The stench of fish and polluted water filled the pacing man’s nose. His polished shoes clipped impatiently off the concrete walkway running through the bridge’s tunnel, their echo vying to be heard over the hungry burbling and slurps of the river flowing beside him. The couple greenish-yellow lights poorly illuminating the tunnel glinted sickly off the murky water, shedding light on its diligent work of eating away at its man-made confines.
The man’s form drifted in and out of the shadows between the light fixtures. Despite the muggy September heat, the tails of a gray duster coat flared behind him and swirled around his legs each time he turned.
He looked to the Rolex on his wrist for the thousandth time in the last minute. With time undaunted by his scowling glares, the watch still defiantly told him it was yet another minute until three.
Sometimes, he wished his co-conspirator would be early for once. He paused in the ugly splotch of one of the lights, watching the shadows. The distant city lights glared and warbled on the water just outside the tunnel, making the dark patches pooling beneath the bridge feel nearly as suffocating as the humid air.
The seconds ticked on. He looked again to his watch, eyeing the second hand as it drew near to three o’ clock.
Three seconds. Two seconds.
One second.
The shadows around him quivered unnaturally. In the blink of an eye, he drew a pistol from his belt and held it in front of him. He turned a surveying circle with practiced speed, searching for any sign a foe had found him.
An annoyed sigh sounded from the shadows behind him.
He spun around, the cock of his pistol clicking in preparation to fire.
“You certainly know how to greet people,” a rasping voice echoed in the man’s ears. A figure emerged from the darkness, the blackness obscuring most of its features.
The man snorted. “Good thing you’re not ‘people,’ ain’t it?” he growled as he holstered his gun.
The man could just make out a snarling smirk spread over the figure’s lips. “Just as much as you are. But I’m not here for your unwitty banter. You have news?”
The man eyed the figure and crossed his arms. “I’ve found your Hunter of Twilight.”
“Have you?” the figure purred, its smirk turning into a content grin.
The man raised an eyebrow. “No. I just lied to you.” He sighed as the figure’s expression faltered.
“Who is he, you prat?” the figure snarled. The shadows around it twisted with its emotions.
The man frowned and instinctively reached for his gun at the minor show of power, but ignored the insult. “She, actually.”
“And have you brought her head to me on a pike?” The figure’s face tilted, looking the man over as if searching for a severed head.
“I ain’t an idiot,” the man scoffed. “She’s smack-dab in the middle of the community. Her parents are some of our best hunters, retired or not. And their neighbors aren’t far behind. There’s no way I could kill her without being discovered, one way or another. I’m good, but not dodge-fifty-hunter-families good. And I ain’t compromising my position. Not yet, anyway.”
Though the man couldn’t see the figure’s eyes, he felt them boring angrily into him. His grip on his gun tightened.
A tense silence fell, broken only by the shlurp-slap of the river abusing the concrete.
“You’re certain she is the one?” the figure finally rasped.
“A hundred percent. You said there’d be something unusual about her. Took me a while to figure out, but she has a natural white streak in her hair. And I heard Cassara muttering something about her ‘destined aura.’” The corner of his lips quirked up. “She’s certifiable, that one, but I’d stake my life that she has psychic blood in her.”
The figure cocked its head to the side, considering. Another long minute passed. The man shifted his weight uncomfortably. A light further down the tunnel flickered eerily.
“Very well.” The figure nodded. “Perhaps we can kill two birds with one stone, then.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
The figure’s head lowered, and a wicked grin spread over its thin, pale lips. “So witless, for one of your age.” The figure stepped closer until it was only just hidden inside the patch of shadow.
The man hesitated, but mimicked his companion, his hand ever ready to grasp his gun as he approached. On the same side or not, there was no way he would fully trust a monster.
The two continued to speak in hushed tones. The shadows around them unnaturally dampened their words, preventing them from echoing for anyone nearby to hear.
After a few minutes, the man leaned back and crossed his sleeved arms back over his chest.
“Sounds rather… risky to me,” he grumbled, chewing the inside of his mouth thoughtfully. “There’s no guarantee it’d work. And no telling how many could get caught in the crossfire. This is worse than playing with fire in an Arizona wheat field in July.”
The figure sighed irritably. “It’s that, or you can take responsibility and kill her! And the noxtren, at that! Unless,” mocking concern dripped from the figure’s voice as it continued. “you really want to defy the Sovereign’s orders?”
The man stiffened. “No,” he growled through his teeth. “Didn’t say that, you lout. Do what you have to do. I’ll play my part.”
“You had better.” The threat in the figure’s icy voice was palpable.
Before the man could reply, the figure stepped into the shadow licking at the wall, and vanished.
Grumbling foully to himself about ungrateful beasts, the man flicked up his collar, and strode out into the night.




It was a perfect night. Clouds blanketed the sky, blocking out even the light of the moon. They reflected the city lights, turning the heavens into a patchwork of gray and black as if someone had draped a giant quilt over the world.
The fumes of hundreds of exhausts defiled the air with their nauseating stench. The stench of humans. The sweet scents of a dying summer clung to a gentle breeze, trying in vain to ease the sickening odor of pollution.
But Kyair paid them little mind. Tonight, he was on a mission. The breeze tussled his lengthy black hair. It made it play about his pale face, the strands at the front tipped in a vengeful red. Perched atop an apartment complex, he crouched precariously on the narrow ledge of a half-wall surrounding the roof. His side pressed against a taller pillar. The shadows draped over him, making him look more like a shadow himself than the human teenager he appeared to be.
It had taken him years, but at long last, the murderers of his family were so close. His black gaze glared down at the gated community across the street. Where the main road turned into it, a large sign greeted any who entered with a cheery, “Welcome to Lion’s Ridge!”
Despite the late hour, the streetlights blazed proudly. Light bulbs yet shone through windows. As if the light could keep out the dark. A few kids and teenagers slunk about, defying their curfews as long as possible. Another person walked a dog, no doubt enjoying the slight chill the night had brought with it. Perfectly manicured lawns sat beside each other, with a cookie-cutter house to match. It looked like a perfect, human community filled with normal kids and a good school not far down the road.
Every one of Kyair’s muscles ached to rush in and hunt down the filthy hunters who had torn his family asunder. But he was not stupid. And this was no run-of-the-mill, “American Dream” private community. No. It belonged to the Hunter’s Society. Beyond those seemingly innocent iron gates resided hundreds upon hundreds of experienced hunters.
Even from here, he could feel the enchantments radiating around the community. Warding away supernatural creatures, barring entrance to anything that would mean the hunters harm.
Well. Almost anything.
A cruel smirk curled his pale lips. Foolish hunters, thinking they could keep something like him out. Their magical barriers were little more than minor nuisances.
He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Concentrating. Feeling.
Human emotions vibrated through the air, saturating a plain of existence all their own. They tingled over his skin, floating freely, waiting for someone like him to reap their benefits.
In the apartment right below him, someone was having a sleepover and horror movie marathon. They were youthful emotions, and feminine. He could feel their collective, simultaneous shock and fear, smell it floating through the night like the most delectable soup the tongue could ever taste.
When this is all over, he thought, the contemplation sneaking into his mind, I should pay Italy a visit. Italians knew how to make a mean minestrone soup.
As it was, he was about to walk into the lion’s den—literally and figuratively—and poke the starving beasts with a burning stick. He had spent far too long planning his revenge to blow it on the first night. He would need all the strength he could get, and not even an entire barrel of the world’s best minestrone soup could provide that. And to feed on the hunter’s emotions meant risking early discovery. Not all hunters were as oblivious as humans when someone fed off their feelings.
With a mental call, he reached out to the emotions. His own aura swelled as it consumed the essence that the human’s terror and pain emitted. He felt the strength it gave his kind surge through him. The shadows quivered and flowed around him, joining in the ecstasy of empowerment.
When he felt his strength reach its peak, he exhaled and opened his eyes. Revoking his call, the emotions’ essence returned to being little more than another scent among the millions of others congesting the night.
His grin glittering in his eyes, his gaze locked onto the darkness lurking between two homes beyond the iron gate and its matching fence. With little more than a whim, his slim form melted into the shadows pooling around him.
The comforting, familiar chill of the gateway between shadows enveloped him. Millions upon millions of pathways tempted him, but there was only one he wanted.
Within the span of scarcely a heartbeat, Kyair stepped out into the alleyway he had been eyeing. Just like that, he was inside. He had done what most other creatures, even some of his own, would have struggled to do, passing the barriers as if it they did not exist where others would have had to pick away at them.
Now, he just had to find the hunters he sought. According to his source, there was a handful of families involved, each of them residing somewhere within this vast community. Each would get what they deserved, but there was one family he was most interested in, the family who had organized and lead the hunting party. The Prescotts.
Indignant rage flowed through him, a part of him demanding blood. At long last, he was closing in. He would make them suffer as they had made his family suffer. And there was nothing and no one that could stand in his way.
Hands clenched, his form sunk once more into the shadows. This time, his dark mass remained, staring out at the world as only a shadow can. His form hopped from one pond of shadow to the next, searching.
As much as he hated it, he would have to be cautious. Though he had bypassed the main defenses, many of the homes reeked with their own, individual wards. Wards that would warn the inhabitants of any disturbances. Even something as simple as a shift in a shadow could set them off. Some, to his annoyance, would take even him a while to break through.
But no matter how long it took, or what he had to do, he would find the hunters on his list.
It was indeed a perfect night. A perfect night to begin his revenge.

