Page 12 of Hunted in the Shadows
My gaze fell to the patch of earth that lay on the bedspread beside Jon. My outline of the spectral rune was still there, intact. We were lucky that we didn’t need to lay on the ground outside to activate the spell—a pile of dirt poured from a plastic bag worked perfectly fine to satisfy the spell’s demand for contact with the earth. If Jon wasn’t so sapped from our visits, I would have begged to reactivate the rune immediately.
The neighboring bed was empty. Cliff had departed to the nearest bar shortly after donning freshly laundered clothes. Maybe he found someone else to go home with for the night. Good—he deserved to enjoy himself after a hunt.
I glanced back to Jon, who was tracing the spot on his arm I had healed during tonight’s hunt. It was barely visible now—just smooth skin with a faint hairline shimmer under the lamplight—but he kept staring at it with a faraway look in his eyes and his face carved into an expression I couldn’t quite read. My stomach sank when I remembered his plea for me to sit out from future hunts. Was he still imagining how I’d been injured? Angry with me for refusing his request?
I studied him, feeling the familiar tug between the intimacy of what I knew so well of him and the shadows of what I didn’t—depths I might never reach, no matter how I tried. Hisfive years on me both thrilled me and unsettled me at times, a reminder of everything he had seen, everything he carried. He had already been hunting malevolent spirits for a year when I was first learning how to control my affinity.
“Hey—it’s your turn, isn’t it?” I asked, breaking the silence.
Jon groaned out a laugh. “Not this again.”
“Come on, you love it.”
“Itolerateit.”
“Liar. You wouldn’t keep playing if you didn’t like it,” I countered, breaking into a grin.
He didn’t need to question what I meant. A game of sorts had taken shape between us in past weeks, where we shared memories based on simple prompts to uncover more about each other. The game was for his sake, really. Now that I no longer had to keep secrets from him, I could babble endlessly about my life. Jon, though… He had a harder time opening up.
Nonetheless, his eyes lightened at the change of subject. “Give me a prompt, then.”
“Candy,” I said without hesitation.
He rolled his eyes, settling against the headboard. “Nope. Anything I say is gonna end with you demanding sweets.”
“I donotdemand. I ask very politely.” I pouted, hugging one leg close and dropping my chin to my knee in thought. “Fine. Tell me more about your restaurant. You said if you ever gave up hunting, you’d open one.”
“That’s a bigif, remember?” Jon said.
“Even still,” I urged. Determined though he was to bury it, I saw the tiny gleam surface in his eyes.
Jon cast his gaze toward the window, where patterned curtains concealed our view of the sleeping city. “It’d be hard. Barely fifty bucks to my name and a high school drop-out to boot.” He puffed out a sigh. “Not to mention, any standard background check willreveal my prolonged visit to the psych ward. Even getting a job washing dishes could be a longshot.”
“Put logic to rest for now,” I said. “Say you get the money somehow, and your restaurant is open. What would it be like?”
Slowly, his expression unknitted. “It wouldn’t need to be a big place. I always picture something cozy. Something that could feel like home. I could give some of my family’s recipes fresh life.”
“Liketostones?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t butchering the pronunciation.
Jon beamed at me. “Right. Andlechón asado—though, you wouldn’t miss that one.”
“Meat?”
He nodded. “But the seasoning… It’s fucking unreal, Sylv. Garlic and citrus and spice. Especially if we had a professional cooking it,” Jon said, clicking his tongue. A pause drew out, his voice taking a softer decibel. “I’d always make sure we had a room curtained off in the back, just for friends and family. They’d never have to pay a dime.”
My gaze lowered, tracing the familiar map of scars on his chest and arms. Some were faint, barely noticeable. Others were still discolored like the skin would never fully heal—and I had tried my hand at it more than once. But only master healers could unwind such deep scars; it was a particularly advanced magic that my secondary affinity simply couldn’t offer.
His body was a story—though, I couldn’t tell if it was a legend or a tragedy yet. A particularly discolored scar was nestled below his collarbone. Victory scarcely came without a cost. Not for the first time, I wondered what Jon might’ve been if life hadn’t turned him into a weapon.
I let myself sink into his happy fantasy, tried to picture his remaining family gathered around a special table at the restaurant. I imagined faces for the members he had mentioned—adding afew extra cousins and uncles he may have omitted. I pictured Jonhappy, with that wide smile that made me weak in the knees.
Curiously, I found it difficult to insert myself into the scene, but I was too well-versed in daydreaming to let that barricade me. I muscled through the feeling of being uninvited in my own reverie. And then I was sauntering into the restaurant, as human as any of them, colorful skirts dancing around my heels. His family was thrilled to see me, and Jon swept me into his arms in front of everyone—
“That’s beautiful,” I said.
Jon chuckled, the sound low and callous. “It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a nice thought.”
“Of course it does!” I blurted.
