35. Felix

35

FELIX

W e can't find Johann, Friedrich, or Jane, so we end up in the forest, wandering aimlessly, hoping something fanged and angry will attack us.

"Maybe we should ask Millie if she knows which way Belinda would go," I say to Cat when dusk has fallen over the woods.

"She wouldn't know. Not only is the werewolf not actually her sister, but it tried to kill her last night."

"Now that we've identified her, do you think Belinda will leave the area? Flee Braunwin and go somewhere else?"

"I don't know."

"It's getting dark," I say. "If you want to keep searching, we'll need to go back for a lantern."

Before she can answer me, Victor perks up, coming to a dead stop to sniff the breeze. He then bellows, the sound echoing through the forest, and takes off, nearly dragging Cat off her feet.

"He doesn't know Belinda's scent, but he is familiar with werewolves, correct?" I say. "So, if she's shed her human cover, he'd be able to track her?"

"Correct." Cat unhooks his lead. "Go on then."

And Victor is off, running as fast as his squat little legs will carry him, right through the brush. We run after him, trying to keep him in sight. Like hands attempting to hold us back, twigs and branches smack into us and grab our clothing. The bushes are thick and hard to press through—unless you're the size of a basset hound and able to sneak through small gaps in the underbrush.

"Do you think he's tracking her?" I breathe hard, my eyes on a twig that's caught in Cat's braid.

"He's been on enough hunts; I'm confident he sniffed out a spirit monster."

"Just any random spirit monster?"

"Maybe a group of redcaps," she pants. "Maybe Belinda."

In the distance, thunder rumbles. A storm has moved in, as I predicted. A few raindrops begin to fall, pelting the trees and ground. It's a sparse drizzle that promises there is more to come.

"We're running out of light," I warn Cat.

"I can't call him back now," she insists, accidentally swatting me across the face with a branch as she pushes ahead.

I swat the twigs away. "We can't be caught out here after dark without a light source. We'll be sitting ducks."

The sky lights with a jagged streak of lightning. Not even a second later, a crash of thunder nearly stops us in our tracks.

Victor bellows again—a high-pitched braying howl of a bark that makes me think he's found the source of his mania.

"NO!" Cat yells when a dark shape lunges at the basset hound. Before she can unsheathe her twin swords, I raise my pistol and shoot.

Despite the storm and the trees, there's just enough light to see by. The werewolf snarls, abandoning the barking dog, and stalks toward us.

For the first time, we get a good look at her.

Blood runs from the wound in her shoulder, matting against the patchy hair that covers her large, humanoid frame. She looks nothing like Belinda in this form. Her face is that of a predator, eyes unrecognizable. They glow red, promising death.

Long ears come to points at the top of her head, and her elongated jaw is filled with sharp teeth.

Squaring my shoulders, I shoot her again, this time directly in the chest. As if immune to the silver bullets, she turns her eyes on Cat, drops to all fours…and races forward. But Cat's ready this time, armed with her favored weapons.

Holding her ground, the hunter attacks swiftly and cleanly, her blades glinting in the storm's light. Thunder strikes as the monster falls and another flare of lightning illuminates the scene in harsh, white light.

And…it's over.

Cat slowly breathes out as she lowers her blood-covered blades.

Time seems to slow. A gust of wind roars through the woods, pulling at Cat's braid. She stares at the wolf, eyes haunted in the dim light. Somehow, she looks both formidable and fragile.

"Now what?" I ask, uneasy.

The words barely leave my mouth before a massive, dark figure appears above. Victor bellows again, this time not because he's tracking, but because he's happy to see the dragon.

Greg lowers himself, his wings catching on tree branches and brush. The space isn't quite large enough for his massive body, but he manages. " That's the werewolf. "

"An astute assessment, Greg," I say wryly. "Also, your timing is impeccable. We've done all the work."

The dragon grunts, not overly concerned.

"Cut off its head, and we'll bag it," Cat says.

I jerk my head toward her, startled. "What now? Are you talking to me?"

"Yes, I'm talking to you. How else do you think we'll get paid? The Alliance won't take our word for it like Arthur does. They require proof."

"You're serious?" My stomach rolls at the thought. "You want me to…" I make a chopping motion with my hand, feeling ill but trying to hide it.

"You need to get over this strange squeamishness," she says. "It doesn't suit a hunter."

"That's a shame. I'll have to pick a different career."

Cat makes a scoffing noise as she cleans her blades. She slides them back into their sheaths and then crosses her arms. "Get on with it. You have your sword."

"I don't remember this being covered in my training."

"We're covering it now. Chop off its head—pretend it's a chicken if that helps."

"Why don't you do it this time? Show me how it's done."

"It's not complicated, Felix," she says, exasperated. "Take your sword and chop. "

Knowing she won't let this go, I reluctantly unsheathe my weapon, grit my teeth, and slash downward.

And…the sword gets stuck .

I gag a little, turning away.

"You didn't put enough strength behind it," Cat critiques, sounding bored. "There's bone and muscle there—you really have to hack at it."

Greg huffs out a plume of fire that temporarily lights the night and the dead werewolf at my feet. " This is embarrassing."

Thankful for the near-darkness, I tug my sword from the monster, raise it up…and let out an embarrassing yelp when something wet drips onto my hand.

"How did you kill draugrs?" Cat asks, sounding amused now.

"They're corpses that have been dead for a while. They aren't…gooey. They aren't wet. They don't drip ."

She snorts and then takes her own sword, raises it…and seamlessly decapitates the monster.

Both impressed and nauseous, I look away.

"Do you think you can bag it up, or will you make me do that, too?" she asks.