Lydia Prescott woke up bright and early.
Not by choice, of course. Saturday was her day for sleeping in, but her subconscious had other plans.
Another nightmare. A sigh escaped her. She kept perfectly still, her expression void of emotion. The constellations on her ceiling stared back at her, a collection of glow-in-the-dark stars she went through the trouble of arranging.
The clock on the wall ticked with its usual rhythm. A gentle breeze drifted in through the open window.
“Guess I’m not falling back asleep...” Leaving the warmth of her bed, Lydia grabbed a plaid cardigan to help fend off against the cool morning air.
After choosing the rest of her outfit from her closet, she padded over to the door and pulled it open. On her way into the hall, she retrieved an elastic band for her hair and got to work braiding. This was all part of her daily routine, preferably at a much later hour.
Lydia shivered as she made her way to the bathroom, but it wasn’t from the cold. The screams in her nightmare sounded in her mind. They hadn't been human. She knew from experience.
Satisfied with her work, Lydia tossed her braid behind her shoulder and entered the bathroom. The linoleum was cold against her feet, earning another shiver from the brunette. This time, her body’s reaction was from the cold.
Sighing again, Lydia flipped on the lights, squinting to help her eyes adjust to the brightness. She quickly dressed herself in light denim jeans and a plain, loosely fitting t-shirt. The cardigan pulled the look together, or at least she thought so.
Reaching for her toothbrush, Lydia froze, startled by her own reflection.
“Wow…” Leaning closer, she turned her face to the side. For the first time in a long while, her skin was perfectly clear.
“Guess the lemon juice trick worked!” Applying a generous amount of toothpaste to her toothbrush, she raised the toothbrush to her mouth and proceeded to drop it.
To her horror, her reflection had changed. Her skin was no longer clear. She looked as if she had suffered horrible burns, and the skin was beginning to flake off like the bark of a tree.
“No, no, no! What’s going on?!” Crying out, Lydia pressed her fingers against her cheeks to keep the skin from escaping, but the same thing was happening to her fingers. In seconds, she could see the bone underneath the skin.
And then she really woke up.
Gasping sharply, Lydia's eyes flew open. She sat upright so fast her journal fell to the floor with a heavy thud.
Heart threatening to beat out of her chest, she reached up to touch her face. The skin was still intact.
“Did I seriously just have a nightmare within a nightmare?” Scowling at the realization, Lydia threw aside her kitten patterned blanket and climbed out of bed. Her subconscious didn’t skimp on the details; she had fallen asleep wearing the same outfit she chose in her dream.
Retrieving the leather-bound journal from the floor, Lydia's features creased with worry. She was more concerned with its condition rather than her nightmare. It took more than her face melting off to scare her -- she had witnessed scarier things than that in her lifetime.
Satisfied with its condition, she closed the journal just as a notification sounded from her phone.
Rubbing leftover sleep from her eye, Lydia retrieved the device from the nightstand. The screen displayed a reminder, one she set three days ago and had forgotten until now.
Hang out with Ava.
Lydia didn't usually enjoy the company of others, but Ava was a rare exception. Lydia had learned to appreciate her lively personality and considered the redhead to be her best friend.
Are we still on for today? The text was sent as a polite reminder, but Lydia knew the answer. Ava always seemed willing to hang out.
Slipping the phone into her nearby bag, Lydia grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom to prepare for the day.

---

The sound of the TV drifted in from the ranch-style kitchen. It was a small portable set that was positioned near the oven so Mrs. Prescott could cook and catch up on her favorite programs at the same time.
“I’m heading out.” Adjusting her white baseball cap, Lydia stood in the doorway. She was careful not to look at the television screen; she didn’t have to look to know her mother was watching something involving guts and blood. Medical dramas were her favorite.
“Mhmm…have fun, sweetie.” A normal parent might have asked where Lydia was going, but Allison Prescott was far from normal. The blonde was fixated on the television, one hand gripping an onion, the other a knife. Every few seconds, she would make a move to slice the onion, but never completed the action. There was a reason the family stoked up on frozen dinners. Half the woman’s meals never saw completion.
“They had better not botch that.” Allison pointed with the knife, her ponytail swishing as she shook her head in disapproval. “They’re attempting to do a nose transplant—“
Gritting her teeth, Lydia held up a hand to silence her. She could never understand how a woman as lovely as her mother could take pleasure in watching something so ugly.
“Don’t,” Lydia warned, braving the kitchen to grab a can of Pepsi in the refrigerator. “Spare me the details. It’s disgusting.”
Grimacing at the fridge packed with odd-smelling leftovers, she weeded through a collection of beer and snatched her soda. The can was satisfyingly cold, just the way she liked it. Shutting the door of the fridge with her hip, she turned and eyed the knife her mother so carelessly wielded. “If you don’t watch it, you’re going to need a finger transplant.”
“Hm?” Mrs. Prescott finally looked away from the television and back to her onion. “Oh. I’ll be careful,” she promised, shooting her daughter a searching look. “Aren't you going to eat something?"
Lydia didn't reply. She was already gone.

