This is your official invitation to join the fun

Sonya had read through the whole book, trying to retain the information as her brain processed it but now, it all twisted into one overwhelming shock of numbers and advice. The handbook was divided up into five classes of difficulty. The lowest ranking monsters had pages of information with notes crammed into the margins in a dozen different handwritings. The further into the book she read, the less notes there were on how to take the things down. By the time she hit the pages on Trackers, it was just the one line she’d seen before.

The most terrifying thing was the fact that Trackers weren’t even in the hardest class. The “S class” had pages like Basilisk, Dragon, Kraken, Leviathan, Sphinx. She still wasn’t sure if that section was a joke but she’d read it all anyway—not that there was a lot to go over. More than anything, the S class described how to escape the creatures and what could be used to repel them.

Sonya groaned when someone knocked on the door.

“Go away.” She buried her face into a pillow, curling up on her least injured side.

“I warned you that I was going to give you a test,” Evelyn said. She plopped down on the bed next to her. “Are you ready?”

Sonya sank further into the pillow and shook her head.

“Too bad. Get up.”

Evelyn jabbed her in her bandaged side. Pain shot up Sonya’s spine, freezing her in place as Evelyn started dragging her out of bed.

“I’m coming.” Sonya shook the older woman loose and hobbled along behind, still in her pajamas.

Down a floor and off to the right, they stopped in front of a door with Evelyn’s name etched into a plaque. Sonya straightened, eager to peek into her room.

“No need to get so excited,” Evelyn muttered. She slid in a key and did an odd jiggle with the handle before it swung open.

A twin bed with a few thin blankets was the only real piece of furniture in the room except for a short table leaned on its side out of the way. Various bladed weapons from stiletto knives to broadswords covered every wall. Each was polished and sharpened and Sonya had a hard time guessing which, if any, were just for display.

“If you like that,” Evelyn said, “you should check out my closet.”

Sonya smiled hesitantly and walked over, peering inside. Evelyn’s clothes took up little room, shoved aside for a stack of whet stones, an impressive arrangement of roughed up knives and several dozen different vials—each seeming to hold a unique liquid.

“Do you see it?”

“Is there something specific I’m supposed to be looking for?”

Sonya could hear scuffling from the main room before Evelyn said, “It should be on the shelf right in front of you.”

Sonya frowned, feeling like she was sorting through a haystack for a piece of straw. When she finally found it, the breath in her lungs choked her. The hunting knife she’d killed the Tracker with sat innocently mixed it with the other weapons.

“Why do you have this?” She heard panic leaking into her voice.

“Don’t freak out,” Evelyn said. “I asked Thatcher to bring it back as your first trophy. And now that you’ve officially joined, it’s my gift to you.”

“That’s really okay.” Sonya backed out of the closet, her hands closed up tightly so Evelyn couldn’t shove it on her.

“You’re probably right. It should wait until you’ve finished training. It’ll mean more” Evelyn sat down on the floor in front of the short table. A set of knives were laid out before her, each made of a different metal. “Bring in those vials, would you?”

Sonya used her oversized shirt as a sort of bag, bringing them all in at once. Evelyn stacked them up in a neat row beside the blades.  

“You have thirty seconds to pick out which combination is best to take down a werewolf during the full moon.”

Sonya waited for her to say it was all a joke but Evelyn started tapping her nails against the table. “Twenty seconds.”

Sonya leaned in closer, trying to remember her last night’s cramming. She remembered iron was on a lot of pages; she picked up the knife made of that material and turned it over. But iron hadn’t been for a werewolf. Useless information about Djinns, Sirens, and Banshees clouded over what she was looking for.

“Ten seconds.”

“Silver!”

“Don’t tell me, show me. Five seconds left.”

Sonya picked up the right knife, glad working with her Uncle helped her tell the difference between silver and stainless steel on sight.

“Which vial?” Evelyn asked.

Sonya blanked. Wolfsbane, that part wasn’t hard, but she had no idea what the liquid looked like. The flowers were typically blue and Evelyn was ticking off the last couple seconds. Sonya snatched up a bottle of thick liquid with a purplish tint and held it out with the knife.

