This is your official invitation to join the fun

“See?” Evelyn grinned, one hand still outstretched. “It’s not so hard.”

Sonya gulped, her head cranking to the right. An inch over and the blade would’ve sheared her ear off. “You know,” she said, struggling to keep her voice level. “Maybe I should get better at target practice with Mark first and wait before trying this. Wouldn’t want to break open my scar tissue.” She rubbed her left shoulder for emphasis. And she really did need to practice more with Mark. After a week, she still couldn’t handle anything with a decent kickback. Even with the smaller handguns, she could barely graze a moving target.

“West cleared you for this.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t harm anyone to wait a while.” She took a half step toward the door.

Evelyn picked up another knife, flipping it casually. “You’re not scared, are you?”

“Of course not.” Sonya inched away. I’m just reasonably concerned about being flayed alive. She almost made it to the exit when the second knife embedded into the crack of space between the door and the wall.

“If you’re already scared, you’ll never make it as a Hunter. No one will force you to stay. If you can’t find the strength to face me, how the hell do you expect to go against something that would like nothing more than to rip the head from your shoulders.” Evelyn retrieved her weapon and planted her hand on the door. “I guess Isaac’s right about you: bringing in that Tracker was luck and you’re just a little girl who’ll get in our way.” She walked back to the set of throwing knives she’s laid out earlier. She started packing them away. “You don’t have to come back here again. In fact, you don’t have to stay here at all. Leave.”

“No.”

“I’m the mentor. If I tell you to go, you should be sprinting away from me.”

“Oh?” Evelyn swiveled around and raised an eyebrow, balancing a knife on its tip. “Did you finally grow a spine?”

Sonya balled her hands into fists before marching back over. “I’m ready.”

“You’re really not. But at least you’re trying.” Evelyn smirked and pushed one of the knives on her. She pointed to a piece of plywood down the range. “You’re going to start you off at about five paces away and work up from there.”

***

West shook his head as he wrapped Sonya’s fingers. “What did she make you do?”

He chuckled, smiling like Sonya wasn’t the first person to say that. “None of the cuts were deep and if they heal as quickly as your shoulder, you should be able to get back to missing knives in a few days.”

“How about I tell Evelyn it’ll take a week?”

“Well, as your doctor, I am bound by patient confidentiality.”

“That’s a ‘yes’, right?”

West grinned. “I won’t tell her if you won’t. Otherwise,” he said, looking at his chart, “you’re coming along rather nicely. You might even be able to start working with Thatcher.” He tugged the top of her sleeve aside to inspect the faint scar that reflected the light like silver. “If your ribs start hurting, don’t push it. And if Thatcher gives you a hard time about it, send him to me.”

She smiled. West scolding Thatcher would be like sending in a hamster against an attack dog.

“I will.” She flexed her hands. West had applied something that looked like watery honey and made her fingers tingle as the pain faded away. She frowned when he pulled out bottles of medicine and a stack of fresh bandages. “What are you doing?”

“Just preparing.”

She scowled. Even Mark and Zoe, her two biggest defenders against Isaac and his little group, liked to joke at her tendency to injure herself.

She hopped down, savoring her cringe-free side. It had taken over a month to get to this point—where she didn’t ache with every other movement. A month of futile studying and poor translations which still made no sense. A month of watching Keme work and practice. He’d even gone on a group mission, pressing his tally count closer to her own.

“Wish me luck?”

“Of course. You’ll need all you can get.”

Sonya almost skipped on her way up from the infirmary. With Thatcher’s help, she could finally start to face Keme head on in their bet.

“Got yourself injured again, Fletcher?”

Sonya’s good mood drained out of her as Isaac walked down the stairs.

“Can’t say I’m surprised. Have you even had a chance to start any real training yet?”

Sonya grit her teeth and forced a smile. “I didn’t see you there, Isaac. But then I guess the black hole that is your personality was just sucking in the light and making you hard to see.”

“A black hole?” He smirked as he took his time approaching her. “I like that. Nothing can escape a black hole.”

“Not even bad breath.” She ducked around him before he could react and speed walked down the hall and over to the main training room with the boxing ring and weights.

Thatcher was facing off against Lawrence with Keme, Scott, and the twins around the ropes, jeering and cheering the pair on as they slugged it out. Sonya walked around them, keeping her distance. Just like in Evelyn’s room, weapons lined sections of the walls—staffs, wooden swords—all of them blunted or padded. When she got closer, she noticed a crank set into the back wall along with a slight gap in the middle as though the wall could split open. She moved closer, trying to peer inside. Wasn’t the service elevator on the other side?