---

Outdoors, Lydia took a deep breath. She loved the smell of summer.
Her satisfied exhale morphed into a shriek when her father’s voice boomed in out of nowhere.
“Hey, Squirt! Heading out?” Mr. Prescott slid out from underneath the family pickup truck, wrench in hand.
“You have GOT to stop doing that!” Lydia wished every encounter with her father didn’t have to begin with a mini heart attack. The man could have been a ghost with the way he seemed to appear out of nowhere.
“Sorry.” Mr. Prescott didn’t sound sorry. He sounded amused. “Rock hunting again?”
Noticing that his toolbox was out of arms reach, Lydia pushed it over with her boot. She didn’t correct him with the fact that she collected flowers, not rocks. It was something he always seemed to forget.
"No. I had plans to hang out with Ava today.” Lydia took one last sip of soda before passing the can to her father. “Looks like you need this more than I do.”
Smirking, Mr. Prescott accepted the drink. Beads of sweat were on his brow, indicating that he’d been at work on the family vehicle for a considerable amount of time.
“Very observant of you.” He took a grateful swig of Pepsi, patting the front bumper of the truck with his free hand. The vehicle seemed to groan in protest. “She’s giving me some trouble, but I’ll get her fixed up soon.”
Considering all the truck had been through, Lydia thought it a miracle there was anything left to fix. She didn’t bother to suggest her father invest his time and money into a different vehicle – he seemed to think the heap was part of the family.
“Well, good luck.” Lydia turned to leave, stopping a few feet away. “Mom’s making hash browns, by the way.”
Mr. Prescott shuddered. He thought his wife a talented woman, but her talent didn't include the art of cooking. Lying on the dolly, he slid back underneath the truck. "Thanks for the warning."

---

In many areas of the community, Lion’s Ridge looked the same. The houses resembled one another, so much that residents were known to have mistaken someone's home for their own. Mr. Prescott was probably the most guilty of that.
Hands shoved into the front pockets of her light gray hoodie, Lydia walked the familiar path to Ava's house. The sidewalk curved up ahead, winding downwards at a slope. It was one of the few areas in the town where the ground was dramatically uneven. Breaking into a run, Lydia removed her hands from her pockets and allowed the slant of the concrete to give her an extra boost of speed.
It was a nice feeling to run toward something, rather than away from something. Brief images of past hunts flashed in her mind.
Get over it, she chided, her inner voice sharp. This wasn’t the time to think about ghosts and monsters. The weather was perfect, and she got to hang out with her best friend. Hunting should have been the last thing on her mind.
Slowing into a walk, Lydia rounded the corner and continued past the nearly identical homes. The morning started rocky, but it wasn't enough to spoil her plans. A little nightmare wasn't going to get her down. Reaching into her bag, she grabbed her phone again and sent one more text to Ava.
I'll be at your place in 10 minutes!
Lydia returned the phone to her bag, and a rare smile crossed her face. Today was going to be a good, stress-free day.

Out of all the houses in Lion’s Ridge, Ava’s was one of the only two easily distinguishable from the rest. All thanks to Ava.
Located in one of many roundabouts, her house stood out beside its plain. earth-toned neighbors. Flags hung from either side of the porch, one of the Irish flag and the other of a rainbow peace symbol. Various chimes hung on hooks from the porch’s awning, each jingling with their own tunes in the light summer breeze. Colorful metal wind spinners stuck out from the lawn and lined the sidewalk, swirling lazily.
Ava sat on a porch swing. Celtic knotwork she had painted decorated the wooden swing, forming various types of wildlife. It creaked as it swung, Ava keeping it moving with her bare feet. She hummed softly to herself, finishing up a level of Candy Crush on her phone as she waited for Lydia to arrive.
She glanced up from her game, checking to see if her best friend was anywhere nearby. A couple houses from hers, Mr. Higgens—a balding man in his late sixties—irritably pulled up weeds from a garden filled with herbs Ava could scarcely begin to pronounce. Her gaze lingered on him for only a moment before her greenish gray eyes settled on movement further down the street. Even from the distance, she recognized Lydia making her way toward the house.
A smile spread over her orange-painted lips. She offered a vigorous wave, then shoved her phone in a pocket of her tattered-looking jean shorts. Quickly slipping on a pair of flipflops near the swing, she hurried to the sidewalk.
The mid-morning sun set her fiery hair ablaze as she strolled toward Lydia. Her flipflops clopped unhurriedly against the pavement, closing the distance between her and Lydia.
“Lidy!” she called as she neared, ready to greet her friend with her customary ‘hello hug.’

Encouraged by the weather and promise of seeing her best friend, Lydia quickened her pace into a brisk walk. She didn't have anything planned for the day, but plans weren't necessary with Ava. They always found something do to, even if their options were somewhat limited in the confinements of Lion's Ridge.
Exactly ten minutes after she sent the text, Lydia arrived at Ava's spectacle of a house. She took a moment to admire the current setup. With a collection of lawn ornaments and decorations, the home was certainly unique, but a good kind of unique. Kind of like Ava.
"Hey, Ava!" Lydia approached her friend, amused by how differently they dressed. With her hoodie and jeans, she was better suited for autumn, whereas Ava was fully embracing the heat of summer with her attire.
"Okay, okay, lets get this over with," Lydia joked, spreading her arms to hug the redhead. She wasn't usually one for hugs, but she learned to make an exception for her best friend.
After a quick embrace, Lydia stepped back. Fixing the bill of her baseball cap, she blew a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. She made a mental note to trim her bangs again.
"So, what's on the agenda today?" Lydia would have been fine with hanging out at the house, but she had a feeling staying indoors wasn't an option. Not with Ava. "Want to head to the park or something?"

Ava scrunched her nose playfully at Lidia’s joke. “Oh, get over yourself, stuffy-pants.”
She pulled Lydia into a quick, friendly hug. As soon as she released her friend, Ava started moseying down the sidewalk. She glanced to Lidia, making sure the other girl followed. It was far too nice a day to stay indoors.
The sun warmed Ava’s arms, their fair skin left bare by her tie-dye tang top. A temporary tattoo wrapped her right forearm, creating the illusion of a shimmery tribal-patterned snake coiling down it. Its head rested on the back of her hand. A series of flowers rained down from her opposite shoulder, some more faded than others and in various stages of peeling off.
She paused at Lydia’s question. Placing a hand to her chin, she tapped her lips in mock contemplation.
“Hmm. That’s always an option.” A sly grin pulled at her vibrant lips from behind her finger. She moved her hands and placed her thumbs in the pockets of her shorts. “Especially since it’ll take us past Jason’s house.” She drew out the last two words, her shoulders bobbing theatrically with the tease.