“So close,” Evelyn shook her head, putting everything back into place. She picked up a vial that held a faintly yellow liquid that moved like water. “During the full moon, you need both to take the target down.” She snickered a little bit. “Though removing the head is equally effective.” Evelyn ran a hand through her cropped, red hair before gathering all of her knives again. “But I suppose you did choose correctly, if only just a little bit.”

“That’s it?” Sonya asked. “Just the one question?”

“Yep.” Evelyn cleaned each knife before tucking them into a lined leather case. “I’ll ask you a random each question each morning and once you answer perfectly, I’ll start telling you tips that weren’t included in that book.” She chuckled, her pointed face gaining a mischievous edge. “The others like to think that by keeping back a hint or two, they’ll gain an edge when it comes to the year-end tally. Never think anyone’s smart enough to figure out what they did.” Evelyn paused with a stainless steel knife halfway into its slot. She looked like she’d just realized Sonya was still there. Her voice was comforting but still carried a soft threat. “I know it’s a lot to remember but if you don’t pick it up quickly, you’ll get stuck in the basement. And I would love to see Isaac’s ego taken down a peg or two.”

“I’ll try harder,” Sonya promised.

“I know you will.” Evelyn pulled out the two slim pieces of metal she’d used for lock picking. “Want to skip ahead to lesson two?”

***

A bowl of cereal, toast with expired jam, and an orange was the best of the unlabeled food. Five Hunters sat around the large table including Isaac and one of the twins—the one without the bandage. Keeping her head down, she scuttled past the pair, sitting down next to Juan. He smiled at her in greeting but said nothing as he sipped his large cup of coffee, his good looks from yesterday somewhat distorted by drooping eyes and deep yawns.

She didn’t know the other two—a woman with thick glasses and a series of small scars on her forearm, and someone with fuzzy black hair who was drooling on the table with their arms around their head, a hand clutching a half-eaten sandwich.

Sonya felt like a kindred spirit to the snorer; she hated waking up early, preferring late nights and even later mornings.

The woman with the scar left first and Isaac moved a few seats closer as Viola—or maybe it was Olivia—walked out with her. Juan took off next with his feet dragging the whole way out. Isaac caught Sonya’s eye. She curled around her cereal bowl as though making herself small enough would turn her invisible as she tried stuffing her food down.

Isaac waited another moment, perhaps making sure that the sleeping Hunter was really out, before sliding over to sit across from her. She almost chocked when he said good morning.

Sonya examined him, sure there’d be some tell of his darker intentions.

“Good morning,” she said under her breath.

Isaac friendly expression grew tighter. “Why are you really choosing to stay here, Fletcher?”

“I want to help people.” She wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

“You should help yourself, Fletcher. This line of business is dangerous.”

She leaned forward, trying to figure him out. “I’ve already agreed to the bet with Keme. In three months, I’ll either have proven my place or I’ll be out of your way like you want.”

A small twitch of his eye betrayed his concealed anger. “I’m only going to be nice about this once,” he warned. “You should leave. I mean, you’re what, seventeen?”

“Twenty two.”

“Whatever.” He waved his hand, physically dismissing her comment. “What you went through with the Tracker, I’m sure it left you vulnerable, wanting to understand why you had to go through that, why that creature existed at all—but this isn’t the place to find answers.”

Sonya raised her head slowly, wanting to make sure he was looking her in the eyes when she said, “While I appreciate your concern for my well-being, I don’t care what you think I should or shouldn’t do. I’m here because I chose to be here. You’ve got nothing to do with it.” She was shouting by the end. The sleeping Hunter, a man, peered up over his arm for a moment before settling back down.

Isaac’s anger seethed under his smooth exterior in the angled set of his jaw. “Then how about we make things a little more interesting. If you do manage to beat Keme, I will declare in front of everyone that I think you deserve to be here and that we need you. But,” he moved in until he was only a few inches away, “when you lose to him, you leave this place and never come back again.”

Anger compelled her to take his hand.

Isaac nudged the other Hunter awake. “You’re a witness to this, Brandon.”

“Mmhmm.” Brandon yawned. “Win, woohoo. Lose, buh bye.”

