Page 32 of Hunted in the Shadows
“You have to tell me more about her,” Sylvia said eagerly.
Cliff’s amused smile turned tight. “Fun fact—no, I don’t.”
“Seriously? I hear every detail down to the thread count of the sheets about others, but—”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Cliff cut in. “She was good in bed, good with a gun, end of story.”
Sylvia looked at me questioningly, and I gave my head a small shake. She frowned but held her tongue.
I cleared my throat. “The guy on the line for the towing company mentioned that the mechanic has a car lot, too. Chances are, we’ll need a replacement. The price of repairing the damage might not be worth it.”
Sylvia looked down, guilt etched on her face.
“It wasn’t going to last much longer, anyway,” I assured her.
Rather than bring Cliff’s mood further down, the change of subject actually perked him up a little. “It’s been years since we upgraded. Man, I’d kill for a sexier car. Imagine being behind the wheel of a Thunderbird again—or a vintage Impala.Thoseare sexy cars.”
“Is it normal for humans to be sexually attracted to machinery?” Sylvia piped up.
“The way you freak out every time you see a new lamp, maybe you shouldn’t be talking,” Cliff scoffed.
I glanced around the other booth to make sure our conversation hadn’t turned any heads. The few other patrons remained invested in their own quiet meals, and the waitress was cackling at something in the kitchen hallway, the faint smell of cigarette smoke wafting back.
As I relaxed, the glint of the unused spoon laying on the table caught my eye. Before I could think twice, I slipped it into the inner pocket of my jacket, the slight weight against my chest. I didn’t need it—I wouldn’t even remember it tomorrow, but it appeased that gnawing spark in me that demanded to be fed.
Cliff watched me, shaking his head with a bored sort of smile. He’d seen me pilfer far worse, but sometimes, I still flushed with shame that he didn’t share the same compulsion.
“How much cash do we have left?” I asked, dodging Sylvia’s curious stare.
“Starting to look bleak,” Cliff sighed. “The nest egg’s gotten us this far, but it won’t get us much further at this rate.”
Sylvia’s curious stare drilled into the two of us. Not for the first time, she said, “Money’s weird.” She jabbed the price listed at the bottom of the dessert menu. “Trading makes much more sense. Or better yet, why not justgivesomeone what they need because they need it and you don’t?”
Cliff chuckled. “The hunter’s outpost is all about bartering. Probably not as glamorous as your little village, though.” He smirked at her. “What was it? A blueberry for a comb?” When Sylvia didn’t respond with anything more than flushed cheeks, his mouth dropped open. “Wait, itwas?”
“As though trading guns and money is any better,” Sylvia grumbled, lifting her chin to pointedly ignore Cliff while he fought back another laugh.
Thankfully, the food arrived, and Sylvia was forced to duck back into hiding before anything more could be said about the outpost.
No way she was going anywhere near that cesspool.
We all fell quiet for a time, eating ravenously to make up for the long, soggy walk. The only words exchanged were occasional offers between Cliff and Sylvia, who were trading bites of food from each other’s plates. He even poured her a cap of beer—proof that he wasn’t holding a grudge over their shouting match in the car.
I took advantage of the peace, pulling out my phone to do some research on the area. I couldn’t forget Sylvia’s frightened insistence that there had been something unnatural in the water—notonce, buttwice. Giovanni may have slipped past her senses, but she had never been wrong when shedidfeel something.
“Jon,” Sylvia said through her mouthful. “Youhaveto try this!” She held up half a fry drenched in hot fudge sauce.
Ignoring Cliff’s perturbed expression, I accepted her offering. It wasn’t her most outlandish food combination—that prize went to her peanut butter and pickle sandwich from last week.
“Check it out,” I said, turning my phone toward her. “Looks like there’s a few fairy legends in the area. Maybe you were right about the glamour. It’s definitely worth looking into.”
She paused her attempt to slather another fry with whipped cream. “What have you found?” I almost wished I’d let her finish eating—her voice tightened.
“I’ll need to dig some more, but there’s stories about encounters in the swamps in the early to mid-1800s. About two hundred years ago,” I added when her expression went blank. “After that period, the legends taper off.”
“What kind of encounters?” she asked tentatively.
“They’re pretty vague so far. Stories about glowing lights in the woods. Travelers being led astray and never being seen again. Most people chalk them up to gator attacks. There’s a few mentions of ‘the Fair Folk’, though. Some urban legends.”