Lydia's eyes narrowed. She knew that sky, mischievous grin of Ava's.
"What are you up to?" At the mention of passing by Jason's house, her cheeks reddened. Ava was the only one who figured out her secret crush, and therefore the only one who got to tease her about it.
"So?" Stooping, she pretended to inspect the lace of her boot and proceeded to retie it. "That doesn't mean he's there," she insisted, tying off the knot with more force than necessary. "He's probably out on that stupid motorcycle of his!"
As if to answer the statement, the rev of an engine could be heard half a block away. Lydia's heart rate didn't return to normal until the sound grew steadily distant, indicating the rider was going in another direction.
After a pause in which Lydia tried to decide if she was disappointed or relieved, she ran ahead a few paces and fell into step alongside her friend.
"Just for the record? I'm one-hundred percent over him," she waved her hand across to emphasize the point. "I couldn't care less if his house is on the way or not. He's never home!"

Ava went ahead a couple steps before realizing Lydia had stopped. She put her fingers fully into her shallow pockets and turned back to her friend.
Her grin only widened at Lydia’s response. She watched the girl tie her shoe as if the distraction could hide her from the topic. Ava glanced down the street as the choking rev of a motorcycle answered the girl’s statement.
“And Grams says I’m supposed to be psychic!” Ava chortled at the timing of the sound during Lydia’s short pause.
She eagerly started back down the sidewalk when the other girl stood, apparently satisfied with the tightness of her shoelace. Ava glanced over as Lydia fell into step beside her and tacked on her statement “for the record.”
“Denial,” Ava said through a feigned coughing sneeze. She sniffled and wiped at her nose to enhance the effect. Grinning, she shrugged lightly. “You’re too good for him, anyway. Now c’mon, Hoodie Queen.” Ava removed her fingers from her pockets, turned, and started jogging backwards. “I’ll race you to Jason’s block!”

Lydia snorted lightly at the claim. She was definitely in denial about Jason, but she wasn't about to admit it. Secretly, she was happy to hear Ava say she was too good for him. It was nice to have a supportive friend, even if they cut down your crush in the process.
Her laugh at the 'Hoodie Queen' comment morphed into a gasp as Ava challenged her to the race.
"Hey, no fair!" Lydia didn't remember how winded she was until she started running again. "I ran all the way here!"
The houses on Jason's block were smaller and less uniform than the houses on Ava's block. Several homes had the garage doors wide open, with spaces so packed, they resembled garbage cans spilling over. A small terrier barked at the girls as they ran by, and a middle aged man with a newspaper waved at them in passing. Either that, or he shook his fist. Lydia ran faster when she couldn't decide which.
When she could no longer make out the shapes of Ava's temporary tattoos, Lydia decided to throw in the towel. "Okay, Ava! You win!" she yelled to her, waving her arms over her head to obtain her attention. "I give up!" Her face was hot and sticky, her baseball cap was askew, and her skin felt uncomfortably clammy underneath her too-warm clothes.
She was beginning to reconsider her choice of attire when she froze. No more than three paces away stood a mailbox. A tall, simple, crooked mailbox. A mailbox that happened to have the name "BENNETT" scrawled on the side in red paint.
Lydia felt a wave of embarrassment crash over her. This was bad for many reasons. It looked way too suspicious that she end the race so close to where Jason lived -- plus she was yelling and making a scene, as if she wanted to make her presence known. The only thing working in her favor was the fact that Jason's motorcycle was gone, as she predicted it would be.
Her prediction was wrong.
The garage door lifted with a screech of rusted gears and aging metal.
Lydia didn't dare look to see who it was, but the voice confirmed her fears.
"Well, if it isn't Lydia Prescott." Jason's eyes gleamed with amusement. He added a bulky bag of garbage to the can near the porch, dropping the lid nosily. The terrier started barking again in the distance.
"And company," Jason acknowledged Ava with a sly smirk, his combat boots thudding against the asphalt as he approached the end of the Bennett driveway.
Lydia felt herself die a little. She wasn't sure if she was glad or horrified Ava was there. She shot a sideways glance in her direction, giving the smallest, stiffest shake of her head. The 'don't-you-dare-embarrass-me' look most friends ignored.
"Let me guess," Jason leaned against the already-leaning mailbox, arms folded across his chest. "You ladies were hoping to see my new motorcycle."

“Excuses!” Ava called through a laugh. She looked over her shoulder, checking Lydia’s distance from her. She slowed slightly, giving the other girl time to gain some speed and close a bit of distance.
She turned down the streets, her legs working from a lifetime of memory. She spared the mailboxes quick glances, predicting the names and lion-head crests on each one before she passed. The crest of the hunter’s Society, most of them blazed brown outlined in gold with a few greens, grays, and the rare purple spattered about.
When they turned on Jason's street, orange crests became dominant among the smaller houses, some crests split into two different colors, often between orange and white. Some of the residents liked calling the block the Orange District, the couple handfuls of lesser-ranking colors in Lion's Ridge gathering around the smaller houses.
Ava spared a small terrier a quick glance as the dog started barking at her with the bravado only a small dog could muster.
“Hi Ponchy! Bye Ponchy!” she called as she ran past, making the dog bark more frantically as it struggled against the leash keeping it inside the yard.
Ava slowed her pace slightly as she neared the end of Jason’s house. She glanced behind her. Noticing Lydia had stopped, the colorful girl slid to a halt. One of her flipflops nearly flew off and the other’s strap dug irritatingly between her toes.
Ava turned around and crossed her arms, grinning. “Of course you do. Such perfect timing, dontchya think?” She trod back toward Lydia, a thin layer of sweat glistening on her brow and breaths heavier than normal.
She slipped her thumbs back into the pockets of her jean shorts as she stepped in front of Lydia. She opened her mouth to say something, but the ungodly cry of unoiled machinery cut her off.
She looked to the Bennett’s garage as its whining plea for mercy stopped. Her light expression turned into a scowl as her gaze fell to a boy around their age standing inside the garage. His body and a bulging bag of garbage partially obscured a motorcycle parked carefully beside a convertible with its top down.
Ava sighed quietly, then gave a light, one-shouldered shrug in a silent, ‘Oh well.’ Her face returned to a more casual expression as Jason Bennett addressed Lydia.
Taller than the girls, he finished his duty and strode toward them with the leisurely stride of an overconfident moron. His worn leather jacket hugged him just right, showing off the muscles of a teen boy who had hit the gym too often.
The look Lydia shot her only made the red-head's grin return.
“How sweet of you to notice me, Bennett!” she answered him with an exaggerated, mocking excitement.
Ava’s brows rose when Jason leaned against the mailbox, making her wonder if he was the cause of its crookedness in the first place.
“Sorry. Not a fan,” she answered the boy, no hint of apology in her voice. She clasped her hands behind her back and leaned forward. “But I bet Lidy would love to see it!” She cast Lydia a knowing smirk, a taunt in her voice that only a true friend could successfully pull off. "Wouldn't you?" She blinked up at her friend with the innocence of the guilty.

