I grin. “That’s the meanest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
I wait for Erin to go to sleep before I open the box. While I wait, I can’t help but think of what Luiza said. She thinks I’m her competition, but she’s wrong.
She’s got it all wrong.
I don’t want to be the strongest female monster hunter. I want to be the strongest, period.
It’s dark, but enough moonlight filters through the window that I can see the movement of her breaths becoming steadier under her flowery blanket. Once I’m sure she’s asleep, I cross to the windowsill and place the wooden box on it.
My notes say that feeding the creatures at the end of their task will make sure they slip back into the box without problem, but all I can scrounge up in the moment are some moldy crumbs left over from a cereal bar I forgot about on the plane. It’ll just have to do.
I slide the window open as quietly as I can, so as not to wake Erin. I know she’d like to see the iratxoak, but this feels like something I should do myself. Alone. A chilly breeze flows in, raising goosebumps on my arms. Not for the first time, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing.
But Waldman wants Piers Dagher?
?s blood, and I want answers.
I open the box.
At least two dozen tiny faces look up at me; little humanoid figures clamber up the sides of the box, squeaking in a language I can’t understand. Each one is smaller than the nail on my little finger, and they move with surprising, insect-like speed.
“Sh! Quiet, please!” I whisper frantically, and immediately their squeaks recede in volume.
“English!” shrieks one, clambering over the others. “English! What to do? What to do?”
The other creatures break out in a similar chorus, the chime of “What to do?” growing louder and louder with each iteration.
“Okay, look,” I say, and I hold up the crumbs. They immediately start scrambling towards my hand, but I close my fist. “I have food. But you’ll only get it after you’ve done what I asked.”
“Task! Task!” they chorus; I hold a finger to my lips, and they all copy me, gazing up at me with eager faces.
“There’s a boy named Piers Dagher,” I tell them, and I hold up the vial. “I need you to fill this with his blood.”
They begin clapping eagerly.
“Shh!” I shush them again, and glance over at Erin. “When you come back, your food will be in this box, okay?”
“Task! Task!” they whisper at me.
“Yeah, that’s your task. Go ahead.” I set the vial on the windowsill, and all of them stream out of the box in a jumble of little naked limbs, snatching up the vial and carrying it out like a line of ants pouring out of the window.
“Don’t let anyone see you, not even him!” I whisper out into the darkness behind them. The last one gives me the tiniest thumbs-up I’ve ever seen.
It’s an agonizing wait. I try to do homework, but I can’t focus on anything, and I don’t want to turn on a light in case Erin wakes up. I wonder what would happen if I just left the crumbs in the open box, but I have a vague memory of Waldman issuing us a warning about leaving iratxoak to their own devices.
It was either them or the Welsh pixie that likes to eat its victim’s eyeballs, but I don’t plan on finding out for myself. Not tonight, at least.
Minutes pass, then hours. I just sit on the floor underneath the window, poking at the breadcrumbs I’ve put into their box. I could get in trouble for having these; the Saint M handbook forbids students from having monsters for themselves unless proper paperwork is filled out, and I doubt “gathering blood from students” is a viable reason to have iratxoak. I lean my head back against the wall. This is absolutely insane.
Finally, I hear a squeak and a cascade of naked bodies drops from the windowsill. The iratxoak are back.
In a surprising show of strength, one shoves the vial into my hand and they swarm into the box to fall hungrily on the breadcrumbs. Once the last one is in, I shut the lid and stand up, stretching, before quietly closing the window.
If I put my ear to the box, I swear I can hear happy munching sounds from within. These things could come in handy.
The vial is full of dark red blood. It’s warm to the touch, which makes my stomach turn. I wrap the box and vial in one of my shirts and shove the bundle to the back of a drawer. When Monday rolls back around, their task can be delivering the vial to Waldman.
I crawl into bed and pull my blanket up to my chin. I’m halfway through worrying about what Waldman plans to do with the blood when I make myself stop. Actually, fuck Piers. If he’s in danger, he deserves it. He and his cronies, gorgeous as all of them may be, are doing their best to make my life hell.