Alex Finch_Monster Hunter

by Cate Dean

  Side Effects: No human has ever survived an attack.

  It had the least amount of information in the guide, next to the Wendigo, which had a big red X hand drawn over the illustration, and one sentence: Do not accept—it will kill all residents and store those it doesn’t eat right away for later.

  I had to set the book down for a few minutes to let that sink in. Wendigos were real.

  All the research I’d done, the connections I made with the same creatures running through the folklore of every culture—I was right.

  Sometimes I really hated being right.

  I added my first of what would probably be many notes in the margin, this one next to the Devil. First attack, and the victim has survived it. I will update if this changes. Jake wasn’t completely human, but he definitely survived. So far.

  The next entry left my hand shaking, as I added it next to the Fenris Wolf. Two new victims—one changed immediately, one not at all. The third is recently bitten. I will update with any changes.

  I had to put the book down—again—for a few minutes after that. Okay—more than a few minutes. Writing it down, seeing it on the page—that finally made it all real. More real than I wanted to deal with.

  Once I picked it up again, I spent half the night going through the book. For its small size, it was overflowing with information, and so many creatures my mind couldn’t grasp the reality of it. I examined the map, and found we weren’t the only safe haven on this part of the coast. And most of them weren’t underground. We were just special that way. Lucky us.

  The network spread literally around the world, and each place apparently had its own guide, its own rules, and a list of the creatures not allowed. The banned lists for each haven were included, and the Devil topped most of those lists—except Hyattown, and a couple of places in England.

  Finally, I got up and tucked the book in the bottom drawer of my dresser, under the ragged leotards I couldn’t part with. Mom refused to even look in this drawer, so I knew it would be safe. Sitting so long, hunched over the book, left me stiff, all the bruises and scrapes I acquired over the last couple of days aching enough for me to pay attention. My ankle wasn’t speaking to me.

  I undressed, pulled on an old, oversize t-shirt of Dad’s, and crawled back into bed.

  I had a long list of questions for Sam, and I was going to defy Dad to get some answers—even though I had a feeling Sam wouldn’t be around to answer them.

  16

  Like I predicted, Sam didn’t come to school.

  And he didn’t call me. Not that I expected him to, after the way we left things last night. But I still needed to know if he was all right. So I spent the day, already exhausted, worried about Sam, how his mom was doing, if his dad had gone after Jake again.

  Too many sleepless nights, too many revelations, too much strange. I had never been so tired in my life.

  And it was about to get worse, because study period was next. Which meant an hour with Misty. I didn’t know if my brain could take the stimulation without exploding, right there in the library.

  I met her at our regular table, too exhausted to think straight, and braced myself for the interrogation.

  She surprised me. Looking almost as tired as I felt, she sat next to me. “You look like you got about as much sleep as I did,” she said.

  “That obvious?”

  “Yeah.”

  That was it. Next thing I knew, she had her head bent over her ereader, actually reading. I could tell, because she didn’t look happy, which meant she was reading our project book. Part of me wanted to reward her and change books, so she didn’t have to slog through it. If I wasn’t so abruptly summoned by Mrs. Swiller, I might have actually made the sacrifice.

  “Miss Finch.” She stood over me, a pile of books in her arms. “I need to see you in my office. Immediately.”

  Swallowing, I stood, and followed her through the library, ignoring the pity glances from the other students. I was too busy trying to figure out what I’d done to earn her attention.

  She closed the door behind me, set the pile of books on a cart next to the door, and gestured to a chair. I sat, aware of every bruise pressing against the hard wood seat. “Mrs. Swiller, if I did anything to upset you, I’m—”

  “What I am about to show you does not leave this office. Ever. If I hear of it, I will know who to send to the principal. Do we have an understanding?” Mystified, and intrigued, I nodded. Mrs. Swiller moved to what I always thought was just an armoire, and swung both doors open.

  If I wasn’t sitting down, I would have been on the floor. She had a computer. In her office. And not just any computer; it was the latest model, one I had been salivating over for the last month.

  “What—how . . .” I stared at her. “I thought you hated technology.”

  “I despise its use as an excuse to be lazy. As a tool, it is invaluable.” I clutched the chair, letting that sink in. “I know you are knowledgeable in this area, Miss Finch. Alex.” I blinked at her. She never called anyone by their first name. “I need your assistance. My Bessie—my computer, is receiving some emails, from a source I do not know. I am hesitant to open them, and I am making this request of you, to trace them to their source.”

  I wanted to smile. She named her computer. Since I did the same thing, that put us on a more equal footing. I stood, gesturing to the wheeled chair next to the armoire. She nodded, and I slid it in front of what was obviously a custom conversion of the armoire. I know my custom, with a designer for a mom.

  “How many emails?”

  “Three, so far.”

  “Okay.” I was hoping I didn’t have to explain the people who spent their days crawling through the internet, snagging email addresses. “Is it the school email?”

  “Of course. I do not use my computer for personal use on school time.”

  I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “I’ll open your email first, see what you have.”

  She leaned over the back of the chair as I booted up her computer, and clicked on the email tile—forgetting the top email would be displayed on the screen. One of her mystery emails happened to be at the top.