Isaac smirked, gripping Sonya’s hand a little too tight. The twisted triumph in his eyes made her feel like she’d just sold her soul.

***

Letting out another deep breath as the door swung open, she heard the elevator ding around the corner followed by Core yelling her name.

“What?” Sonya shouted back, wanting to try a few more times before resigning to study. Core came speeding down on her. Sonya felt the rush of air when Core stopped only a few inches away. Sonya smirked. “Show off.”

Core grinned and started tugging on Sonya’s shoulder. “You’ve got stuff downstairs for you. Hurry up.”

“Fine.” Sonya tucked the lock picking tools away in her pocket and followed the other woman down to the atrium. Seven cardboard boxes were stacked neatly in two columns. She recognized her Uncle’s scrawled handwriting before she got close enough to read it. The shipping address wasn’t to the college she was supposed to be at but to a Belua Venator University.

Before Sonya could ask, Core shoved a pamphlet in her face. Sonya flipped through the glossy pages. Students smiled as they hugged binders and poured over textbooks. The pamphlet praised the so-called University as an elite private school for studying “live-preserving” techniques. If she hadn’t known better, Sonya might’ve thought it was a real medical school.

“There’s no way my family will believe I got in here.”

Core’s expression turned somber. “I’m very good at what I do. I could make it look like you’d just been accepted by NASA as an astronaut and have them believe it.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Sonya said quickly. “But they’d know I could never afford something like this.” She rolled her eyes when Core turned her back and started to open the boxes, rifling through her possessions. Not that there was much to see except for old clothes and older textbooks.

“I sent over a couple members of the network as recruiters to help sell the bit.”

“Like the guy who pulled me out of prison?”

Core shoved off the top boxes and moved down to the next pair. “Yep. Not everyone we approach about joining is willing to be a Hunter. Or sometimes, like Agent Carson, they’re more valuable where they are. They keep a lookout and report about anything out of place. I filter all the information and map out potential captures. Oh, sweet!” Core pulled out a small plastic container bulging out with various candies and chocolate. “Care packages are the best.”

Sonya snatched the slip of paper on top before Core started slipping a couple of the bags into the sides of her wheelchair.

Come home when you can.

The handwriting belonged to her Aunt Valarie. Guilt and shame mixed with satisfaction over their last parting. She couldn’t bring herself to regret her slap but running out in the middle of the night hadn’t been her finest moment.

“Core?”

“Yeah?”

“It won’t come to that.”

“But if it does,” Sonya clenched the note, “what will they believe then?”

The hacker paused before saying, “Accidents happen.”

Sonya didn’t ask any more questions after that, not wanting to know the answers. By the time Sonya moved all the boxes into the elevator—Core keeping it open for her—most of the sweets had disappeared.

“Just take the whole container,” Sonya said.

“That’s too generous. Really, I couldn’t.” Core laughed, taking off with the entire box.

Sonya constrained herself from rolling her eyes and kicked, rather than carried, the boxes back to her room. She shoved it all into an empty corner, knowing most of it would only gather dust while she stayed here.

Opening the handbook, she settled down on the bed, determined to do better on Evelyn’s test.

She studied all of thirty seconds before tossing the book aside. She would never be able to keep it all straight in her head. She flopped onto her bed, knocking her head against the journal. Untying the leather strand that held it shut, she turned through the old, worn pages. What if it could really work? Whoever left it behind obviously wanted her to use it or there wouldn’t have been any English in the back to be used as a guide.

A test? To see if she was smart enough? Determined enough?

What was the phrase? Desperate times call for desperate measures?

Three weeks later and Sonya still hadn’t passed one of Evelyn’s tests. Each morning it grew harder as she asked about which monsters grew fiercer after experiencing pain, which ones couldn’t be killed at all, and what byproducts were highly sought after in the black market. One wrong detail and Evelyn rejected the entire answer.

Even, when Sonya tried to study, her mind kept drifting towards the idea that she might be a monster herself. She made notes in her journal, guesses and speculations about what power the Tracker had sought her for, what the package at her house had meant. But nothing in the handbook matched with what little information she had.