A sharp cry of pain made her whip around. Thatcher stood on top of Lawrence, holding his arm at a grotesque angle. He let go and Lawrence rolled off the mat.

Keme stood still, appearing bored with his arms across his chest.

Thatcher gestured him inside.

Keme was little more than a stick compared to Thatcher’s bulk but every movement was silent and assured as he and Thatcher circled each other.

Keme struck first, jabbing Thatcher in the gut. He jumped back before Thatcher could retaliate. He landed two more blows, weaving around Thatcher’s counterattacks with ease.

“Don’t get cocky,” Scott warned.

When Keme went in for another blow, Thatcher dropped to the ground and swung his leg. Thrown off balance, Keme crashed down beside him. Thatcher raised his arm, his elbow aimed right for Keme’s throat.

Sonya almost screamed when Thatcher’s arm came down. Running around, she saw he’d stopped just before crushing Keme’s neck.

The others clapped when Keme left the ring. Despite his air of defeat, the others treated it like he’d done something amazing. Sonya inched over to Lawrence and asked why. He had a nasty cut on his forehead from his own sparring session and was cradling his left arm to his body. When he spoke, there was a slight groan in his voice. “Most people can’t even touch Thatcher in the ring.”

“You did.”

He winked. “I’m not most people.”

Lawrence left the room, followed quickly by Scott and the twins.

Keme stopped in front of Sonya, his eyes narrowed. “I hope you do better with Thatcher than you have with everyone else. I’d hate to win because you couldn’t even pass training.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Really?” he asked. “Strange. Cause I heard Evelyn is only letting you use throwing knives. If your own mentor doesn’t let you practice with a real weapon, then how do you expect to beat me?”

“I’d love to show you some time.” She took a step toward him but Thatcher was there, acting as a barrier.

“Go check in with West,” he told Keme. “Just to be safe.”

Keme’s eye twitched in annoyance but pride smoothed it over. He bowed his head to the man before leaving the room.

“That was exciting.” Thatcher laughed, thumping Sonya on the back. In the past month, he’d become something of an annoying older brother: nudging her in the shoulder at every opportunity while he made bad puns, switching out her laundry for doll’s clothes, he even got a bald cap on her when she was sleeping one night—she still hadn’t figured out how. “So, the doc finally approved you.” He cracked the knuckles of both hands. “Follow me.” He started walking out the door.

She caught his arm. “We’re not practicing in here?”

Thatcher frowned down at her as though he couldn’t understand the question. “This room is for sparring and practicing with weapons. This is your goal room. You have to earn your place here.” He patted her on the head before taking her down the hall to a room that felt like a mini gym with treadmills, and elliptical machines, and stationary bikes. Thatcher half carried her over to one of the treadmills.

His hand hovered over the controls when he stopped to observe her, a faint disapproval in his eyes. She wore cargo pants and a loose, long sleeved shirt. “You going to be comfortable in that?”

Sonya nodded and he gestured for her to get on. She straddled the sides of the belt as he cranked it up.

“Run.”

“Yeah. Run.”

He had to be joking. “No techniques or tips? Nothing?”

“Pretend like something is chasing you. Now run.”

Sonya nearly flew off the machine when she first stepped on, barely catching the side rails to help her fall into rhythm.

“No holding the bars.”

She did as ordered and pressed on. No slowing down. No stopping. Keep running. Sonya gasped for air, her body rejecting the continued pace. Half an hour in, her stomach gave out.

Leaning over the trash can, she heaved, her throat burning with bile. Thatcher gave her a bottle of water and a two minute break before making her start again. Over two hours later, she lay sprawled out across the floor, feeling her sweat turn to steam as it curled off her body. Everything ached.

“Come on.” Thatcher clapped twice like he was summoning a pet. “I’m not through with you yet.”

Sonya panted, gathering all of her strength to lift her arm and flip him off.

He grinned and grabbed her arms, dragging her out into the hall. She didn’t even care where he was taking her until she caught the smell of chlorine.

“Wait, no!”

She floundered when she hit the freezing water, her body seizing up. She gasped and struggled, dropping down under the water. A large hand gripped her shoulder and raised her up.

“See. I knew you could still move.”

At the end of each week, West checked on her old injuries and handed over bandages for the new cuts and bruises she got from training. After Sonya had managed to pass one of Evelyn’s tests, she started learning the basics of fighting with knives—particularly smaller blades which were easier to hide under a coat or sweater. And while she moved forward with Thatcher’s training, even starting Parkour and self-defense moves, her work with Mark stagnated.

