though.” He searched the ground, then knelt to grab a chewed-up rubber ball from the dirt. With a sharp whistle, he drew the golden retriever’s attention and tossed the ball into the maze of vehicles .

At once, the golden retriever bounded off with a few other dogs scrambling after.

The hunters hurriedly popped open the trunk and began sorting. I wrinkled my nose at the scent of stagnant rainwater that pooled within, though it hardly seemed to bother them. They worked as one, exchanging no more than a word or two as they decided what to stuff into the duffel bags and what to conceal deeper in the trunk.

No less than a minute passed before the golden retriever galloped back. It dropped the ball by the hunters and nosed Jon’s leg, whining insistently. Jon sighed and reached for the ball, but I beat him to it. With a whispered spell, I conjured a small gale of ice and aimed it downward to send the ball spinning across the lot. Three dogs bolted after it.

“I’ll keep them busy,” I said, meeting Jon’s surprised look with a grin. I flexed one arm. “Call if you need me to carry anything.”

He scoffed. “Stay close.”

The dogs were a bit brighter than I thought, seeming to make the connection that I was the one moving the ball when I shouted my spells and used exaggerated gestures. Whenever one dog would catch the ball, they would bring it back and drop it under my hovering shadow.

“Hazel would love you,” I sighed before sending the ball a few dozen feet away, rolling beneath several cars.

Eyeing the vehicles, I noted that not all of them were in ruins. Perhaps Jon and Cliff could have one of those. My stomach churned as I wondered if I’d hurt their chances of affording a car by ordering multiple desserts last night.

Don’t be silly. A hot fudge sundae can’t cost as much as a car .

I recalled Jon deftly swiping silverware from the table last night and tucking it into his coat. Perhaps his skills extended to cars, too. Surely the owner wouldn’t notice one missing in this labyrinth.

As I flew deeper into the maze of vehicles and oaks, my musings came to a halt when I found myself mere feet away from the chain link fence that circled the property. Peeking out from behind curtains of moss, I found the two-story building tantalizingly close, slightly obscured by fog. It was different than the Dottage mansion—smaller, for one thing. But there were signs of life that hadn’t been present outside of Alice’s home. Wicker furniture sat on the porch, surrounded by a plethora of more chew toys. Stairs on the side of the building led up to another entrance on the second floor, the balcony crowded with potted plants that would make even the most seasoned earth affinity jealous.

Itching for a closer look, I flew past the moss. Scrambling paws and a whimper came from below, drawing my attention down to the returned ball.

Chuckling, I was about to send it bouncing away from the fence when I heard a gasp.

Goosebumps prickled up the back of my neck when I laid eyes on a human woman mere feet away. I’d flown right into her path from behind the tree, eye-level with her.

She staggered two steps back, dropping what she held in her hands. The ceramic bowls shattered on the ground, sending kibble over the gravel. The sound may as well have been an explosion in the peaceful lot. Distantly, I heard Jon and Cliff call my name in alarm. The dogs, oblivious of any trouble, excitedly clambered for the fallen food among the shards.

The human woman snapped out of her shock, trying to block them. “No, no—get! Get! You’ll cut yourselves!”

Without thinking, I shouted my spell to launch the ball toward the house. The woman yelped in alarm, but it did the trick—the golden retriever went sprinting to find its toy, and its friends followed .

Eyes wide, the woman brought her stare back to me, pressing a hand over her chest. “You were… playing with them?” she breathed.

Monsters were one thing. Victims were another. But she was neither, and my carefully curated instincts grinded to a halt. She was perhaps a few summers older than me, with dark brown skin and a dozen black braids that cascaded to the middle of her back. Her eyes were darker than Jon’s, and though she was stunned, a gentle awe lay buried beneath her confusion.

Even so, I jolted back an inch when she took a tentative step closer.

“No, wait—don’t be afraid—please,” she said in a soft, stammering voice. “Please don’t go.”

One hand slowly lifted toward me, and all I could do was gape.