"Your loss, Gennings," Jason scoffed, irritated by her refusal. His gaze flicked to Lydia when Ava mentioned her being interested. He leaned forward to catch a glimpse of Lydia's face underneath her baseball cap, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Is that so?"
Lydia's jaw went slack at Ava's betrayal, although she was quick to collect herself. "Er. Yes. I'd love to see it," she answered, stiffening when Jason went out of his way to make eye contact. She felt certain her face was on fire.
Jason straightened, a glint of amusement in his steely blue eyes. "Follow me," he invited, pushing off of the mailbox. It stood more crooked than before.
As the boy lead the way, Lydia shot Ava a wide-eyed, half crazed look. ‘I’m going to kill you,’ she mouthed. She turned her head before her friend could respond, her heart giving a panicked flip when Jason started talking. He never looked back at the girls, he was too busy going on about how expensive the motorcycle was and how fast it could go.
“Wow,” Lydia mumbled. She made the comment not about the machinery, but the state of the garage. A pile of large cardboard boxes nestled in the corner almost touched the ceiling, and there was a cluttered worktable with a blue tarp tossed over it. A dartboard hung on the wall with a few knives embedded into it. Most were dead center.
Jason paved the way for them, pushing a box of tools over with his combat boot. Lydia was glad she wasn’t the only one who wore boots in the summer. She kept her arms pressed against her sides so she wouldn’t accidentally bump into anything.
The door to the house had a calendar on the back of it, with a picture of a majestic looking panther. Lydia stared at it, jumping when it seemed to meow.
Above them, a large Siamese cat glowered from the rafters. Lydia recognized the cat from Jason’s profile picture.
“Don’t mind Hannah,” Jason blew some of his dark hair out of his face. “The neighbor's stupid dog chased her earlier.”
“Ponchy?” Lydia guessed, pitying the cat. It mewed pathetically.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” Jason moved around so he was on one side of the motorcycle, and the girls were on the other. “Hate that dog. He's always getting lose and sniffing around here.”
Lydia glanced to Ava. She wished the girl would say something, but she figured Ava was too busy taking in the sight of the garage.
“Well? What do you think?” Jason gestured to the motorcycle with a wide wave of his hand. “Awesome, right?”
Lydia didn’t know how to respond. There was nothing special about it; it looked like every other motorcycle. She pretended to look it over, nodding to feign interest.
“It’s…” Lydia took a breath. “It’s awesome,” she finally agreed, using his word to describe the thing. She did her best to sound enthusiastic, but instead she sounded pained. She hated lying.
"You bet it is." Jason didn't seem to notice her tone. He looked to Ava, waiting for her reaction. "C'mon, Gennings. Even you can't deny this is a sick ride."

Ava watched, amusement plastered on her face, as Jason and Lydia interacted. Though she could not see her friend’s face, she could practically feel the embarrassed heat radiating from the other girl. That, or she was being cooked alive in her hoodie. One of the two.
Ava’s money was on the first.
She only just managed to stifle a laugh when Jason pushed from the mailbox, leaving it a tad more bent than before. Her tongue rolled around in her mouth, forming an unspoken, I knew it!
Ava would have gladly doubled-down on her bet with the murderous look Lydia cast her.
Her lips pulled tight in an attempt at suppressing her grin. She shrugged lightly at Lydia’s silent threat.
Her expression unwavering, she returned her thumbs to her pockets and followed behind her friend into Jason’s horrendously cluttered garage. The familiar smell of oil, gas, and metal hung in the air, mingling with the faint scent of stale beer. While the calendar drew Lydia’s attention, Ava paused to look at the abused dartboard.
“Nice shot,” she commented. She looked over her shoulder at Jason with a smirk. “Who’d you have over?”
Before Jason could respond to her quip, a gentle meow sounded above them. Excitement about there being a cat nearby settling in her, she looked frantically for the source of the sound.
Her gaze found it at about the same time as Lydia.
“Well, hello there!” she greeted, Jason momentarily forgotten. The cat’s tail swished irately behind it, dangling down from the opposite side of the rafter. Ava’s head cocked toward Jason when he spoke. “Aww, poor thing.”
Hoping to coax the cat down from hiding, she reached fully into one of her front pockets. She pulled out a few of the cat treats she often kept with her. She held them up toward Hanna, hoping the smell would entice her down.
“C’mon, pretty kitty!” she called in a soothing tone, Lydia’s glance going unnoticed. “There’s no mean ol’ dog here.”
To Ava’s delight, the cat slunk elegantly across the rafter and used a stack of boxes to return to the ground. The cat sauntered over to her with another meow and rubbed against her legs, looking up at her expectantly.
Ava crouched down, careful of the worktable she was nearly crammed against. She placed the treats on the concrete floor, and Hanna chowed down happily. She ran a hand over the animal’s soft fur as it ate.
She looked up when Jason spoke from the opposite side of the motorcycle. She looked to the bike as if noticing it for the first time. Her brows rose, glad Lydia was the one in the spotlight for the question at the moment.
The cat finished the treats and pawed at Ava for more. Instead, Ava took the now purring cat in her arms and stood. Hanna meowed in protest.
“Even you can’t deny this is a sick ride.”
“Why? Does it have a cold?” Her eyes widened and her voice sounded so sincerely concerned it could have fooled a human lie detector. At last, she fully took in the plain-looking bike. She shrugged, the cat squirming in her arms. “Bikes aren’t really my area of expertise. It’s a cruiser, right?” She let the cat jump free from her.
Hanna glared at her, her tail swishing indignantly, before she rushed off to find a new hiding place.

"Yeah, it's a Cruiser. Nice guess." Jason scoffed, his tone peppered with sarcasm. He readjusted one of his fingerless gloves, the Velcro crackling as the strap was tightened. "Just got her last week."
Hannah mewed somewhere from behind the convertible. Lydia stared between her best friend and her crush, half wishing she could join the traumatized cat in hiding. There was a hint of tension in the air, making the unintentional social call all the more unnerving.
Brushing her bangs to the side, Lydia stayed silent as Jason went on about tires and how the Cruiser was a Yahama VMAX. Lydia nodded at the right times and offered a 'wow', but wasn't sure what else to add after that. Thankfully, Jason was doing most of the talking, so contributing to the conversation wasn't entirely necessary.
While Jason went over some of the VMAX's features, Lydia found herself studying their surroundings. No matter where she looked, there was always something to look at. Scattered tools, a computer monitor with a crack in it, weights with rust on them. In the farthest right-hand corner, she noticed a Rubbermaid with the lid ajar. Flowers bleached by the sun poked out, faded colors of pink and red intermingling to create various shapes and shades.
Lydia's heart sank. They were artificial flowers, the ones typically left on the gravestone of a loved one. She remembered hearing about Jason's mother dying in an accident two years before she and her parents moved into Lion's Ridge.
Suddenly, Lydia was aware that Jason stopped talking. He was looking directly at her, one arched eyebrow raised. The boy had asked her a question, but she hadn't heard it.
"Uh, yes! I mean...no?" Lydia quickly tore her eyes away from the flowers, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. Judging by the look on Jason's face, neither answer fit with whatever it was he asked. "What was the question again?"
Jason chuckled lightly. He shook his head, whistling once. "Whoa. And I thought Gennings was in another world. You alright there, Lidy?"
Lydia's mouth dropped. Aside from Ava, no one ever called her Lidy. She glanced to friend for her reaction, silently praying the tension wouldn't manifest into an argument.
Jason smirked smugly. "You know, I wouldn't mind giving you ladies a ride around the block sometime." The invitation was plural, but he was looking directly at Lydia as he said it. "If that's cool with your parents, of course," he added, gesturing back to a metal shelving unit with his shoulder. Two helmets rested in the center, one black and one red.
The helmet wasn't the only thing red. Lydia's face was on fire. "They wouldn't care," she answered quietly, an pang of regret piercing her chest. She couldn't seem to think before she spoke around him, something that both frustrated and scared her.
Jason's eyes seemed to light up with amusement, his smirk widening. He leaned against the worktable, his scarred, muscular arms still folded. "Well? How about you, Gennings?"