“You can’t just fire one shot and stop to see if you’ve hit,” His voice rose to a near shout. “If you’re in a position where you’ve started shooting and you’re unsure if the thing is really done, you keep firing.”

“I’m sorry.” She set the rifle down and clenched her hands. It wasn’t like she was being bad on purpose. And her aiming on stationary targets had really improved.

Mark ran a hand through his hair. “I know you’re trying.” His tone was dangerously patient. “And this isn’t easy for everyone, but it’s important that you practice.” He checked over his shoulder before leaning in. “As much as Thatcher and Evelyn might try to convince you otherwise, it’s safest to take down your target before they get close enough to hurt you.” He shook his head and checked the watch on his wrist. “You have an appointment with Thatcher. You shouldn’t miss it.”

He almost pushed her out the door with his dismissal.

She tried to turn the knob but he’d locked it from the inside. She’d skipped some of her practice to work on the translations. Apparently, it showed more than she’d expected. But it was still hard to regret as she’d managed to complete the opening page: The power is yours. Speak the words and embrace what you are. At least, that was her best guess. It might’ve been a sportswear ad for all she knew. Even with the snippets and sections she’d gone through, she’d yet to “speak the words”. Fear over what could happen. Embarrassment for believing anything would happen at all. She couldn’t bring herself to make an attempt.

Slinking off, Sonya’s mood only grew worse when she saw Isaac lounging by the door to the sparring room. Whenever he wasn’t on a Hunt, he loomed over her like a bad omen.

“Good morning, Sonya.”

She didn’t like the way he said her name—like he owned her.

“Morning.” She muttered, taking a wide path around him through the door. The whole room had been rearranged. All of the equipment was shoved up against the side, smooshed up together in a large heap of iron and plastic. The walls had been stripped of all the weapons. Keme stood by the door with Christopher, Felix, and Henry—all men who had laid heavy bets against her. But no Thatcher.

“Something wrong, Sonya?”

She could hear the mocking laughter in his voice.

“Oh, I’m sure there are plenty of things wrong, Isaac. But all of them seem to be with you. You must feel so strong, acting like the big bully of the playground.”

“You shouldn’t talk to me like that, Fletcher.” His voice gained a forceful edge. “Not today.”

“Why’s that?”

“Thatcher got asked on a job with Olivia and Viola. I’m his substitute.”

“What?” She took a step back towards the hall, feeling like the lot of them were ganging up on her for something unpleasant. She wished Mark wasn’t so paranoid about not letting her carry a weapon.

“I get to tell you what to do.”

Sonya scoffed and tried to leave. She would rather clean every toilet in the whole house—even those in the basement—before subjecting herself to him.

“Careful,” he warned when she got close. “You walk out and it’ll prove to everyone here how much of a weakling you are. Whatever the boss says about needing more Hunters, you shouldn’t take it so seriously. No one here needs you. No one here wants you. You think you’ve had it hard? I could turn your life into hell. You’ll be begging to leave long before the tallies are counted.”

Sonya gritted her teeth. The others in the room had gone so still, she heard their eyes focusing on her. “What did you have in mind?”

“A one-on-one match.” His grin made her skin crawl.

She couldn’t see any kind of weapon on him. And he wasn’t dressed for sparring. “I’m guessing that my opponent isn’t going to be you.”

“You’re the great Sonya Fletcher. Brought down a Tracker.”

She wanted to scream. Was he ever going to let that go? It wasn’t like she bragged about it. She’d never pretended to be any good at this.  

He continued, “I wouldn’t dare to presume to give you a regular challenger.” He called over to Keme and the others, gesturing with his head towards the back wall. Isaac strolled over to the crack set into the wall while Keme and the others effectively blocked off the exit. Isaac turned back to her. “I had something particularly special in mind.”

Sonya started to roll her eyes but paled when a thunderous knock came from just behind the wall. “Do I at least get a weapon?”

“Why? He won’t have one.”

Another thump. The entire room vibrated from the blow. Nothing with that kind of strength could be good.

“Isaac, come on.” She ran to him. “Don’t do this. I never meant—”

She tried to dodge Isaac’s grip too late. As soon as she’d gotten within reach, he’d pulled her shirt forward and dumped a small bottle down her front. It smelled like rotting apples.

The pounding grew more furious. The liquid stuck to her body like taffy as she backed away from him. “What the hell is this?”

“Pheromones. It’s not his natural breeding season but he’s been locked away so long, I doubt he’ll care.”