I scarcely registered the rustling leaves behind me until her eyes flicked from me and bugged wide.

“ Hey ! Don’t touch her!” Cliff’s voice was like a gunshot slicing the air.

My mind raced to catch up. Cliff materialized between us, his body like a wall of protection.

Naturally, the woman screamed.

She frantically dug for her pockets, whipping out a folded knife. Her fingers trembled against the polished wood handle. Before she could unfurl the blade, Cliff swatted it out of her hands to send it clattering into the dead leaves several yards away. I winced a little, touching the dagger sheathed at my hip. My first encounter with the hunters was perpetually fresh in my mind: scrambling to reach my weapon lying on the dusty floor, out of reach. Outmatched.

“Take it easy. I can explain.” Cliff held up his hands, his stare placating now that she was unarmed. “No one’s gonna hurt you.”

The woman was coiled like a spring, shifting her weight from foot to foot while her hands folded into fists. Her gaze darted between the knife and Cliff’s imposing stance—then back to me, like she was trying to piece together how the hell the two of us fit together.

Cliff inched closer, hands still raised like he was soothing a skittish deer. “How ’bout I take you down the street for a cup of coffee and we can talk through it all, huh? I’ll throw in some of those little beignets with the sugar on top. My treat. Just give us a chance to—”

His words cut off as the woman sprang forward, a fist aimed at his face. Cliff dodged. She lunged again with a cry. He ducked with the same frustrating ease.

“C’mon, don’t do this,” Cliff said.

With her next swing, he caught her wrist and held fast. She jerked in his grip, expression twisting.

“Let go of me!” she spat.

The woman was quite tall—nearly as tall as Cliff—but her frame was willowy, no match for his warrior’s physique.

“Sylv!” Jon’s voice carried across the yard, accompanied by crunching footsteps.

I turned, flying lower to meet him as he sprinted to us. His gaze roved me wildly, assessing the scene and demanding silent questions.

I was seen, a voice screamed in the back of my mind. “I’m fine, but—”

The door to the second floor burst open, and another woman appeared on the landing. She was petite, warm bronze skin contrasting against mint green pajamas. Her hastily laced boots and raven hair pushed back in a messy bun matched the wild look on her face.

“Hannah!” she screamed, bolting down the steps.

She was halfway down when I noticed the gun in her hands.

Jon inhaled sharply beside me. “Oh, fuck me,” he muttered. “ Of course .”

But when I read his face, his urgency had been replaced by a resignation I didn’t understand. He stayed rooted in place, even as the newcomer seized the back of Cliff’s jacket and wrenched him backward. The first woman— Hannah— bolted to the foot of the stairs, watching with alarm as Cliff twisted free of his attacker. He moved like he had been anticipating a gun pointed at his face, jarring her grip with a harsh twist of her arm. She cried out, and the weapon slipped from her grasp and into his own.

The new woman had none of Hannah’s frantic aim. Her movements were precise, powerful. She lashed out with her elbow, connecting with Cliff’s stomach with force enough to make me flinch from ten feet away. Cliff swallowed a curse and grabbed the collar of her silken top, pushing her up against the chain link fence to pin her. The barrel of the gun pressed to her stomach felt like overkill with how he towered over her—he had to have at least a full foot on her in height.

Silence crackled across the lot as Cliff drank in her fierce, ground-down expression. Shock flickered over his face. No— recognition .

“Gwen?” he breathed.

His grip on the gun slackened—the woman noticed, too.With brutal precision, she drove her knee into his groin. Cliff’s eyes widened in agony as he doubled over, a guttural groan escaping his lips. In one swift motion, she seized the gun from his lax grip and spun to face him, leveling the barrel at Cliff’s head.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Cliff?” Gwen barked.

Cliff heaved like he might vomit, but his panting words were laced with spite. “Would’ve—taken my chances—walking across the country if—I knew you ran the shop.”

