Page 47 of Hunted in the Shadows
“Who’s they?” Cliff questioned, stealing a glance at the siren with uncertainty that mirrored my own.
“Hell if I know—ask the marshal if you wanna outbid for her.” The bouncer positioned himself before us and grunted, gesturing for us to hold out our arms. “Test of humanity. Roll up your sleeves.”
I exchanged a look with Cliff as we complied. Code phrases could only get usnearthe door. The process of actually getting through was far less pleasant. The bouncer’s machete glinted in the hazy sunlight.
Clearing my throat, I said, “Last time we came by, it was a smaller knife.”
He seized my wrist, wrenching my arm out. “Don’t be a pussy.”
I gritted my teeth, but the incision was surprisingly delicate. The silver blade drew a narrow line of blood across my forearm. Next, he produced an iron bar to press firmly over my skin. The bouncer gave Cliff the same treatment. No acrid, smoldering effects followed, nor any of the general agonized symptoms that would be drawn out of a monster.
The bouncer wiped the blade on his shirt and sank into a chair by the door that looked barely capable of supporting his weight. “Go on,” he grunted.
I pulled open the thick, iron-banded door and stepped inside.
“Okay, I thought that was gonna be way worse,” Cliff murmured under his breath. He tapped off a quick strip of gauze before handing me the roll.
“Dude, right?” I said, sharing a small laugh. I rolled the sleeve of my khaki green shirt back down after covering the wound. “Tiny back there has a delicate touch.”
“Tenderenough for you?” he sneered.
I pretended to consider it. “Almost.”
“Bastard.” Cliff elbowed past me. “Let’s lock down that silver first.”
We paused shortly after the door shut behind us, taking in the unfamiliar layout of the outpost. While there were still hunting trophies in abundance, the usual stalls and tables were nowhere to be seen.
“Where the hell are the weapons?” Cliff muttered as we strolled further inside. The floor was made of the same dark wood as before, scuffed by countless boots.
“Maybe they moved their supplies to one of the rooms.” I noted the four doorways along the wall that branched off into other spaces, but they were shut tight. The only other exterior door led to the side outdoor area which housed the Pit.
Despite the lack of ammunition and weapons for sale, there was more energy about the common area than I’d ever witnessed. There appeared to be more archivists and strategists present than before, consulting groups of hunters with maps and diagrams. The most familiar sights were the shooting range and the bar—the latter of which was unusually empty.
As for the shooting range in the far corner, a row of four hunters were taking aim at moving targets. Cliff looked longingly in that direction before tearing his gaze away. There was no time.
“Even the fucking community supply cache is gone,” Cliff said. “What the hell is this place for, then?”
I had no answer for him, surveying the common area again slowly. Activity by a stack of crates along the wall caught my attention. For a hopeful second, I thought they might hold the cache—until I saw a group of people packing unusual items inside.
Nudging Cliff to follow, I approached them casually. A foul smell surrounded the area—chemicals used for taxidermy. I caught a glimpse of werewolf pelts and polished horns, which were typically sold off as practical wares for hunters. But I alsonoticed spiked tentacles, ugly mounted ghoul heads, and a full basilisk statue poised in mid-strike.
“Need something?” one of the men at work snapped at me. He looked too slight to be a hunter—maybe an archivist.
“Just curious,” I said. “We haven’t been around in a good couple years. Where’s all this going?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Classified. Take it up with the marshal.”
I had to clench my jaw to keep from pressing. Too much push-back could land us in hot water with the usual crowd that ran around this place. I thought about pressing my luck and asking where the supplies were kept—particularly the silver, but Cliff elbowed me.
“Hey—is that Cain out there?”
Following where he pointed, I saw movement through one of the windows. Sure enough, Cain was outside the Pit with a newblood—a young man with dark hair. If Gwen was to be believed, Cain wasn’t the marshal anymore, but surely he could still snag us some silver.
As we passed through the doors, I couldn’t help but thoroughly examine the Pit. The massive, circular chain-link cage was suspended over the wooden walkways over the murky bayou. Although it had been reinforced and patched many times over the years, it looked almost the same as when I’d first stepped into it. The iron and silver chains hanging from the domed ceiling were a new touch, though.
A fairly small creature was curled up on the concrete base.
Cliff gave a low whistle. “What do you think? A familiar? An alp?”