  We both recoiled from the image pasted big and bold in the body of the email. I took in a shaky breath, moved back for a closer look. It was a still, taken from a video. I noticed the live link right under it. The boy looked like he was about eight. And he was bloody, terrified, and in the grip of the punked out, green-eyed monster we met under the public garden.

  “What the hell—”

  “No,” Mrs. Swiller whispered. “They can’t have returned. We burned them out. They can’t stay once fire touches—” She cut herself off.

  I turned the chair around, slowly, watched her back away from the computer, one hand at her throat. “What do you mean, you burned them out?” The light bulb flashed in my mind, blinding and horrifying. “Are you talking about the basement fire?”

  She widened her eyes. “How do you know about—”

  “I grew up here. And I know how to do basic math. Something else happened ten years ago, and the fire covered it up.” Oh, yeah, my mind had been a busy little bee, fitting the pieces together. I pointed at the computer screen. “Was it them?”

  Her arm dropped and her back straightened, like she just put on invisible armor. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Finch.”

  “I barely got away from that green-eyed terror twice now. So don’t stand there and tell me you have no idea.” I clapped my hand over my mouth, shocked that I spoke to her like that, and even more shocked that I just spilled the beans.

  I thought I couldn’t be more surprised by Mrs. Swiller. I was wrong.

  She moved to me and laid both hands on my shoulders, concern in her eyes. “Did it hurt you?”

  I shook my head. “Just scared me, really scared me.” I let out a shaky breath, pushing Jake to the back of my mind. I’d already let my loose lips spew out enough. “I’m going to trace the IP.”

  Easing out
of her grip, I turned the chair and scooted it back to the computer. I found the IP, grateful there was one, since part of me expected it to be some sort of ghost email, sent from nowhere. I pulled up the command prompt, typed in tracert, then the IP address, and hit enter.

  The server address popped up faster than I expected. I wrote it down on the pad next to her keyboard, brought up the Who Is database and typed it in the search box.

  The results brought up an address. “That can’t be right.” I read it again, to make sure. The address was for one of the computers here. At the school. “How—”

  “Out of the way, Alex.” Mrs. Swiller converged on me, and I jumped out of the chair. She dropped into it, clicked on her libraries, opened up an image. “Have you seen this before?”

  The Algiz rune popped up on her screen. This one had been carved into a wood porch post, with the word safe written in black above it and haven written below it. I closed my eyes as I recognized the sagging wood building behind that post.

  “I’ve seen it. Live and up close.”

  “You’ve been down there?” She swiveled the chair until she faced me. “Please tell me you did not go underground.”

  “Too late.”

  “Oh, sweet lord.” She stood and grabbed my arms. “We promised we wouldn’t return. They promised to stay away. We scorched the rune, to turn away those that didn’t know. It was supposed to stay safe as long as we didn’t go back underground.”

  We stared at each other. “I didn’t know,” I whispered. “We were looking for someone, and found the plans to Hyattown—”

  “Where?”

  “County records office. My dad is an architect—”

  “I am aware, Alex. We should have included him, told him the truth. Now it is too late.”

  My heart skipped at the doom in her voice. “What do you mean, too late?”

  “You opened the gate, Alex.” Mrs. Swiller let me go, her gaze moving back to the screen. To the little boy. “You woke the beast.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Mrs. Swiller gave me a note that would excuse me for the rest of the day, and shooed me out of her office. “You need to fix this, Alex, before Halloween night.”

  God—that was tomorrow night. “Why Halloween?”

  “Ask Sam Emmett. He knows, the poor boy.” Shock froze me. When I didn’t move, she gently guided me to her door. “I will do what I can. But I won’t face them, not again.” My head snapped up, and I met her eyes. Old terror flashed in them, made fresh and new by yours truly. “I will see that the plans are destroyed, to prevent another accidental discovery.”

  “What about that boy?”

  Despair and regret slumped her shoulders. “I’m afraid we can’t help him. If he is even alive now.” Opening the door, she pushed me into the hall. “Go. I just hope it isn’t too late.”

  I stared at the door after she closed it, numb. Then the panic kicked in.

  Clutching the note, I limp-ran to the side door and shoved it open, stumbling into the parking lot. My ankle throbbed in warning. I leaned against the building, grateful that I was the only witness to my panic, and pulled my phone out of my hoodie pocket.

  My hands shook so much I had trouble tapping out Sam’s phone number. His phone took me straight to voicemail. Not a good sign.

  “Sam—call me as soon as you get this. I know the truth about the fire ten years ago.” That should get his attention. I ended the call and speed dialed Dad’s work number.

  “Alex.” I closed my eyes when I heard his low, steady voice on the other end. It helped calm me. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

  “Dad—” I cleared my throat, tears I’d been able to keep back until now burning my eyes. “I need your help.”

  “Where are you.”

  “Outside school. I’m—”

  “Stay right there. I’m on my way.” He hung up before I could get in another word.

