Page 20 of To Hunt a Demon King

On the bright side, my new magical abilities had seemed to have disappeared. I had surreptitiously tried to ruin another apple when Hunt wasn’t watching, just to make sure I could still do it, and nothing had happened. That new well of magic inside me seemed to be dry, and both the bright and shadowy beasts inside me slept. I could still feel them there, but they were dormant and drained of power. I wondered what fueled this magic to make it live and die as it did, but I supposed that at least my chances of accidentally killing my travel companions were less if my magic wasn’t cooperating.

“It’s those damn boots,” said Hunt as he roasted more rabbit over the fire. I supposed I would have to get used to a diet of primarily stale bread and rabbit for the next few days.

“As I have already said,” I replied, trying to eat my rabbit with as much dignity as I could muster. “I didn’t exactly have time to plan this venture. I didn’t have time to buy new boots.”

“Why did you leave in such a hurry?” Hunt asked, narrowing his eyes at me. “You must have had some kind of plan. You have a basket of supplies after all.”

“The supplies were Mama’s idea,” I replied, frowning to cover the fact that I was desperately trying to decide how much to tell him. “And I left in a hurry because my life was in danger.”

“In danger from what?” Hunt asked, still looking at me over the fire.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, shaking my head. My hood slipped down, and I tugged it back up. If nothing else, it kept my neck warm. “Mama thought I’d be safer in the Darklands than the Witchlands, so here I am.”

“Your story makes no sense, Red,” Hunt said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re either lying, or omitting something important.”

“As we already established,” I said. “I don’t know you well enough to give you my whole story. You still haven’t told me how you, a mortal man, live and survive in the Bloodwood.”

“Ah,” Hunt said, raising a brow at me. “So if I want to know your secrets, I need to tell you mine? Is that it?”

“It only seems fair,” I replied, checking that the necklace still hung beneath my blouse.

Hunt caught the movement. “How did your father happen upon a shadow stone?” he asked, nodding to where the necklace lay hidden. “They’re not exactly common, even in the Darklands. I've never heard of one being found in the Witchlands.”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I’ve never met my father.”

“I’m sorry,” said Hunt, a bit more gently.

I shrugged, acting like it didn’t matter much to me. “It’s fine,” I said. “I don’t know if he’s even alive. Mama refused to talk about him, so I’m guessing he’s not.”

Hunt nodded, for once saying nothing and letting the cracking of the fire fill the silence between us.

“Why do you care so much about the stone?” I asked, genuinely curious about it. I didn’t want to give it up, and if I played my cards right, I might not have to. And I should definitely know more about it if it was valuable.

“I told you,” said Hunt. “Shadow stones are rare and powerful. Having one offers me certain…advantages that I don’t otherwise have.” He gave me an odd look, as if he couldn’t believe that I didn’t understand the stone around my neck.

“It’s never done anything particularly special for Mama,” I said, removing the stone from my shirt and running a thumb over the smooth, black surface. It hummed at my touch, and I nearly dropped it in surprise.

“Maybe it has and you just didn’t realize it,” Hunt said, eyes locked on the stone at my throat so that he missed my surprise. “Has it done anything special since you’ve been wearing it?”

“No,” I lied, choosing not to tell him about being pushed through shadow into the Bloodwood. Or the humming. “And how do you know so much about the Darklands anyway?” I asked, shoving the stone back down my shirt.

Hunt shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of dealings with demons,” he said, looking back down at the fire as he finished roasting the rabbit. “Far more than with witches, actually.”

“Here in the Bloodwood?” I asked, taking another bite of the gamey meat.

“Demons rarely enter the Bloodwood,” Hunt replied with a scoff. I frowned, remembering my grandmother’s fear of the demons prowling the Bloodwood in search of stray witches.

“Then how?” I pressed, growing increasingly annoyed with Hunt’s reticence. I hadn’t exactly told him my whole story, but I felt like he had shared nothing.

“I work for them,” he replied, looking up with a smirk as if he knew he was annoying me.

“I thought demons had killed all the mortals,” I said, surprised to hear that they would want to associate with a mortal at all, let alone hire one. Hunt laughed.

“You have been sorely misled about demons, Red,” he said, sounding both amused and annoyed.

“So, are there many mortals in the Darklands?” I asked, more confused than when I had begun this line of questioning. “What do you do for them?”

“Yes, and a little of everything,” Hunt replied, removing the rabbit from the fire and smothering the flame with a booted foot. I could tell he was done answering my questions, and I scowled even more at the conflicting information I was trying to process.

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