Ava’s gaze darkened, the corners of her lips twitching downward at Jason’s tone. All the same, she gave a light shrug.
“Who’d you steal it from?” She couldn’t help jibe, her frown giving way to a half smirk.
Her expression returned to its neutral mask as she looked longingly after the cat. Part of her wanted to rescue Hanna from having to deal with her insufferable owner. The other just wanted to pet the cat.
Noticing Lydia’s movement, Ava glanced to her friend. The colorful girl raised her eyebrows, shrugged, and leaned nonchalantly against the stack of boxes. The cardboard shifted behind her, pressing further against the metal wall, but held her weight. She gave Lydia a look that said she would stay as long as her friend needed, but she’d owe her. Big.
The girl rolled her eyes in a show as Jason took the opportunity to ramble on—and on—about his bike. She half listened, her gaze straying to search for any sign of Hanna. A smile quirked her lips when she caught Lydia’s distracted, disinterested reactions to her crush’s explanations about his new toy.
Though Ava caught Jason’s last question to Lydia, silence fell. Ava’s bemused gaze turned to her friend, both she and Jason waiting for her response.
An airy laugh burst from Ava’s lips when Lydia realized the conversation depended on her now. The cluttered space partially absorbed the sound as Lydia answered. Ava felt half tempted to say he’d asked her to Prom. Instead, she thought better of it and stuck her thumbs in her jeans pockets, grinning.
The expression wavered when Jason stole her nickname for Lydia. Her grayish-green eyes narrowed and a stiffness tugged at her expression, but she expertly kept the overall mask of indifference in place. Only an aura reader—or good friend—could have detected the change.
Ava snorted at his offer for a ride, more disgust entwining in the sound than she had intended. She looked from Jason to Lydia, waiting for the affirmative she knew would come. Lydia didn’t disappoint; her eagerness and blushing cheeks brought sincerity back into Ava’s grin. The red-head rolled her eyes again.
She cocked her head when Jason addressed her. She pushed from the boxes. A sly look in her eyes, she stepped to the shelving unit Jason had indicated.
“Me?” she feigned a fangirl’s shock. “Ride a motorcycle with the great Jason Bennett?” She reached up and grabbed one of the helmets. She turned back toward the two, seeming to weigh the helmet with interest.
“I’d rather go dancing with werewolves on the eve of a full moon,” she answered, her voice light and cheery. She gave him a sarcastically friendly smile and tossed the helmet to Lydia. “If you want to go, Lids, I can wait here. The park’ll be there after a ride,” she offered, deliberately changing her nickname. Somehow, ‘Lidy’ felt soiled to her now. “See if I can’t undo Romeo’s” she jerked her head toward Jason, “damage to the mailbox.”
She stepped toward the opening of the garage. She looked to the crooked mailbox in question and shook her head in mock pity for the poor thing.


Shadows pooled beneath the trees lining the residential street, each content as they shifted with the sun’s slow movements across the sky. Each a promise that night would come again. A reminder that even in the day, darkness would never relinquish its hold in its eternal battle against the light.
A normal day. Normal shadows. Except for a single patch beneath a tree, its depths made darker by an extra, unnatural presence lurking just outside the physical world.
Within these shallow outskirts of Nocreum—as the Shadow Realm’s inhabitants call it—the monochrome of black and grays colored Kyair’s world. The shadows cast by the Physical Realm created solid forms around him, a clarity unmatched in the other realm shining through the dark. Everything else ghosted past in ethereal wisps, oblivious to the world existing just beyond their reach. Each as untouchable to him as his precious shadows were to them.
Kyair’s dark, wispy form curled comfortably on the grass beneath the tree, his darkness blending in with the plant’s shadow. His black chest rose and fell with the steady breaths of slumber. Here, the summer’s last bit of lingering heat shied away, doing little to warm the comfortable cold of his true home. His form wavered and shifted, conforming to the gentle, imperceivable movements of the tree’s natural shadow.
Even the shadows here knew to remain quiet. To keep to themselves, for hunters were not something to be trifled with. They were neutral, these shadows. But even in his slumber, Kyair could feel their respect for him. Heedless of the hunters, they would warn him. Protect him. Obey him.
The darkness always obeyed him.
The whispered not-quite-words of the shadows brushed Kyair’s mind and incorporeal flesh, arousing him from slumber. His eyes snapped open, creating two white, glowing dots on the silhouette of his face. He rushed to sit up, his movements making the darkness in the physical realm’s shadow quiver. He tensed, readying to flee. As much as he hated the thought of running, his powers slept with the night, leaving him with only a shade of their full glory beneath the wretched daylight.
But there was no need. The not-quite-voices of the shadows spoke with no urgency. No warning. Merely a notification. Information on one of the hunters he sought the blood of. Or, rather, a weaker link.
A girl. The Genning’s daughter. Their only daughter. Even hunters had a soft spot for their female children.
Show me, he demanded, his order forming the same not-quite-there language. Kyair closed his eyes, snuffing out their light and letting himself see as the shadows saw.
Though he did not move from the tree, a garage undulated to life before his eyes. The vision of a shadow tucked away into a corner became his vision.
The space was cluttered, working in sync with the daylight filtering in through the open garage door to create many other glorious shadows. The reflections of the darkest parts of humans and creations. Untouchable to those of the Physical Realm. Playthings to those of Nocreum.
Even filtered through the darkness, he could make out the vibrancy of a girl’s tie-dye shirt. The Genning’s girl, as the shadows told him. He saw the shadow of her form beneath her feet, felt it shift as the girl moved.
She was unprotected, unwarded against monsters of the true dark. He tested the shadows, searching for spells meant to keep monsters out. Unlike the girl, the house was warded, but it was weak. Pathetic, compared to those on the gates. He could break through them, travel to the shadows he used to spy with. It would be so easy to pull the rest of the Genning’s spawn into the same space as her shadow. But the house’s wards could still set off an alarm.
It was too early for that. Such detection now would mean failure.
And she wasn’t alone. A boy. And another girl… At least, he thought it was another girl. The shadows refused to put her into focus, as if they could not quite get a grasp on her appearance.
Kyair’s head cocked to the side, curiosity momentarily rising in his vengeance-filled heart.
Odd. Very odd.
Show her to me, he commanded, but the girl’s form only wavered, growing that much more blurred.
“The park’ll be there after a ride.” The Genning girl’s voice met his ears, the sound distorted into a wispy, warbling echo.
Kyair opened his eyes. The street he rested near met his gaze, the vision of the garage fading. If he wanted to see this mysterious girl, he would have to find her himself. After all, he knew where she was going.
With a small bit of willpower, he forced the glow of his eyes to diminish until only his dark face remained.
He crouched within the shadow of the tree, one hand on the soft, plush grass fed by the dark. His gaze stopped on a bicyclist as she rode by, the rider’s shadow reflecting more physical detail on the lawn than its sun-ghosted body.
As soon as the cyclist had passed, leaving the street deserted, Kyair’s body bunched into a mass of shadow. It hovered above the ground like a black cloud, the dim lighting around the tree seeming to darken as if the light feared his form.
He hated traveling in the day, but curiosity would not let him rest any longer.
His dark mass twisted as it dashed into the gray, day-bleached portion of this sliver where Nocreum met the Physical Realm. The blackness of his body lightened in the path of the sun, sending an unpleasant tingle through him. He shuddered as he rushed to the next shadow down the street.
In the Physical Realm coated in golden rays and saturated with the many colors of the world, an inexplicable shadow flitted across the lawn beside the sidewalk. It twisted and swirled with an intelligent elegance.
Then it vanished into the shadow of another tree.