  I ended the call, wrapping my arms around me as the wind picked up. Halloween, the anniversary of the basement accident. That was no coincidence, and Mrs. Swiller all but confirmed my suspicion that the accident was no accident.

  What did we do, by walking into that crumbling, underground haven? And why would Sam know? He wasn’t much older than me, and would have been just a kid when the accident happened. Unless . . .

  I refused to let my mind shut down, forced myself to finish out my thoughts.

  Unless Sam wasn’t attacked the same time as Jake. Or by the same creature.

  I always assumed—but Sam’s scars bled more than two weeks after Jake attacked me and Misty. And that thought led to one I didn’t even want in my head. But it showed up, like an uninvited guest.

  What if Jake was the one who attacked him?

  Dad’s truck roared up, saving me from myself. He leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Get in, Alex.”

  I climbed up and fell into the cab, closing the door as he revved the engine and tore out of the parking lot. And he wonders where I get my lead foot.

  “Dad—”

  “Tell me. No censoring, no hedging. I need to know all of it.”

  I gave him all of it—including Jake. And Sam, my heart breaking with every word.

  By the time I finished, I was in tears, and Dad pulled off the road leading out of town, behind a group of gnarled oaks. He gathered me into his arms, rubbing my back until I cried myself out.

  “Better?” I nodded against his chest. “Good. Now take this,” he waved a tissue in front of me, “blow your nose, and look at me.”

  I did, taking my time with the nose blowing part, since that was the only stalling tactic I had. When I finished, I raised my head, bracing myself. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “What the hell do you have to be sorry about? You didn’t start this mess, Alex. A group of paranoid people did, and tried to cover their tracks.” He leaned against his door. “You really like Sam, don’t you?”

  His voice was gentle, and I almost burst into tears. Again.

  “More than like,” I whispered. It was hopeless—I was hopeless. I braced myself, waited for Dad to forbid me from ever seeing him again—

  “I admire him, for being able to have a normal life with that hanging over his head.”

  “What?”

  He smiled at me. “You expected an immediate banishment. Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart.” I stared at him, not daring to believe. “What happened to Sam was not his fault. As long as he—” Dad cut himself off, rubbed his face. “I don’t remember this particular dating scenario in any of the books I read on parenting.”

  I choked out a laugh. “Shocking.”

  “What I’m trying to say, Alex, is be careful.” He cradled my cheek. “I wish I didn’t like Sam, but I do. He has a code of honor, and I trust him to protect you. But if he ever—if he—”

  “Changes?” I laid my hand over his. “It’s been ten years, Dad. I don’t think that’s going to happen.” I really, really wanted to believe that.

  “Right.” Dad rubbed my cheek, then lowered his hand and changed the subject. I was so grateful I wanted to kiss him. “Tell me more about the photo of the boy.”

  I did, giving him the last bit of information I had. “I recognized what was behind him in the photo. He’s in Hyattown. We have to go after him—”

  “Not we, Alex.”

  “Yes, Dad.” I didn’t contradict him often, because he was usually right. This time I had to stand up. “I started this, by asking you to look into the old plans.”

  “It started before that. Long before that. Don’t take this kind of blame on your shoulders—”

  “I won’t be able to live with the blame I do own, if I don’t try and save him. And there isn’t much time. If Sam doesn’t call me, I have to go and—” As if he heard me, the ringtone I programmed for him poured out of my hoodie. I fumbled the phone out and swiped the screen. “Sam—”

  “Get out of Emmettsville, Alex. Take your family and get out.”

  “Sam—what—”

 
“Don’t argue with me.” He sounded—desperate. And scared, really scared.

  I closed my eyes and shut him down. “I know about the little boy, Sam. I know about everything. Mrs. Swiller told me.”

  Silence roared across the line. I could hear him breathing, so I knew we were still connected. Finally, he let out a sigh. “And you’re still talking to me.”

  I took in a deep breath, clutching the phone. “I’m your friend, Sam. And I want to hear the whole story. From you. After we save that boy.”

  I waited. This could be the end of it. Sam could just shut me out and hang up, or go back to not noticing my existence—

  “Okay. But I have some more bad news. Two other kids are missing.”

  Oh, God.

  17

  I quickly learned that Sam’s okay didn’t mean “Okay, you’ll save those kids with me.”

  “You are not going near Hyattown again, Alex.”

  “This is my fault. I broke whatever secret pact they made ten years ago—”

  “You didn’t know about it—”

  “I’m going, Sam.”

  Real panic filtered through the anger in his voice. “You are not.”

  “I’ll meet you at your house, Sam.”

  “No, you won’t. I want you to go home. Now. Go home, and stay there. Better yet, get out, and don’t come back until after Halloween.”

  “Not happening.”

  Sam continued to argue, until I hung up on him. I also shut off my phone, so he couldn’t call back. No matter what he said, I was going to help get those kids back.

  “Dad.” I turned to him, my face flushing as I remembered what I said to Sam. In the heat of the argument, I completely forgot where I was, and who was with me. “Can you take me home? I need to—”

  “No.” His denial left me blinking in shock.

  “But I—”

  “You are not going to ditch me, Alex. We do this together, or you don’t do it at all.”