30. Felix

30

FELIX

C at is silent for most of the trek, her mind whirring behind her eyes.

"Here we are," Cyril says when we finally reach the spring. "I don't suggest you drink the water."

It looks like any other mountain pond.

"I wish I had a redcap to show you," Cyril laments, rubbing his hand over his unkempt hair. "You don't know how to summon one, do you?"

"We're monster hunters, not witches," Cat says.

"Right." He shrugs. "Well, I brought some jam jars—thought you might want to take a sample."

"That was good thinking," I say.

He shrugs, but he looks pleased.

Cat walks the perimeter of the pond and then kneels, pointing to a cluster of trees with their roots partially submerged. "Those are hemlocks there, growing around the edge." She turns her attention to a cluster of weeds poking up from the water. "And look—wolfsbane. It usually grows in meadows, but I'm sure that's what it is."

Both are botanicals commonly used in guild poisons—the black bottles. They're particularly harmful to spirit monsters.

I laugh to myself, shaking my head.

"What is it?" Cat asks.

"All this time, we thought Frida was doing something sinister when she's actually been playing monster hunter."

Cat rises, frowning. "Fill up all your jars, Cyril, but be careful not to touch the water, just in case. We'll take it back to the guild. Arthur is going to want to study this."

Cyril gets to work as Cat stares at the bubbling spring, pensive.

I glance at the sky—specifically, the sun's low position in it. "It's going to be dark in an hour, and it took us three hours to get out here."

"We best start back," Cat says.

Cyril finishes filling his jars and carefully stashes them back in his satchel. "Maybe if we're lucky, we'll run into some redcaps so we can try out the water."

"You should become a monster hunter," I tell him. "You have their definition of luck."

I glance at Cat, hoping to see her roll her eyes, but she's deep in thought, focused on the trail.

It's dark before we reach the village, but the moon is high in the sky, lighting our path. Though not as full as last night, it's still bright enough to see by.

" The blond-haired barmaid just left the tavern, " Greg says. " She's hanging off a man I don't recognize and laughing in a way I find annoying. "

"Which way are they going?" I ask as we all pick up our pace.

" Toward the orchard where the last man was attacked. "

We enter the village at a run. Even though it's dark—even though it's dangerous—people still loiter on the streets. They eat, laugh, and chat, having no idea a werewolf prowls at night.

" They're almost to the orchard— " Greg says before he stops abruptly.

"Greg?" Cat asks. "Greg, what is it?"

" I see something. "

"Something like what?" Cat demands.

" Something like a werewolf. It's prowling in the trees, but it's not your barmaid. "

"Cyril, stay here," Cat commands.

"But—"

"STAY." She grabs hold of my wrist, dragging me along as she lifts her skirt to pull out her pistol. Breathing hard, she says, "No hesitating this time, all right?"

We run past the tavern, shoving tourists out of the way. Halfway to the orchard, we hear the first scream.

"Millie," Cat breathes, running even faster.

Our feet beat on the hard-packed road, too slow. We're not going to make it in time.

But ahead, in the moonlight, we finally spot them.

A man lies prone, the monster on top of him. Millie is on the ground like she stumbled while running backward. Shrieking, she attempts to crawl away, but her boots catch on her long skirt.

The monster leaps from the dark form on the ground and onto Millie.

Cat shoots, but it's impossible to tell if she hit the werewolf. It turns on us, its eyes glowing red in the dark, and lets out a howl that causes goosebumps to travel my flesh.

Then it takes off, abandoning Millie and its recent kill, disappearing into the dark night.

Cat and I shoot, emptying our revolvers, and then run to Millie.

" Follow it, Greg! " Cat yells.

Millie sobs, curled up, her hair in her face.

Cat drops to her side. "Are you all right?"

Slower, I sink down next to the man she was with, my stomach churning when I see his state. I turn away, pressing my hand over my mouth.

"Is he…?" Millie's words catch in her throat as she sobs. "Is he going to be all right?"

"No." I stand, exhaling. "You're lucky you're not dead. What did Otis say about leaving the village—and after dark, no less?"

"The monster has never gone after me before," she sobs, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"We've got to take you to Bruno," Cat says. "Come on, get up."

More people have arrived by the time we get Millie on her feet. Several carry lanterns and lamps, casting light on the gruesome sight. They gasp when they see the man on the ground, chattering like scared geese.

Otis appears, his eyes going to the body briefly before he turns, overwhelmed.

"Felix," he says, his voice trembling, his eyes wide. "I…"

"We warned you," I say heavily.

"Why didn't you kill it?" he demands. "Isn't that what you're here for?"

Cat turns to face him sharply. "If you're displeased, we can leave."

"No," he breathes, remorse deeply creasing his face. "No, Cat, I'm sorry. I'm glad you were able to scare it away before it got Millie as well."

The crowd parts for us as we take the barmaid to the tavern.

Bruno meets us halfway inside. "I heard shots."

