Page 46 of To Hunt a Demon King

With a hand on the small of my back, Hunt guided me into the tiny inn boasted by this village. The owner of the inn greeted Hunt as if he also knew him and insisted on carrying our things as he led us to a room.

“Do you know everyone?” I whispered, as I walked behind Hunt.

He chuckled. “Just about,” he said.

The room was small and comfortable, very similar to the one we had shared in Mithloria. I knew this visit would be purely functional, and the experience seemed somehow more depressing because of it.

“What about Akela?” I asked, realizing he hadn’t come up the stairs with us.

“He’s too big for this room,” Hunt answered, locking the door behind us. “He’ll stay with the horse in the stables.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling awkward about how to proceed now that we were off the road. “How far is the Demon King?” I asked, removing my boots and trying not to get dirt all over the clean floors. “Where does he live anyway?”

“In the capital city,” Hunt replied, dropping our supply bags on a small table by the window. He pulled the drapes closed tightly, making sure no one could see us. “Oneiros. Probably a three day ride from here.”

“I never knew traveling could take so long,” I said, pulling my legs up on the bed and crossing them.

“Do witches not travel?” Hunt asked, crossing his arms as he leaned on the edge of the table.

“We travel by mirror,” I replied, feeling strange having to explain the magic to someone. “Witch mirrors are cast with specific witch signs. An incantation lets you travel between any two witch mirrors, as long as you can clearly picture your destination.”

“Interesting,” Hunt replied, grinning in anticipation of my annoyance. I pursed my lips. “I will agree with you, that is a useful magic that isn’t found here. Speaking of which,” he added, turning to the supply bags and rummaging through them. “No one sells supplies specifically for witchcraft here, obviously,” he said, still digging through the bags for something. I craned my neck, trying to see what he was doing. “But I thought these might come in useful for you.”

Hunt produced a small leather pouch, placing it gingerly in front of me.

“It’s not much,” he said, “but it’s probably best if you have some magic you can control at your disposal.”

I opened the pouch to find a stick of plain white chalk, a pink crystal of middling quality, and a small hand-mirror.

“Thank you,” I said, my throat feeling rather dry. “How did you know what to get?”

“The Hag,” he replied simply as I packed the items away in their useful pouch. Rather than stow it away, I tied the pouch to the laces at the side of my bodice. It would be lumpy, and a bit cumbersome, but I would feel safer having my materials on hand.

“I want you to keep that hidden from now on,” Hunt added, moving to sit next to me and reaching out to touch Mama’s necklace. “Less scrupulous beings will kill for a shadow stone like that.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” I said with a sigh, stuffing the necklace down my shirt.

“No, we wouldn’t,” Hunt said. I looked up to see him studying me intently and felt myself flush, a little of the heat from Beltane creeping back in between us. We hadn’t addressed what happened between us or what was said, and I wasn’t sure based on what happened after if there was any point in dwelling on it.

“Carnon,” he said suddenly, catching me by surprise.

“What?” I asked, not understanding the foreign word. He smiled faintly.

“It’s my name,” he said. “My true name. Carnon.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised by his admission. “It doesn’t really suit you.” He barked a laugh and I blushed, realizing how rude that had sounded.“I just mean—I got used to calling you Hunt,” I said in a bit of a rush. “You don’t owe me any truths. Carnon.”

He smiled a little wider at my use of his name. “That one’s on the house,” he said, flopping back against the pillows and draping an arm over his face. “Just in case.”

“In case of what?” I asked, still sitting up on the edge of the bed.

He didn’t answer, letting out a soft snore. I scowled. He was either more tired than he had let on, or he was pretending to sleep to get out of answering more of my questions. I threw a pillow at him and he caught it deftly, hugging it to his chest and rolling onto his side. Pretending, then.

“Go to sleep, Red,” he said in a voice muffled by the pillow. “You can ask me a thousand more questions tonight.”

Frowning, but somewhat mollified by the promise of more answers, I lay down next to him, turning to face the opposite direction and letting my exhaustion sweep me away.

Chapter 18

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