Page 109 of Haunting the Hunter
The king of swords.
Holy shit. My heart skips and a rush of relief washes over me. Still alive. Thank the Gods… I almost can’t believe that worked. I close my eyes once more, a single question in mind.
Where can I find more information?
I breathe and pull one more card.
The high priestess.
Of course I would pull this card. Alabaster’s words echo in my head.
Trust your instincts.
I close my eyes and search my mind when I remember—
The attic…
When we first moved here, I remember we put everything we couldn’t fit in here in the attic. There has to be something. Anything that might actually be able to help me. I quickly jump up and run out of the library, up the stairs, and to the hall opposite my room. Open the door, the dusty wood creaking under my feet. I reach for the string and tug, the dim light glowing over the cardboard boxes that litter the floor. I sit myself on the ground and begin to open them one by one. Most of them contain books. One book in particular catches myeye. It’s old. Really old. Leather-bound and wrapped tight. The pages look uneven and tattered.
I slowly untie the string and unwrap the book. It looks a lot like R. H.’s journal. I open the first page and skim over the words…
It’s indeed another journal, but the name at the bottom makes my heart drop into my stomach: Jonathan Halloway.
Holy shit.
I pull the entire box off the floor and lug it down the stairs and into the library, carefully setting it next to the desk. I feel for the seat with my free hand as I begin to read.
September 8th, 1848
Father caught me with the grimoire again today. He scolded me and took it away, claiming I’ve no business meddling with something so evil. When will he understand… it calls to me.
I watched him try to burn it once. By morning, it lay in the ashes, untouched, covered in soot but still whole. He doesn’t see it. He doesn’t feel what I feel. I am bound to it. My magic grows stronger with each passing fortnight.
The last time he took it from me, I made the walls tremble. The ground shifted beneath our feet. It frightened Mother terribly, but I couldn’t stop myself.
I try to control it. Truly, I do. But it’s beginning to overtake me.
I’m nearly a man now. Soon, Father will no longer be able to command me. And once I learn to harness this power without bleeding… I will take what is mine. He won’t be able to stop me.
—J. H.
Goose bumps rise over my skin as I stare down at the old journal.
My Gods…
He was like me.
The bleeding. The loss of control. Is that why he built the Covenant? Because of the grimoire?
My hand drifts to the back of my neck, fingers brushing the raised scar—all I’ve ever known. What they taught me was that the Covenant sacrifices people to gain power from their God.
But… is that even true?
My thoughts spiral. If Jonathan Halloway had magic—if he wasbornwith it—why create a system that kills people like us? None of the books on the Covenant mention his power. Unless… they didn’t know. Unless it was erased. Hidden.
The whole foundation of the Covenant was built on gaining power through blood. Sacrifices. That’s the point, isn’t it?
But if he had power… Why would he need totakeit from others?
