Page 30 of Hunted in the Shadows
I didn’t realize until then that Sylvia hadn’t moved far from the door. I turned my flashlight in her direction, careful not to blind her. She was paler than before, staring at the metal bars. I thought about teasing her to ease the tension—but that look on her face was not to be toyed with.
“Sylv?” I murmured, taking a step toward her.
She flinched like I’d startled her, tearing her eyes away from the cages. “Why iron? What was in them?”
Her implication sent a chill down my spine. Of course her mind would go there. I couldn’t blame her.
“Hey—whatever happened, it’s long gone now,” I said. “Chances are, this place was some kind of below-board lab. Druids are known to use animals in their rituals. Whoever came in here and replaced the druids… maybe they got curious about the magicked animals and wanted to study them.”
That didn’t seem to make Sylvia feel all that better—and I couldn’t say my theory convinced me, either.
Even as Cliff and I gave the basement one more sweep, she remained firmly by the stairs. With no other clues as to what we had discovered, I snapped a photo of the scrap of paper I’d found. No doubt it would disintegrate if I pocketed it.
Back upstairs, we settled around the kerosene lamp. Sylvia was especially close to it, basking in its warmth. The next fae light she conjured was even stronger than the last, casting away most of the shadows in the vast chamber. She still flinched at the thunder, but gradually, the claps came further apart.
Squinting at the window, I waited for another flash of lightning that never came.
The rain was finally letting up.
The sole mechanic shop in town—Gulf Care Auto—wouldn’t open until seven in the morning. At least the tow service number from the diner hostess was useful. I strode back into the diner, still damp from the thirty-minute walk from the church. The rain had been on and off, but the brutality had waned.
The diner was a grungy but classic establishment that hadn’t changed since the last time I’d been here. Colorful neon and 1960s decor clung to the past, and the same could be said for the few patrons who occupied the tables.
I slid back into my seat at our corner booth. “We’ll need to get a room to stay overnight,” I announced, remembering the flickering vacancy sign we’d passed down the street.
“Figured as much,” Cliff said. “Well, I guess it could be worse. We’re lucky the mechanic’s open on a Sunday morning, and this town only pads thirty minutes onto the drive into the outpost.”
Sylvia wrinkled her nose at me from behind the dessert menu on the table. “You’re not talking about that Top Star Motelwe passed, are you? That place looked filthy.”
I shot her a dry smile. “You’d rather stay at the church? It’d be free, at least.”
Grimacing, she shook her head. The flicker of horror in her eyes no doubt reflected what we’d seen in the basement. “It’s only for one night,” she conceded. “As long as it has hot water and a place to dry off.”
As I watched her shiver, a pang of concern fluttered in my chest. I patted myself down again for something,anythingthat could warm her up. In the fourth jacket pocket I checked, my fingers brushed a scrap of flannel I'd missed earlier buried under a box of bullets.Perfect.
“Hey—I found your blanket,” I said, grinning as delight exploded across Sylvia’s face.
I wiggled the scrap free, pleased to find it had been largely protected from the rain. She had sawed herself a square from my blue plaid shirt with her dagger in our second week traveling together. She’d thought I wouldn’t notice the gaping, eight-inch piece missing from the garment, and was relieved when I voiced how endearing it was when I inevitably found out. After ensuring the few other diner patrons were invested in their meals, I draped the flannel around Sylvia’s shoulders securely.
She practically purred, nuzzling the fabric under her chin. “Thank you. I thought we’d lost it back there.”
“If you lose sensation in your fingers, speak up,” I said, my frown setting back into place.
“I promise not to freeze to death. Focus onfood, Jon. I’m starving.” Sylvia leaned to the side, tracking movement behind me. She scooted to the right, urgently scanning the menu propped before her again. I braced myself; Sylvia’s desire to sample as many human foods as she could en route to Aelthorin had her ordering food like a career athlete coming off a grueling triathlon.
Even still, I did a double take at Sylvia’s request, which included two full desserts. Before I could protest further, the waitress returned. Sylvia ducked back into hiding as I ordered enough food to feed a small army. I heard faint, excited wing flutters asI confirmed the desserts in particular—a hot fudge sundae and a slice of apple pie.
The waitress raised a brow when Cliff tacked his order onto the end of mine, her lips pursing as her pen scratched against its pad. She looked to be mid-thirties, with smudged winged eyeliner and an air of boredom that suggested she was weary of the small population. She’d been eyeing Cliff and I like fresh water in a wasteland since we walked inside, and I took full advantage, flashing her a toothy smile to soften the blow of the unusual order.
She departed without comment, a little pinch between her brows.
Relaxing, I sipped at the beer set before me and cast another look around the room. The smell of fresh coffee and fried food mingled with the humid bayou air outside, evoking a unique sense of nostalgia. The peeling paint and faded memorabilia on the walls looked untouched, as though no time at all had passed since our last visit to the southernmost hunter’s outpost.
“Place hasn’t changed much in two years, has it?” Cliff said, following my sweeping gaze. “Hey, I wonder if my quarter’s still jammed in the jukebox.”
The machine was tucked in the corner just behind our booth, buttons worn from decades of use. The yellowed catalog behind the domed glass boasted classic rock and country—and some old favorites Cliff and I still blasted in the car on occasion.
Cliff sighed as he peeled off his sodden jacket, folding around the weapons lodged in its pockets before dropping it on the cracked vinyl booth beside his bag.
