Page 43 of A Deal with the Shadow King

“A hunt. What else?” One points to a dark blotch at the end of the alley and crouches, lowering his voice.

I squint, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. A griffin pecks at something on the ground, its beak cutting through it with ease.

The half-eagle, half-lion creature tilts its head backward to swallow a mangled piece of meat, blood spraying its white feathers.

An oily, black sheen licks the underside of its wings, the griffin flapping them cheerfully every few seconds, its enthusiasm for its meal—a dog, I think—raising all the hairs at the back of my neck.

“Nightmares are fashioned out of the Shadow Court’s magic. They’re supposed to prey on the dreamers, but when they spill out of the sceawere to reach the awake, they threaten the proper flow of our magic. It’s the hunters’ job to kill them to release their power and bring it back to Faerie,” One explains before approaching the creature.

He bows slightly in front of the griffin, a show of respect but not submission. The nightmare grazes the black, volcanic-looking road with its talon.

“Most of them are akin to animals, with the same urges and behavior. Others…are worse.”

A burst of shadow stretches from One’s hands and condenses into an arrow. A sleek, metallic glint reflects off its sharp head. Quiet as a ghost, he nocks it onto the string and draws his weapon. The creature cocks its head to the side, more out of curiosity than anything.

My pulse flutters, and I bite my bottom lip.

The bow gives a low creeek, but the phantom arrow is deadly quiet as it flies to the heart of its prey. Startled, the griffin cries out before it explodes in a cloud of smoke. Dark tendrils wisp out of its abdomen, snaking along the road in our direction until its body dissolves into nothingness. The serpentine remnants of the nightmare stretch toward us, and I dig the balls of my feet into the ground, ready to run.

“Don’t move,” my teacher orders, and I uncoil my muscles, watching with bated breath as the shadows blend into his skin.

“When we kill a rogue nightmare, we become a vessel for its power. The magic remains inside us until we return it to the Hawthorn, and when we do, both king and kingdom are strengthened by its return.” A flush of heat colors his neck as he snaps the bow back over his shoulder.

“You killed it so quickly…”

One shakes his head. “I’ve been doing this for a long time. Believe me, it’s not as easy as it looks.” He digs a sleek rectangular-shaped metal device from his pocket and touches the center. Light blares from the previously dark contraption, and I recognize what Mara called a cellphone.

“We have to check out my place nearby. Something apparently tripped up the alarm.”

“Your place?”

He gives a sharp nod. “Traveling between worlds is more tiring than it looks, kitten. The king keeps dwellings in both the old world and the new. A ton of them, in fact.” He grips my hand and tugs me back inside the crooked mirror, the depths of the sceawere as confusing as they were before.

When we emerge, we’re no longer outside, but surrounded by tall walls that run up to a vaulted ceiling. The place must have been very close to the alley because it took barely a second to travel, and I recognize some of the fixtures of the new world that I read about.

A large bed—larger still than the one in my Faerie bedroom—occupies the opposite side of the living space. The large mirror we stepped through is glued to the wall, and a nearby sink is flanked by a string of white cupboards.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“A condo on the Upper East Side,” One says as he discards his bow on the dresser.

Tall glass windows offer a jaw-dropping view of the lighted towers from before. Hundreds of them shine in the night, and I hold my breath as I take in how far up we actually are, the slim street below minuscule and downright scary.

I hold my arms out on both sides of me and backtrack toward the mirror. “We’re so high up…”

“Don’t worry, windows in the new world are thicker than bricks and harder to break than stones.” He punches the glass forcefully with his palm, and I jump at the sudden move.

“See? Safe as houses.”

He checks the lighted screen again and mutters under his breath before pushing the large double door open. We enter an immense closet, and he turns on the lights with a press of a button. I jump at the intense burst of light. Only the most modern houses have electricity in Lundan.

A golden amulet hanging from a hook reflects the warm glow of the electric chandeliers. Coffered spaces hold a wide array of clothes and weapons as well as a collection of trinkets, jewels, and figurines.

“There you are,” One says.

In the far corner of the closet, a black and red spider the size of a small pig laps blood from the ground with its hairy pedipalps—the crooked appendage next to the fangs.

The body of a woman lays in a straight line next to it, deep lacerations running down her skin, and I shudder. “It’s another nightmare.”

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