Trying to tackle the translating hadn’t gone much better. Each time she wrestled out a word and tried to fit it in the sentence, the whole thing turned into a jumbled mess of nonsense. Grammar had never been one of her strong points.

While West denied any physical training, Sonya kept watch over the other Hunters to get a hold on how the system worked: outside Core’s “office”—which looked more like an evil version of a computer store filled with dimmed lighting and ominous, glowing screens—was a corkboard with various jobs listed. Each slip of paper gave details on the location, suspected monster, and the recommended number of Hunters. Typically in groups of two to four, most returned within a week.

Once inside the garage, their target was wheeled in on the same kind of cart her Tracker was taken off with. She followed Thatcher through the hallway once, after he’d brought in a Soucouyant—a shape shifting blood sucker he’d tracked down in Florida. He’d wheeled the bundled mass down the hall to a large grate which opened to a service elevator large enough to lift a car. Downstairs, in Zoe’s territory, she valued the catch and reported the number value to Core before locking it away in a cell. The whole process was more like collecting rare toys than locking monsters away.

The one thing that surprised her was how many of the Hunters didn’t live at the building full time. Amber had two kids and a husband who thought she was a curator. Felix and Henry also had families though it seemed they aware of what the two men did for a living. Overall, about half of the house was empty at any given time from people visiting home, out on a job, or simply taking time off.

Between Mark, Lawrence, and Brandon—all of whom had bet money on her winning—she’d learned how to access the communal store of weapons and poisons, how to tell each one apart, and which weapon tended to be best for what monster. After Evelyn caught them, her morning questions grew even more intense.

Sonya was almost pouting when she checked in with West for her checkup.

“Something wrong?”

“Just the usual.” It was frustrating to watch everyone around her working and laughing and busy, but she was forced to sit and be useless. The one time she’d managed to sneak out for a jog outside, Kelvin pounced, ordering her to bed rest. He didn’t care for her any more than Isaac did.

She stared at the doctor as he checked the bandage on her shoulder—he’d been willing to let her change the bandage herself so long as he still got to check on it.

“When will these people start to open up?”

“What do you mean?” West asked.

“Everyone knows how I got here but I asked Nick about his past and I thought he was going to whack me in the face with his frying pan.”

He chuckled and moved to her side. “After you’ve worked with them on missions, they’ll start talking. People here don’t bring up stuff like that until they trust you. So if they do open up, don’t treat it lightly.”

Sonya bit back a scoff. Thatcher had told her he worked here for the money and Evelyn did it because the job acted as a get out of jail card. It was all very inspiring.

West let her shirt down and leaned in. Sonya flushed a bit as he checked her nose. “It looks like the bruising is almost gone. How’s it feel?”

“Good. Really good.”

He grinned and wrote a few lines down on a piece of paper. “You’re still nowhere near healed enough for Thatcher but I think Mark and Evelyn could start some light weapons training.”

“Are you serious?” She sat at attention, hoping he wasn’t kidding.

West ripped off the note and handed it to her. “I’d suggest working with Mark first. He’s always been better at showing restraint.”

“Thank you!” Sonya took the paper, almost knocking him over in a sloppy hug before shooting out the door. Keeping a hand pressed to her side, she hurried along the halls, trying Mark’s room first and then the elaborate dining room and so on. After about ten minutes, her excitement boiled down to impatience.

She stomped through the building, venturing out into the east wing—better known as (something clever I haven’t figured out yet) for all the different rooms dedicated to training and practice. She hadn’t been down here yet; Evelyn had the incredible talent of popping up and dragging her back upstairs to study whenever Sonya had managed to sneak in.

Poking her head inside the first door, she saw several roped off boxing rings, some punching bags and the back wall lined with various weights. Lawrence and Juan sparred in one of the rings with Lucas acting as referee. The rest of the room was empty. Next door: a long pool with a curved rock climbing wall at the end. Sonya watched as one of the twins swam a lap then scaled up, jumping back into the water after she reached the top to repeat the process.

Down the hall, she finally found Mark in a shooting range. Fifty feet down from where he stood, a small piece of cardboard swung wildly back and forth, its speed and movements constantly shifting. She grew dizzy watching. Staying behind the soundproofed wall, she waited until he fired a shot from his pistol and set the gun down before going inside.