“It’s my girlfriend’s shop, you idiot.” She bared her teeth and shoved the gun closer to his head. “Who sent you after her? ”

He glared between her and the gun’s barrel. “No one.” A wheeze weakened his voice as he managed to straighten. “I was defending a friend.”

“Oh, bullshit. Like your freakishly tall attack dog needs a—” She stiffened when she glanced in Jon’s direction and found me hovering beside him.

All at once, my racing mind caught up with the familiarity of her name. Heartbreaker Gwen. Hunter Gwen. And as I watched her hands tighten on the gun and turn toward me, I remembered— impeccable marksman Gwen. I shuddered but didn’t dare budge so much as a finger. One wrong move and a bullet might say hello to my body instead of just my wing.

Jon stepped in front of me without hesitation. “Sylvia’s not a threat,” he said evenly. His hand tensed toward his pocket, prepared to introduce another weapon to the mix. “But if you don’t move that gun off her, we’re gonna have a problem that we can’t come back from.”

Gwen laughed coldly. “We cleared the point of no return years ago, Nowak.”

"Would you put the gun down?" Cliff snapped.

“No!” When I peeked over Jon’s shoulder, I saw that she’d rounded the weapon back on Cliff like she was trying to assess who was the greater threat between them. “You break onto our property with that little fucking monster, attack my girl, and you expect me to just bend over for you?"

“It’s a misunderstanding!” Hannah blurted. She still looked shaken as she drifted away from the stairs. She held up her hands, glancing placatingly from face to face. “Look—whatever the hell is going on, let’s talk it over inside before the whole town sees you two waving guns around like it’s the Fourth of July.”

“Coffee?” Hannah entered the dining area with a steaming pot. It shook slightly in her trembling hands. Cliff leaned back in his chair with crossed arms and eyed her like she’d just offered freshly brewed poison. She laughed tightly at his reaction. “It’s locally sourced.”

“There’s a roastery here?” Jon asked. From my perch on his shoulder, I felt a sliver of his tension ease. His eagerness coaxed a faint smile to my lips.

“Right off Heritage Avenue,” Hannah said. “The owner’s a friend of my brother. They’ve been open a little over a year now, and we were so worried about people being too attached to the national chains to give it a chance, but wouldn’t you know it, they’ve got a line out the door every morning. It’s nice to see more young businesses thriving in this little pocket of the world, don’t you think?”

She spoke rapidly, her hand trembling as she finished filling the mugs. Jon took no more than a sip before she blurted, “How is it?”

“Really good,” Jon said without an ounce of pretense. “Am I tasting chicory?”

He made an effort to brighten his expression—a peace offering if I ever saw one.

It worked—Hannah smiled. “You know your coffee.”

“I worked at a shop in high school. I can appreciate a good blend. I’m a little rusty with making anything that doesn’t come from a packet, though.”

I didn’t have to guess why Jon's time at the coffee shop ended. The thought of him in that psychiatric ward, robbed of every great and small joy, made me too cold inside to bear.

Hannah offered a little smile to Cliff and pushed his mug closer. “You sure you won’t give it a try? Come on, I’m sorry for almost stabbing you.”

He remained stoic. “Keep your sorry . You didn’t come close. ”

Her cowed expression tempted me to apologize on Cliff’s behalf, but she hurried back into the kitchen before I could work up the nerve. Even with only the three of us at the table now, a heavy beat of silence shrouded the room.

I nudged Jon’s neck with my elbow. “Why so tense?” I peeked at the archway that led into the kitchen, where Hannah busied herself in front of the stove and murmured to Gwen beside her. “If you thought Gwen was plotting to kill me, you’d give me a fair warning, right?”

Little fucking monster . I couldn’t shake those words.

“She would’ve tried by now.” His chuckle was taut. “I’m just not used to you being out in the open with other people this long. It’s getting under my skin.”

“Oh, right .” I waited until he took another sip of coffee before adding. “You prefer me to be your dirty little secret.” He nearly sputtered out his sip while I giggled unabashedly.