2. Felix

2

FELIX

M y father and I have an interesting relationship. Some would call it antagonistic, and that wouldn't be inaccurate. When I begged for a horse for my tenth birthday, he bought me a donkey.

When he told me he would like to name me as his successor for GHOST, I left the Allied Provinces.

We love each other, certainly. We don't say it, or demonstrate it, or speak of it with others, but it's there. For example, if the old man fell in a pit, I'd toss him a rope. I'm confident he'd do the same for me. If that's not a healthy family dynamic, I don't know what is.

But because of our history, I know without a doubt he didn't assign me to Cat as a favor. He thinks he's teaching me how to swim by tossing me to the sharks, but he doesn't realize I've already spent my fair share of time in the ocean. Life wasn't all sunshine and roses while I was avoiding my duty as heir to his legacy. I've seen things that would make an experienced hunter whimper like a small child.

When I finally returned home from my travels, I spent the first six months of my training fooling around just to rankle Father and a year after that playing screwup to stay close to Cat. I'm not an idiot—I know a good thing when I've got it. I'll gladly pretend to be inept for the rest of my life if it means I get to spend time with her each day.

What was the alternative? Show off a little and then be assigned to some old, curmudgeonly hunter who expected me to carry his weapons like a glorified lackey? No, thank you.

And look at me now. Things played out rather nicely, if you ask me. Cat's all mine for another eighteen months—longer if I can figure out how to get a ring on her finger. I'm still working on that part. The one time she let down her guard, it got us in trouble. She's never let me get close to her since.

"Are you paying attention?" Cat demands, pointing impatiently at a bottle in my new supply kit.

We're at a table in the dining hall, but it's between mealtimes and mostly quiet.

"I'm always paying attention," I tease her, though there's more truth to it than she probably realizes.

She huffs out a breath, ruffling her strawberry blonde bangs. Her hair is incredible. It's long, soft, and so light, it's almost pink. She's the prettiest woman I've ever seen, with delicate features and a long, graceful frame. Her eyes are brown—honey sunbursts rimmed with espresso. Light freckles dust across the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks, and her lips are dusky rose.

She's like a human version of a frosted cupcake, if a cupcake were lithe and deadly.

And she is deadly.

But not right now. Right now, she's frustrated. She jabs her finger at the bottle again. "If you drink the toxin intended for your blade, you'll die before you meet a monster. Stop daydreaming and focus ."

"Drink the liquid in the scary-looking black bottle," I say. "Got it."

" Felix ."

I laugh at the look on her face. "Black bottles are bad. Green ones are good. I won't forget."

She groans, dropping her forehead to the table. I barely resist the urge to brush my fingers over her neck and caress her tense muscles.

The supply kit is open next to her head. It's filled with the essentials for this particular job—the most important being a revolver and a supply of silver bullets. There are also toxins for coating on blades (black bottles), healing and fortifying concoctions (green bottles), and a collection of darts poisoned with a tranquilizer that will temporarily immobilize a werewolf, along with a small blowgun for shooting them. There's also a monster primer with a brief description of each spirit we might encounter while out in the world and, most importantly, how to kill them.

Benjamin also thought it best to shove in a copy of the GHOST guidebook. It contains at least a hundred rules—most of which Benjamin wrote himself, I'm certain. That's not standard equipment, but he thought I should have my own.

"I only have one question," I say to Cat.

Heaving out a dramatic sigh, she sits up. "What's that?"

"What's the point of the puppy sedatives? Why don't we just shoot the monster with a silver bullet and be done with it?"

"Werewolves are one of the deadliest spirit creatures because they're clever. They integrate themselves into a community long before they begin picking people off," she begins. "Unaware of their true identities, residents generally like them. They pose as shopkeepers, farmers, and even constables. They might be a sweet old spinster who knits in the square on pleasant afternoons or the young man who offers to carry your parcels to your home for you each week.

"Sometimes we have no choice but to remove them quietly, or else we'd put ourselves in a dangerous situation. People defend their friends, to the death if need be. The tranquilizers keep us and the people around our targets safe."