Mark, with his earplugs and safety glasses, didn’t seem to notice her coming up beside him as he reeled in his target. The cardboard circle couldn’t have been bigger than two inches around. Mark’s round had caught the very edge.

“Damn,” He muttered, taking his glasses off and tossing the target off in a trashcan. “So close. Every time.”

“That seemed very impressive to me.”

Mark jerked around, his typically cool face scrunched up in annoyance. “Why are you here?”

Sonya held out the note. Should’ve waited for him to finish. What if he refused to teach her now?

“Very well,” Mark said, tucking the slip of paper into his pocket. “I have a strict system. If you break a safety rule, the lessons stop. If you waste ammunition or pretend you’re the star of an action film, the lessons stop. If you willfully disobey me in any way during your training sessions, the lessons stop. If you take any of the guns out of this room without my permission—” He stopped and stooped down to stare at her. “You’ll soon wish you hadn’t.”

Sonya paled, unsure if his sudden gush of words or what he was actually saying stunned her more. “Understood.”

Mark sighed, taking the gun and packing it away along with the ammunition. Removing his earplugs, he went over to a wall and slid open a section where shotguns, pistols, revolvers, and rifles were packed neatly away.

“First things first,” he said, pulling out a slim piece of metal with bullets set inside, “This is called a magazine. If you ever refer to it as a ‘clip’ in front of me, something very unfortunate will happen. That is rule one. Rule two, never pump a shotgun after the first time—all that does is eject ammunition. No gun made in the past hundred years requires that. Understand?”

Sonya nodded hard enough she worried her neck would snap. The calm and subdued Mark she’d gotten to know the past few weeks had been replaced by a drill sergeant.

He continued with the basic stance, how to carry a gun when moving, to always hold a gun in two hands, how to deal with the kickback, and which guns had what kind of safety—if they had it at all.

“You’re not going to start quizzing me like Evelyn, are you?”

Her brain couldn’t handle a double dose of that.

“Even better.” He took a .380 Auto and loaded it while ordering her to wear earplugs and glasses. She found some on the counter, doing as instructed as he waited for her. Her palms went slick as she took the gun. It felt lighter than she’d expected. Mark fixed her stance before backing away a few steps. Repeating his instructions in her head, she closed her left eye, straightened her right arm and aimed at the sheet of paper. The loud bang filled the room with the acrid smell of gunpowder. Her first shot—which didn’t even nick the large sheet of paper—sent sharp vibrations up her arm. She fired again and the light buzz flooded her entire body. Her knees quivered and she had to set the gun down to wipe her hands off on her jeans.

“Try and stay calm.” Mark’s voice was muted.

Sonya took a deep breath, raising the pistol and firing off the remaining shots. Out of eight bullets, only half hit the paper and none of the holes were in any vital area.

“You’re focusing too much on the target.”

“So I’m not supposed to look at it at all?”

Mark went to the ammunition closet, taking out another pre-loaded magazine. “You start off well but before you pull the trigger, your form goes all haywire. Always think about yourself first. What you’re aiming at is secondary.”

He made her keep trying until she was able to get a round into the outline where the heart would be. It was almost time for dinner by the time she’d managed to do it.

“Not bad,” Mark said after he’d put everything away.

She could almost hear him thinking: Not as good as everyone else, of course.

“Hey, Mark?” Sonya stopped him before he left the room. “Damian said that you were the only one here with a perfect record.”

“What of it?”

“Well,” Sonya started, feeling nervous about annoying him now she’d seen him shoot, “I was wondering why.”

His eyebrows drew together, head tilting to the right in question.

“It can’t be easy to always bring in things alive. And most everyone else doesn’t seem to even care outside of getting more points. So why go through all that trouble?”

Emotion vacated his face. “I’m not here for money or sport.”

Of all the times for him to get stoic again. “Oh, come on. Everyone knows why I’m here, what I’ve done. Can’t you just tell me this one thing?”

Mark stood in the doorway. She thought he was going to leave when he glanced to her and said, “Penance.” He left before she could respond, ending the conversation.