Jason chuckled after Ava rejected his offer, her words enough to wipe away his Cheshire-like grin. "Suit yourself. I'm sure Hannah will appreciate the company." He looked to Lydia, Ava's witty refusal annoying him more than he cared to let on.
"Well, you heard the lady,” he leaned forward again, peeking underneath the bill of her baseball hat. “How about it, Lidy? Want to go for a little spin?"
Stiffening, Lydia fumbled to catch the bright red helmet, her heart working overtime to catch up with her brain. A leisurely drive on a motorcycle with one's crush may have been a dream for some, but for Lydia Prescott, it was a nightmare.
Holding the helmet chest-level, she chewed her bottom lip, preparing to decline. "Thank you, but…I had plans today,” she glanced sideways at her best friend, clearly conflicted. Abandoning Ava didn’t feel right, but she also didn’t want to hurt Jason’s feelings. It was a no-win situation.
“But…I guess we could go,” Lydia offered, seeing what she perceived as disappointment in Jason’s face. “If it’s just around the block,” she added hastily, shifting her weight to her other foot. “And if it doesn’t go too fast.”
As if by magic, the answer brought Jason’s grin back. “Sweet! You won’t regret this.” He retrieved the black helmet from the shelving unit, tucking it underneath his arm. “And don’t you worry,” he snatched his keys from a hook on the wall, his expression suddenly serious. “I’d never put you in danger. That’s a promise.”
Throwing one leg over the body of the motorcycle, the burly boy got seated. He gripped one of the handlebars as he adjusted his helmet, leaving enough room for Lydia to board on the back.
Blushing furiously, Lydia pulled the helmet over her head, secretly grateful for something to obscure her reddened face. Any excitement she should have felt was overshadowed by the guilt she harbored. She wanted to apologize to Ava, or offer to make it up somehow, but she didn’t want to apologize for Jason being Jason when Jason was right there.
Sighing through her nose, Lydia drug her feet toward the motorcycle, trying to ignore the fact that her crush looked really cool in his helmet. His visor was still up, offering a nice, framed view of his perfectly blue eyes.
Stop that! Lydia kicked herself mentally, quick to avert her gaze. She began to board the VMAX, but a small thud at her hip reminded her that she was still carrying her bag.
“Hey, Ava?” Lydia slipped her arm out of the shoulder strap to her bag, extending her arm to the girl. “I’m entrusting my worldly possessions to you. If I don’t make it back, you’re welcome to everything in there,” she tried to joke, careful to keep the comment between them. “After this, we can go malling. Or anywhere you decide.”
Seated and situated, Lydia cleared her throat, her way of announcing she was ready.
"You good back there?" Jason turned his head to look in her direction, his voice muffled through his helmet. "I'm going to start her up now, so hang on."
Hang on? To what? Lydia’s eyes grew wide as the realization hit her. The only thing to hold onto was Jason himself. She eyed the back of his leather jacket as if it would magically supply some sort of solution, unsure of the least-embarrassing way to 'hang on'.
Before she could form the beginnings of a plan, the rev of the engine started. Yelling out in surprise, Lydia threw her arms around Jason's midsection and held on for dear life. The motorcycle was so loud, it was almost enough to drown out her embarrassment. Almost.
Jason didn't seem to mind, though. He laughed and said something she couldn’t hear over the too-loud machine. He saluted and winked in Ava’s direction before flipping his visor down. “Good luck with the mailbox, Red!”
With another roar of the engine, he took off, leaving the cluttered garage and Ava behind.

Though the shadows didn’t quite understand what a “park” was in word, they knew in thought and theory. It was a place of fun, and of training. A place that reeked of fizzy joy, tangy adrenaline, and the rich, almost peppery anger of screaming children forced to leave before they desired. The shadows here didn’t fully comprehend the emotions, but Kyair knew them all well. Each of their delectable flavors, every one as different in taste and smell one from another as fruit to a human.
Though, he had to admit, he almost couldn’t choose whether he liked the taste of the humans’ emotion or food more.
The pools of darkness whispered to him, drowning out the distant, muddled echoes of the day beyond the in-between place. Guiding him. Keeping tabs on the two he’d seen—or almost seen. Though they’d refused to show him the other girl, they at least kept track of her for him now.
Kyair stopped at the side of a plain, two-story home. An unwarded home. Pompous fools. No doubt, they thought they were deep enough in their little “safe” community that they didn’t have to worry about invasion. To them, there were no monsters here.
Even when they were the ones more worthy of the title than the beings they hunted.
Kyair smirked. If only his intended victims had been that foolish.
He let his shadowy, wispy form solidify in the darkness. Even against the rest of the shadows, his body stood out as black as night amidst the Inbetween. A shadow to rule them all.
In the world of humans, the shadow beside the house seemed to quiver, then darken. But only the deserted side street bore witness to the nearly imperceptible, human-shaped mass hiding within. The gurgled, hollow echo of a lawnmower ricochet through the air, adding to the faint background noise of the otherwise quiet.
He took a deep breath, letting the chilled air of the Inbetween seep through him. Letting it cool the uncomfortable warmth from the stretches of light that had tried to infect him in his travels.
He scowled out at the blurry world of light in front of him, as if the expression alone could frighten the sun to submit to its gentler sister sooner. But its discomfort would be worth it. He’d make it worth it.
The park was near, that much he was certain. He had beaten the girls here. Alas, from what his shadows told him, the mystery girl was delaying them. Taking a ride on a motorcycle. Wretched hunter.
He sighed heavily, taking the moment of dull inactivity to mull over the situation.
Two of his four targeted families were out on assignment, that much he’d gleaned in the night. Their houses stood vacant, the darkness left to play at its leisure through their homesteads. But the Gennings girl and Prescotts remained. Even the Prescotts had a child, from what the not-quite-words of the whispering Inbetween told him. And if anything would call the Gennings couple back, it would be the disappearance of their daughter.
And what better way to get revenge? Blood for blood. Family for family. He’d take his time, though. Oh, yes. He’d enjoy feasting on their pain.
A sadistic smile quirked at his lips, twisting at the the black mass of his face. Whoever had stated “Revenge is sweet,” must have been a noxtren. More, though, their suffering would ensure their families knew their children died for the sins of their parents. For the innocent lives they’d ripped away from him.
The innocent for the innocent.
If you could call the spawn of hunters “innocents.” As a plus, their death would mean there would be two fewer hunters in the world.
He sighed and leaned his back against the shadow of the house. The murk of the light world turned the solid, crisp edges of its silhouette into a smoky afterimage of itself where the sunlight touched it. There, but intangible to him in this existence between the human world and Nocreum. The unguarded walls stood out from the warded homesteads of other hunters nearby, a faint colored aura shimmering over their forms, distorted where they bathed in the daylight.
He tapped his foot impatiently. If they didn’t get here soon, he may just have to risk another trip jumping shadows.