Sonya retreated into the middle of the room. “You can’t be serious!”

Isaac cranked and the far wall started to retract. Dark green fingers the size of bananas worked through the opening, forcing the gap to widen.

Sonya sprinted to the door but the three spread out; unlike Isaac, they were armed—she could make out at least five weapons between the trio. They would never let her leave the room. And if Isaac had told the truth about the liquid she was doused in, she doubted running away would be much help. She glanced over the other equipment before sprinting over to the pile. Heaving aside the weights and forcing her way in, she pulled out a thin barbell about four feet long. Removing the pins, she shoved the weights off both ends and swung it a couple times. She felt the full ten pounds in her muscles but doubted she’d get her hands on anything better in time.

“I hope you studied up on the Mavtock, Fletcher.”

The name sparked something, one of Evelyn’s morning questions. An arm, rough and dirty, made it through, forcing the opening. An enormous head with filmy grey eyes poked out and gave a shrill yell. Brown hair hung down in greasy, slick strings around its human face.

A forest troll.

The troll stopped, swinging back and forth like a bobble head as his nostrils flared. His pupils focused and he roared, ramming himself up against the opening until it gave way and he came stumbling out.

Sonya gripped her makeshift weapon, her hands growing slick with sweat. She kept glancing to the door. Several of the other Hunters had gathered and she heard bets going down about how long it would take for her to beat it—what her chances of survival were. She had become their entertainment for the day.

Sonya couldn’t worry about which of them to beat up second—Isaac being first—as the Mavtock came lumbering towards her, guided by his nose. She circled around to buy herself time. No crucial weakness about them came to mind; nothing she could exploit to end this quickly.

So maybe Evelyn was right when she insisted on more studying.

The Mavtock swung, slow but powerful, reaching its huge fingers towards her. She struck out with the metal rod. It howled in pain and Isaac laughed.

“Bad move, Fletcher,” he jeered. “He’ll only get harder to beat once he’s injured.”

Sonya swore when the Mavtock charged, swinging its fists like wrecking balls. She rolled to the left, narrowly avoiding death by trampling. He didn’t stop until he collided with the wall, scattering a couple of the spectators.

She started circling again, towards the door, hoping someone would end this madness or at least toss her a proper weapon.

“Go get him, Sonya!” Core cheered, pushed forward by Evelyn.

None of them were going to help her.

“I’m coming after you next, Isaac,” Sonya shouted as she switched onto the offensive. The troll swerved around, a stunned look in his eyes as he swayed in place for a moment. He seemed to inflate, his hands growing several times the size they were before until they made her think of human-sized fly swatters. Sonya ran up behind and smashed the end of the rod against the back of his knee. He crashed onto the floor. A mixture of cheers and groans rose throughout the room: complaints about losing money.

Sonya changed her hold on the bar so she carried it like a spear. Dashing around to the front of the Mavtock, she held it up, ready to thrust it into his eye. His hand clamped around her before the metal left her fingers. He squeezed. She gasped for air as her lungs compressed. Tighter and tighter, his grip made her bones ache under the pressure. She heard Isaac barking orders for no one to interfere. Still holding the bar, she wedged it in closer, the metal digging into her own flesh as much as his. She clamped her teeth down on the nearest finger, angling the bar until his hold grew loose. Squirming, she clambered out of his hold and dropped onto the floor. Hard. Wheezing, the entire left side of her body throbbed in pain.

The troll howled and threw the bar over his shoulder. It cracked the wall.

Sonya pushed herself back up, stepping back a couple paces. She looked at Evelyn again.

“Don’t do it,” Isaac warned her.

Evelyn smirked. “You’re welcome to try and stop me.” She unstrapped the blade from her hip—a machete—and slid it across the floor. It stopped a few feet to Sonya’s right.

The Mavtock roared again and ran towards Sonya. She waited a few seconds for it to close in before rolling to the side and picking up the knife. Turning, she slashed at his ankles.

He screamed and made to follow her when she moved away. He made it a few steps before falling to the floor. His blood, a muddy red, pooled around his feet like water. His cry was softer this time as his added bulk abandoned him.

Sonya panted, sweat dripping down her neck as she stalked around to his head. The others in the room went silent. The troll kept reaching for her despite his injury. She felt justified in her plan. Raising the machete above her head, she positioned the blade to come down on his neck. One clean stroke would finish it. Just like the Tracker.

“What’s going on here?”

Kelvin stood at the door. His scowl etched deep into his face like a warning.