"There was another attack," I say quietly. "Do you have a back room we can take her to?"

Nodding sagely, he ushers us past the long bar and into the kitchen, directing us to a storage room off the side. He pulls out a stool for Millie to sit on.

"You've got a few scratches, but you're lucky it didn't shred your flesh," he says as he examines her.

She sniffs, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "I'm only alive because Felix and Catriona came."

Bruno glances at us, pressing his lips into a thin line before he nods at us knowingly. "You're fortunate they were close."

"I know." She hiccups. "We don't have to tell Belinda, do we? She'll never let me out of her sight."

"That's what you're worried about right now?" Cat demands, frustrated.

Millie swallows and looks at the ground, going mute.

"Come on," I say to Cat. "Bruno can take care of her from here."

She nods, following me out of the tavern and onto the street.

"Any luck, Greg?" I ask.

" Not yet. I had it for several minutes, and then it ran into a copse of dense trees. I couldn't keep track of it through the canopy. I landed to see if I could catch its scent, but it escaped while I was searching overhead. "

Cat growls, rubbing her hands over her hair and making a mess of her braid.

"Search for a while longer," I tell the dragon. "Let us know if you see anything."

" I will. "

"We should look, too," Cat says. "First, I need to change out of this dress."

"What good will wandering the woods do us? If Greg can't find it, how will we?"

"Four people have died since we've been here—four."

"I know."

"We should have taken chase instead of tending to Millie."

"It's too late to question our decision now. Let's get some sleep and assess the situation in the morning."

Cat walks briskly toward our shop, stopping only when Cyril finds us.

"Are you all right?" he demands.

"Fine."

Cat's using one-word answers now, which means she's nearing the end of a rapidly fraying rope.

He looks at me, unsure. "If Millie was attacked…"

"We'll talk in the morning," I say.

"But that means she can't be the werewolf, right?"

"In the morning, Cyril."

"But shouldn't we follow the wolf?"

"Greg's already on its trail," I assure him.

Slowly, he nods. Then he gestures toward his satchel. "Do you want me to take the jars to your shop?"

"How about you keep them for now?" I suggest. "We'll take a closer look at them tomorrow."

Disappointed, he says, "All right."

He falls into step with us. Most of the crowd is gathered around the tavern now, everyone wanting to know what caused the commotion, leaving this section of the village nearly empty.

Lanterns shine from porches, nestled amongst pumpkins and pots of autumn flowers. The street looks festive, all decked in its harvest best, but it's tainted by a sinister presence.

Cyril looks reluctant to leave us when we reach the shop, shifting from one foot to the other. "Will you be…?"

"We'll be fine. You be careful, though." After a moment's hesitation, I pull out one of my pistols, reload it, and then offer it to him. "The bullets are silver, so try not to waste them."

"Will silver kill a werewolf? Say I shoot it in the flank—will it die from the metal?"

"No, but it will slow it down." I cross my arms. "Don't go looking for the wolf. Head straight home."

He looks like he wants to argue, but he finally nods.

"And keep an eye on Jane tomorrow," Cat says. "We must have at least grazed the wolf a few times. See if she's moving slower than normal. Don't engage with her, though—and most certainly don't let her lure you to somewhere private."

He cringes. "No offense to Mrs. Williams, but she's not my type."

"Werewolves use all kinds of excuses to get their victims alone. Just be mindful."

He nods, standing straighter. "I will be."

We part, and Cyril continues down the street as we climb the steps. Another lifeless redcap waits for us, this one perched on the rail.

I pause next to it, staring at its twisted face for a few seconds before I toss it over the balcony, grimly satisfied when it shatters.

Looking exhausted, Cat tries the doorknob. "It's locked."

I produce the key and let us in. Assuming Atticus and Ambrose have returned, we trudge up the stairs. But when we reach the upper level, it's empty.

"Where did they go?" Cat asks, walking into the bedroom and then the washroom.

"Greg?" I call to the dragon. "Have you seen Atticus and Ambrose?"

" I'll see if I can reach them, " he answers.

"Any luck with the wolf?"

" Not yet. " A minute later, he returns to my head. " They're tracking the redcap lady. "

"Tell them not to hurt her," Cat says nervously.

"Unless she turns into a wolf," I add.

" I'll let them know. "

He disappears again, leaving the two of us alone.

"You look weary, bluebird." I lean a hip against the kitchen workbench and try to smile. "Didn't you sleep well last night? You had the bed all to yourself."

"No." She crosses the room, hugging me without the slightest hesitation. Pressing her cheek to my chest, she burrows against me, demanding comfort I'm glad to give.

I wrap my arms around her, holding her close. "Greg told Ambrose and Atticus we're married."

She goes still. "He did?"

Unsure how she's going to respond, I nod.

She pulls back, frowning, and then takes my arm and drags me toward the bedroom. "Good. I don't want to sleep alone tonight."