Ava frowned theatrically at Jason’s comment about keeping his cat company. “Don’t worry, Hanna!” she called in the general direction the cat had stalked off in. “I’m sure he wasn’t calling you a werewolf!”
Ava eyed Lydia at the other girl’s refusal. Ava looked at her thoughtfully, trying to figure out if the answer was for her sake, or Lydia’s. She raised her brows, then gave a small, encouraging smile. She jerked her head toward Jason and his bike. She nodded almost smugly when Lydia finally accepted the offer.
If her friend was going to figure out how Jason really was, it’d have to be for herself. And the sooner, the better.
Catching as Jason’s expression changed like a kicked puppy offered a steak, Ava rolled her eyes. Can he get any more ridiculous?
Ava swiftly took the bag her friend handed her to look out for. She smiled at the promise of keeping everything in it if Lydia didn’t come back.
“Sure.” She slung the bag over her shoulder. “But if you have any snacks in there, I can’t guarantee they'll still be there even if you do get back!” A sly smile spread further over her orange-painted lips at Lydia’s last promise. “You know you’ll probably regret that, right?”
As soon as Lydia was situated on the motorcycle behind Jason, Ava stepped fully outside the garage. And not a moment too soon. With the garage around it to amplify the engine, it rumbled to life with the volume of a herd of trumpeting elephants.
Ava barely heard Jason’s shout to her. She rolled her eyes, her whole head accentuating the action, but she was sure he didn’t see it; the motorcycle rolled from the garage like a living thing, narrowly missing her.
She cupped her hands around her mouth, trying to amplify her voice. “Remember, no kissing on the first date, Lids!” she called after them, unsure if they would hear over the engine.
She watched for a moment as the bike sped down the road. Adjusting Lydia’s bag, she stepped over to the mailbox. She eyed it, trying to figure out how best to set it right.
She tried simply to straighten it, but it tilted right back over as if wilting in the summer heat. She sat Lyida’s pack on the ground and tried a couple more times, even kicking some earth and rocks at its base, but what damage Jason had dealt it wouldn’t be so easily undone.
With a shrug, she gave up, reshouldered Lydia’s bag, then sat on the small sliver of grass between sidewalk and street. She wouldn’t put it past Jason to take longer just to spite her.
She picked at a peeling rose mixed in with the fake tattooed flowers raining down her arm, then moved to take her phone from her pocket.
She looked up as a convertible Chevy Camaro rolled down the street, its top open. Her shoulders slumped and she looked toward the sky in dismay as she recognized the driver. The navy car slowed as it neared her, then parked at the curb a couple yards from the mailbox.
“Good morning, Ms. Gennings!” Matthew Sallow called as he opened his door. “Or is it afternoon now?” Half in and half out his car, he checked his watch. He sighed heavily, frowning at it as if it was its fault for making time pass. “Afternoon, then.”
Ava forced a smile in greeting to the community overseer. “Good afternoon, sir!” She felt almost proud at how convincing the lightness in her voice sounded.
A man in his late thirties, Matthew took a moment to smooth out his short, curly blond hair. He opened the door and stepped out. He retrieved a tan business suit jacket matching his pants from the back seat and tossed it over his shoulder, holding on to it by the collar.
Ava couldn’t help but think he looked more like a rugged, clean-shaven politician than a hunter.
“Your tie’s crooked.” Ava nodded toward the black tie standing out against his white, long-sleeved undershirt.
He glanced down and scowled at it. With a sigh, he slung his jacket over the car door, then worked on straightening his tie.
Ava struggled to hide a grin.
“Are the Bennetts in?” Matthew retrieved his jacket, brushed a speck of dirt off its front, then draped it over his arm.
Ava shrugged. If Jason had said, she hadn’t been paying attention. “Jason just left, but he and Lydia should be back soon. No clue about his parents.”
“Lydia Prescott?” His eyes lit in surprise.
Ava’s brows rose. “Know any other Lydias around here, sir?”
“No, I suppose not.” Matthew paused, his gaze turning thoughtful. “They spend time together often, do they? The Bennett boy and Lydia?”
“No. But I’m sure Lidd—Lids,” she corrected her nickname, “is hoping that’ll change.” For now, anyway. “Should I tell her to say hi to her parents from you?”
He pulled himself from his thoughts, his gaze returning fully to Ava. “No, no.” He waved his free hand in a lazy dismissal. “Their homestead’s my next stop once I’ve concluded my business here.” He turned, retrieved a brown briefcase from the front seat, then strode down the sidewalk. The sunlight shone dully off his slightly scuffed shoes.
“About a hunt?” Despite Ava’s dislike of hunting, even her interest was piqued. In this era, where missions were delivered in the span of a phone call and email, a personal visit from an overseer to deliver one was rare. Especially to a lower-ranking family like Jason Bennett’s.
He glanced over his shoulder with a grim smile. “Yes, Ms. Gennings. A hunt.”
“It’s Ava.”
In Lion’s Ridge, you didn’t question an overseer. But Ava scrambled to her feet and trod after him. She held her hands loosely behind her back, Jason and Lydia’s adventure momentarily forgotten.
“What kind of hunt?” she asked, falling in slow stride with him in the driveway. “Something in town? Or something big elsewhere? Must be big, if you’re recruiting both the Bennetts and the Prescotts! Though, I don’t get why’d you need the Bennetts with the—”
“Ava,” Matthew let out an annoyed sigh as he stopped. He turned and looked down at her, standing about half a foot taller than her. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss the specifics with any not listed for the cases in question. But they aren’t linked. My business with both are separate matters. Matters which,” he raised his hand with the briefcase, checking his watch again, “I’m already behind on. So, if you’d excuse me, Ms. Gennings.”
“Ugh,” she threw her head back in exasperation.
This Society and their stupid secrets. It wasn’t like the Bennetts and Prescotts weren’t going to brag about it, anyway. All it took was a couple beers and a hand of poker, and the whole community would be in on the secret while pretending they weren’t. Rumor had it, overseers knew everything that went on in their community, so she’d think he’d know that, newbie overseer or not. That he'd actually showed up on their doorsteps would be rumor fodder enough for the innumerable nosy neighbors already peeking through their windows.
“Fine,” she finished through a heaving sigh as she turned and slumped back to the curb. She glanced back as Matthew sat his briefcase down at the doorstep and rang the doorbell.
Ava leaned forward and rested her chin in her hand. Trying to keep her curiosity from running wild and forget about this newest hush-hush hunt, she could only wait for Lydia to return.