"Have you hunted a werewolf before?" I ask, wondering about the shadows in her eyes.

"Before I became a trainer, I specialized in werewolves," she answers. "I've hunted many. My first was before I joined GHOST."

I frown, knowing she joined the guild at only sixteen. "How old were you?"

"Fourteen."

"You killed your first werewolf at fourteen ?" I ask, not liking that one bit.

She shrugs, her eyes on the pistol. "We do what we have to sometimes."

I nudge her shoulder. "It sounds like I'll be learning from an expert."

Cat finally smiles. "I'm not sure I'm an expert, but I think it's safe to say I'm qualified."

"If werewolves hide themselves in plain sight, who requested the job?"

"We're working for the Alliance this time. Local authorities report deaths and crimes to their province's officials, and the provinces submit the reports to the Alliance. They watch for certain patterns, and when they spot them, they send in hunters to investigate."

"I thought the Alliance had their own hunters?"

"They do, but we work with them occasionally." She flashes me a rare grin. "They hire us when they want the best."

"And yet you're sending me."

" I'm not." She pushes away from the table with a sigh. "Your father said he'd tell us more about the job after Benjamin was done with you. I don't think we can put it off any longer."

It's been five days since Father declared I graduated from trainee to apprentice, and I've only seen him a handful of times. I no longer live at home, choosing to stay in the guild's dormitory instead. I have since Father threatened to cut me off. The space is better for both of us.

I feel like a reluctant schoolboy as I follow Cat up the stairs that lead to my father's office. It's at the top of a tower—a bit ostentatious, if you ask me. His secretary's desk is empty, so Cat knocks on the door and clasps her hands at her waist as if nervous.

Cat admires my father. I don't hold that against her. He's an admirable sort of man—good to my mother, a fine hunter, and an all-around nice guy. He's great, unless you're being suffocated by his expectations.

"Have you jumped through all of Benjamin's hoops?" he asks me when he answers the door, gesturing us inside.

"I've never signed my name so many times in my life." I pull out a chair for Cat and then sit in the one next to it.

Father chuckles as he takes his place across from us, folding his hands on the desk. He's looking old. He went gray young, and his hair, trim beard, and muttonchops are white now. But he's a big man, six-foot-three and fit. There's a distinguished air about him and a general jolliness that's always annoyed me. "Are you ready to hear about your first job?"

"I'm chomping at the bit."

"The suspected werewolf is in Braunwin, a small village in northern Albrech," Father begins. "There have been three suspicious wolf attacks in the area, all of which raised red flags at the Alliance."

"Why were they suspicious?" I ask.

"We covered this in your training," Cat chides.

"I'm more of a hands-on kind of learner."

"Animals kill to eat," Cat answers with a sigh. "Werewolves kill for pleasure. When the victim of a werewolf attack is found, they're usually in a bad state, but they're not?—"

I hold up my hand. "Half-eaten. I got it. No need to elaborate."

Cat frowns at my father. "Are you sure this is a good idea? He's terribly squeamish for a hunter."

"It'll be good for him," Father says like I'm not even here. "He'll be fine."

Cat contemplates me like I'm a liability, but she finally nods. Then she asks my father, "Did Benjamin find us a place to live?"

"A place to live?" I ask, startled.

"He rented an apartment and the shop below it, right along the village's main street. I have a merchant friend who bought over a hundred clocks when a clockmaker he knew wanted to retire, and he's donated them to us. We get to keep all the proceeds. Needless to say, Benjamin's elated." Wryly, Father adds, "I'm sure he'll try to work a moneymaking venture into all our future jobs."

"Clocks?" I ask, genuinely baffled.

"Werewolf jobs take months," Cat explains. "We won't be able to waltz in and identify him or her on the first day. We need a cover."

"And our cover is clocks ?"

"You'll be shopkeepers." Father says it like this is all very standard. And maybe it is. I should have paid more attention during training.

I glance at Cat, growing uncomfortable. "I don't think I understand. It sounds like you expect Miss Mason and me to live together."

"We do," Father says. "You're going to be married."