Page 33 of Hunted in the Shadows
“Maybe there’s a village here, obscured from humans,” she said, glancing up at the rain-streaked window with a distant expression. “Like Elysia.”
Cliff made a face, reaching for his drink. “Swamp fairies sound like a fucking nightmare, not gonna lie.”
8
Sylvia
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 waswet. 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 myflight 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 begasoline.Gulf Auto Caresat 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 fuckingChallenger? 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 remainedin 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 damagedparts, 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.
