Page 93 of Haunting the Hunter
But I see nothing.
My stomach drops and my jaw clenches as a sharp spike of panic hits me in the chest, eyes moving frantically now.
I want to see you. Why can’t I see you?
But then I feel you.
It washes over me—faint but consistent, no sight, no sound.
Just yourpresence.
“Stay close to me, little ghost…”
The words rasp out, far quieter than I mean them to.
I pause, swallowing hard, trying to wet my dry throat, my jaw ticking.
“Please don’t leave.”
There’s no comfort to offer, just the sting in my ribs and the weight of knowing what comes next. I lean my head back, eyes falling closed once again.
Multiple sets of footsteps draw closer at a steady pace, rousing me from my fitful rest.
Benjamin and the man from yesterday—Frank—enter the room, saying nothing as they lug in several bags on their backs, tossing them onto the floor in the corner.
Ben claps his hands together with a loud smack, the sound ricocheting off the walls and around my aching head.
“All right, let’s get started!” he says with a smile, his tone cheerful as he pulls his brass knuckles from his pocket and slides them on slowly, approaching me.
“So, this is how it’s gonna work,” he starts, eyes bright in the dim light of the room. “We’ve got some questions, and you’re gonna answer them to the best of your ability. You got that?” He looks down at me from under his brows, like he’s talking to a child. “But I think you know how this goes by now.” He says it with a smile. A chuckle.
Fucker.
“Do what you need to—you know you’re not getting shit.” My voice is a gnarled, mangled thing.
He drops his head back in a laugh. “I love that you think that.” He snickers. “C’mon in, baby girl.”
He gestures to the door like he’s calling a dog, and a small woman walks in. It’s the redhead I saw at the property—the one who hit me with a crowbar.
Cute.
She keeps her head down slightly as she enters, her pale fingerswrapped around something she hides under her arm. She avoids my gaze. She remembers. I remember, too.
She’s the witch who put up the barrier.
“Thought you fuckers killed witches. What are you doing with one?” I ask, spitting blood to the floor near my feet.
“Damn, I’m glad you asked that. And I’ll answer—but if I scratch your back, you scratch mine, yeah?” He says it playfully, like we’re old buddies at a card game.
I stare at him, deadpan.
“I’ll take that silence as a maybe!” he says cheerfully. “See, Genevieve here, she’s our backup. You know it’s Callisto we want. Gen here is mincemeat compared to what your sister’s capable of—but she’s useful. For now.” He says the words pointedly, like the woman needs the reminder.
“So, people are just disposable to the Covenant?” I scoff, the words bitter.
For a moment, I see a break in his confident facade and my eyes dart to her with realization: It’s her. The witch—she’sthe one he wants to protect. That’s his leverage. He gives Rosa my sister’s head—she spares her life. But he has to know that’s not realistic.
They won’t stop at Calli—he must know that. That’s why he wants my help.
