12. Felix

12

FELIX

W e wait until almost midnight to leave the village, hoping our neighbors will be in their beds asleep. Cat and I walk down the silent cobblestone street, listening to the creek as it bubbles over the river rocks. I carry the lantern, but we don't dare light it yet.

Who knows what the villagers will think if they spot us walking into the woods this time of night? Only the unsavory types skulk around in the midnight hours—those sneaking off to have trysts, witches converging with spirits, or werewolves searching for their next victim. I doubt the people of Braunwin would jump to the conclusion that we're friendly community monster hunters meeting our mostly tame dragon.

"You're going to have to light the lantern," Cat says when we've left Braunwin behind. "It's too dark now that we're away from the village's lights."

Clouds blanket the moon and stars, making it difficult to find our way. I do as she asks, fumbling a bit.

"There we are." The moment I hold out the lantern, Cat hisses. She yanks a dagger from the sheath on her hip just as I spot the redcap in the firelight. Its monstrous eyes glow red, the same color as its murderous little hat.

But it doesn't move.

"It's ceramic." I laugh shakily and then clear my throat. "Look, there's another a little way ahead. Frida's been here."

Cat shakes her head, huffing out an aggravated breath and shoving her dagger back into its sheath.

She's wearing hunter's garb tonight, in fitted trousers and a laced leather bodice that will provide some protection against a monster's teeth and talons. Her long hair is braided into a crown, and she wears heeled boots that reach her upper calves.

In the lantern's glow, with the backdrop of the forest ahead, she looks like a rogue princess embarking on a quest—too pretty to be a hunter, too poised to be a peasant.

"Are you cold?" I ask when a breeze blows over the hills.

"Not yet, though I might wish I'd brought a cloak later."

We pass sporadic groves of aspens that gradually grow thicker as we climb the path that leads into the forest, their golden leaves bright in the circle of firelight. They rustle, sounding like a flowing creek.

They're so loud, something could be skulking in the shadows behind us, and we'd never know. I glance over my shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that something's watching us.

I catch Cat scanning our surroundings as well, looking into the pitch-black night.

"Do you sense something?" I ask her, spooking just a little when I see another ceramic redcap appear in the firelight.

"Possibly."

"Greg?" I call, but there's no answer. "Where is the worthless dragon?"

"He probably glutted himself on venison and has fallen into a food-induced coma."

" Greg, " I say a little more forcefully, but I know if he's not conscious, speaking louder won't help. The dragon must be actively listening to pick up our voices at a distance. I turn to Cat. "Do we keep going or turn back?"

She worries her bottom lip, glancing into the forest. The clouds have thinned just enough we can make out the silhouette of the trees against the night sky. "Do you think he's all right?"

"I think he's a dragon."

"I know that, but…"

I sigh, knowing she'll worry about him all night if we turn back now. "Let's keep moving."

The trees grow thicker, and our path becomes narrow, now more of a deer trail. The route grows rocky as we continue to climb, and ceramic redcaps peek from bushes, just sporadic enough they're shocking when they catch the light.

Cat lets out a startled yelp when we spot another, this one placed on the branch of a tree. Like a wee, monstrous man, it leers at us.

I laugh under my breath, still disconcerted by how realistic they are.

"Do you think Frida's a witch?" I ask Cat as we walk. "Is she summoning them and using them as her creative muse?"

"Possibly," she answers. "It's strange that her redcaps are so lifelike."

"They are," I agree.

She turns to me. "Where have you seen one? This is the first time you've been out on a job."

"Do monsters only appear in front of hunters?"

Cat rolls her eyes and pushes forward.

"Are you familiar with Galbreah?" I ask.

"Only that it's cold, rocky, and that over five hundred years ago, their people were fierce warriors who protected their territory and laid siege upon those nearby, claiming them and creating the Galbrean Island Nation."

"It's also overrun with draugrs."

She pauses, turning back to look at me. "You've seen one?"

"I have. And where there are draugrs, there are redcaps."

The small, gremlin-like monsters are corporeal spirits. Like scavengers, they move in groups, cleaning up after larger spirit monsters' kills. They're also opportunist, and they'll attack if they think it's a fight they can win. They travel in groups of up to ten, but most commonly, you'll find them in clusters of three to five.

Witches have been known to summon them, though I've never heard of someone immortalizing them in clay.

A twig snaps behind us, just loud enough to be heard over the aspen's quaking leaves. I whirl around, drawing my pistol and extending the lantern. The night is black beyond the firelight, making it impossible to see if something is following us.

"It could have been an animal," I say quietly.

Cat is tense beside me. She's pulled the twin blades off her back, favoring a dual wielding style. "Possibly."

The night is silent now.

" Greg ," I call again, certain the dragon is sleeping off his meal.

When he doesn't answer, I say to Cat, "There's no use in aimlessly wandering the woods. I say we return to the village and reach out to Greg tomorrow."

She nods, probably not liking the idea of turning our backs on whatever is out there any more than I do. "All right."

My skin prickles as we walk back. I glance behind us occasionally, my body sensing something my eyes cannot. And then we hear it—the howl of a wolf. It's close, maybe a hundred yards away at the most.

Cat comes to an abrupt stop, listening.

"Do you think it's a wolf or a werewolf?" I ask.

"It's impossible to know."

"Why would a werewolf give away its position?" I ask, adjusting my grip on my pistol, glad I exchanged the regular bullets for guild-issued silver ones.

"They enjoy toying with their victims," Cat says, her voice eager.

I chance a glance at her, wryly amused despite my nerves. "Why do you sound excited?"

"We've only been here two days." Her eyes shine as she studies the dark forest surrounding us. "Imagine if we killed the werewolf that quickly? It would be a GHOST record."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "You hunters are a strange bunch."

"If we're lucky, it'll attack us on our way back to the village." Cat continues forward.

"Your definition of lucky and mine must differ somewhat."

We're nearing the edge of the woods, where the trees open to the grassy hills, when Cat sighs. "I don't think it's going to come after us tonight."

"Don't give up hope, bluebird. We're still twenty minutes from the village. There's a chance something will try to kill us before we reach our little apartment."

"You really think so?" she jokes, laughing softly.

"I think there's?—"

A dark shape ahead of us catches my attention, cutting me off. I step forward, narrowing my eyes.

The lantern casts its light on a redcap. It sits in the middle of the path, its painted eyes staring at us.

"I don't remember that one…" I say, uneasy.

Cat studies it, looking spooked instead of eager. "I don't either."

Pistol lifted, I take several steps forward and knock the statuette over with the toe of my boot. It falls backward, hitting a rock. One of its ears snaps off, proving it's just ceramic.

Disconcerted, I turn back to Cat, raising my brows.

"I swear it wasn't in the trail—" Cat whirls around when there's a noise behind us.

Another ceramic redcap sits in the path we just walked…staring at us.

Cat hisses in a breath.

We would have had to step over it to pass, and we both know we didn't.

From a distance, the wolf cries again.

A cold breeze blows through the trees, making the leaves rustle like mad.

"Let's keep moving," Cat says.

We continue into the grassy hills, constantly looking over our shoulders, neither of us eager to turn our backs on the woods.

The tension in my neck doesn't ease until we reach our front porch. But when we climb the stairs, Cat grabs my arm. " Felix. "

I follow her gaze and come to an abrupt stop.

A ceramic redcap sits in front of the door.

Waiting for us.