"You go ahead."

Growling, she pulls a canvas sack from the small pack at her hip, unfolds it, and then scoops the monster's head into it. She pulls the drawstrings tight and then tosses it to me.

I nearly fumble it, catching it right before it falls to the ground. Scowling, I transfer the ties to my hand and let it hang.

"You know what to do, Greg," Cat says, sounding tired. "But try not to set the forest ablaze."

Greg exuberantly obeys, lighting the night with bright, hot flames. A few minutes later, I become familiar with the smell of roasting werewolf.

"Stay here until the fire dies down," Cat commands the dragon. "We need to return to the village. See if you can reach Ambrose and Atticus and tell them to go back to the shop."

We begin walking. It's dark now, with the moon hidden behind the clouds. Bright lightning, followed by another crash of thunder, makes us both jump.

And then it begins to rain.

We're soggy by the time we reach the orchards outside the village. The storm has chased the tourists inside, and the night is quiet.

"Where are you headed?" I ask Cat when she turns at the bridge.

"We need to pay Otis a visit."

When we arrive at the reeve's house, we knock on the door. Freezing rain drips down our necks from the roofline, but I'm already too drenched to care that Otis doesn't have a proper eave to block the weather.

The reeve opens the door, looking astonished when he sees us and our current state.

"We've killed the werewolf," Cat says heavily, already turning away. "Just thought you'd like to know."

"Catriona, wait!" Otis exclaims. "Come in, both of you. You must be frozen."

"I can't bring this inside." I hold up the soggy canvas bag. "I'm afraid it might be leaking ."

The reeve scrunches his face as he looks at it. "What…is it?"

"You don't want to know."

"We need to inform the others," he says, "and tell them you've killed the beast."

"That's fine, but I want a bath first," Cat says. "Let's say we all meet in the village hall at eight-thirty?"

Otis nods, and then we leave his house and head back for our shop.

Even though the werewolf is dead, residual anxiety puts me on high alert. I look around, still feeling like something is watching us. It's unnerving.

I wait for a redcap to leap out, but nothing attacks as we climb the stairs to our shop.

Cat opens the door and lights the lamp on the entry table. Except for the ticking of just under a hundred clocks, the shop is perfectly quiet.

Victor shakes as soon as he's inside, sending droplets of dog-scented water flying. I step away from him, frowning as I gesture to the bag. "What do you want me to do with this?"

"Just leave it by the door."

"And if it…oozes?"

She trudges up the stairs with Victor right behind her, her hand trailing the banister rail. "If we put it outside, the redcaps will run off with it. The floor is washable."

Not particularly wanting to carry it around any longer, I do as she says and follow her and the dog up the stairs.

The silence is unnerving, but I can't place why.

I scan the apartment, expecting to find something out of place. But everything is as it should be. The kettle is on the heavy iron stove. The teacups we used this morning are clean and rest on a dish towel, just where Ambrose left them. Nothing is amiss.

Cat crosses the room and hands me a wooden bucket. "Will you fetch some water?"

Still uneasy, I nod, taking the bucket from her and walking down the stairs and out the front door. I round the side yard, heading to the well.

Nothing attacks, but I can't shake this strange feeling. Halfway up the stairs to the apartment, I realize what's missing.

"Where's Cyril?" I ask Cat when I reach the doorway.

She turns, startled.

"Greg," I call, almost immediately feeling the dragon enter my head. "Can you get a hold of Cyril?"

The dragon is silent, likely doing as I ask. Finally, he answers, " The fool boy is wandering the woods, looking for the werewolf. "

"Did you tell him we already killed it?" Cat asks.

" I did. "

"Tell him to come back," I say. "If he's up, he might like to attend the village meeting Otis is holding tonight."

" All right. "

The dragon disappears from my head, leaving me alone with Cat.

"I can't believe the foolish boy went hunting for the wolf while suffering from a concussion," I say.

She rolls her eyes, looking exhausted. "He's going to be the death of me."

"I thought I was going to be the death of you? Should I be jealous?"

She laughs, gesturing for me to bring her the water so she can fill the pot. "I'll need a few more."

I leave her, swinging the bucket in my hand, watching the dark for redcaps. By the time I've brought several more bucketfuls of water up the stairs, the pot is steaming.

I add the water to the small porcelain tub in the washroom, desperately missing modern plumbing.

"Take as long as you like," I say to Cat when the bath is ready.

She nods, looking hesitant.

I lean my shoulder against the doorframe. "What's the matter?"

"You did well tonight."

Smirking softly, I lift a brow. "Another compliment, Miss Trainer?"

"Mrs. Cunningham." Her brown eyes are fixed on mine—warm like heated honey.

I swallow, my gaze tracing the lines of her face and the curve of her smile.

Her hair is chaotic, pulled from the braid by the handlike twigs of the forest. Her leathers are dusty and smeared with blood.

Cat is beautiful in chaos.

My stomach tightens as I cross the tiny space. "I like that better."

She tilts her head up to look at me, and I place my hand on her cheek, brushing her jaw with my thumb. Then I kiss her, savoring the taste of her lips.

When I tilt my head back, her eyes are still closed. She sighs softly, her lids fluttering open. "I don't want to go home."

"Why?"

"I like us here. I like what we've become."

I run my hand over her hair. "Location isn't going to change us."

She nods, though I'm not sure she believes me. "Go so I can bathe."

I jerk my chin toward the tub. "You want help?"

Cat laughs, her eyes bright. "The others will be back any minute."

I begin to walk away. "So that's not a no, but a not right now?"

"Go away, Felix."

Grinning, I close the washroom door.