“I’m sorry.” Sonya faltered and dropped the knife, staring in horror at what she’d almost done. “I—I’m so sorry.” She scrambled around until she nestled herself between Core and Evelyn.

“Don’t say that.” Evelyn’s eyes lit up with a cold rage. “We first caught onto that thing’s trail when it took out a group of boys on a camping trip. Only one got away and he… he wasn’t able to handle what he’d seen.”  

Sonya pictured a young version of her cousin Arthur, shivering and curled into a ball, failing to block out the horror of seeing his friends killed. Sonya stared at the machete she’d left in the middle of the floor. She should’ve finished the job. She would never be able to protect anyone if she wasn’t able to follow through.

Kelvin spun on his heels, “Mark.” he barked out.

Sonya frowned, following his gaze. In the corner, Mark held a large rifle tight against his shoulder. The shot echoed off the bare walls.

“We weren’t about to let you get killed,” Evelyn explained with a small smile and a nudge to the side. “Mark got here before I did.”

The Mavtock whimpered, struggling for one last moment before going still, a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his neck. West ran forward, large white bag in hand as he examined the troll's ankles.

“Who is responsible for releasing this creature from its cell?” Kelvin demanded. When no one answered, he started pacing in front of them. Sonya kept her head low, amazed at how sheepish and ashamed Keme’s trainers—Isaac and Christopher—appeared. Maybe Kelvin deserved more credit than she’d given him.

“Really? No one’s going to take credit for this?” His eyes paused on Isaac. “It’s most impressive.”

Keme started to step forward but Isaac jerked him back.

“Are you saying that it just happened to unlock itself from its cage, walk right into the elevator, push the button to this specific floor, and then pass through the wall which can only be opened from this side?” He held his arms behind his back as he stopped right in front of Sonya. “Amazing. Simply amazing.”

Sonya swallowed hard, unsure of what to anticipate.

Kelvin resumed, “After the Mavtock is transported back to his cell,” he poked her in the chest, “you will clean up the floor and then take a shower. No need to further stink up the place.”

After he instructed everyone else to put the room back in order and left, Sonya picked up her shirt and sniffed. Her head reeled with the scent of sweat, rotting fruit and something that reminded her of a swamp on a hot day.

It took longer to get the stench off her body than it did to make the floor clean again. The temptation to dip herself in bleach had almost been too strong to resist.

She left a heap of towels behind in her bathroom, walking out towards her closet.

Evelyn grinned at her.

Sonya blushed, jumping behind the door, ripping a towel from the rack to cover herself. “I know you see locks as an open invitation but could you at least knock before coming into my room?”

“That would defeat the point.”

Sonya huffed, tucking the somewhat damp towel around herself. She kept the bathroom door between the two of them. “What did you want?”

“Other than giving me a proper thanks for saving your ass, I have some news for you.”

“And that would be?”

“I’m not going to say this to a door.”

Sonya poked her head farther out.

“All or nothing.”

“Could you hand me some clothes then?”

“Nope.” Evelyn chuckled. “Come on, Sonya. What’s the big deal? I promise I won’t bite—even if you ask me to.”

Sonya scowled, hoisting up the towel. She moved quickly, planning to get some clothes and duck back in. Evelyn grabbed her arm before she could even pick up a pair of jeans.

Her scars. She’d managed to hide them until now with long shirts and pants. Most were thin and faded, scattered in rough angles from her wrists to her shoulders and up around her back. A few had jagged edges that made them look worse than they actually were. There were smaller ones, like cracks, around her eyes and neck but no one ever looked close enough to see them.

“What happened?”

Sonya clenched her jaw and pulled herself out of the other woman’s hold. “Some kids use insults, others use rocks.” She gave Evelyn a stiff smile. “Stoning a witch… it was a favorite lunchtime activity.” She gathered some clothes and Evelyn remained silent while she changed. “Please don’t tell anyone else. I don’t want to look like a helpless victim.”

Evelyn gave a slight nod, traces of sock still on her face as she asked, “They thought you were a witch?”

“My eyes and my height,” Sonya explained. “My cousin Arthur used to tease me about them, saying I was a witch—that I was born with an extra finger and turned other children into mice. Once the kids at school heard it, it caught on.”

Sonya faced her, feeling both physically and emotionally drained. “What did you want to tell me?”

Evelyn faltered before saying, “I wanted to give you this.” She reached before her back and brought out the hunting knife, Sonya’s ‘trophy’. “After what happened today, Mark and I felt that you’ve earned your spot here. We’ve talked to Damian about it and he agreed. You can start going out on Hunts whenever you like.”