After all, even a bad bitch has a soft side.
I set the rest of my things on my desk where I used to put them after I came home from school, and then that last year, training. That last year was so, so much training. I think PW is hard some mornings, but I forgot the early mornings and late nights down at the track for the months leading up. It took me over half a year to get into the shape that got me into Saint M. It sounds like a long time, but now it feels like a little blip … gone forever.
My life has changed so much since then.
Sawyer wanders in after me and sits on the bed. “So, this is where Avery Black grew up, huh?”
I smile. “Yeah.” I walk over and sit next to him.
He picks up one of my pillows. It’s in a unicorn pillowcase. He holds it up with raised eyebrows, and I laugh.
“I was little when I picked it out,” I say, snatching it back. I set it delicately behind another pillow, this one of a Pegasus. I don’t tell him I bought that particular pillow just weeks before I moved out.
He just grins at me and changes subjects. “So … when do you want to go looking for your parents’ cabin?”
I listen for a moment, waiting to hear an indication that Aunt Trish is still downstairs. It’s silent for a moment, but then I hear something clinking in the kitchen sink. Just because my aunt knows I’m a monster hunter doesn’t mean she needs to know all about it. If she ever finds out I’m trying to avenge my parent’s deaths by hunting the creature that killed them—she’d fall apart.
“Tomorrow night,” I say in a low voice. “After my aunt goes to sleep. You should rest tonight.”
“You should rest, too,” he says, bumping me with his shoulder.
I smile. “I told my aunt we might end up going up to a cabin to ski … but we have to find it first. It’s only a half lie, but it may take us a few nights before we find the cabin. Keep that in mind.”
It does take us a while to find it.
I find a map of the woods in the attic amongst my parents’ things, but nothing to indicate where the cabin might be. I mark off places on the map as we search them.
A week and a half later, we crunch through the snow, flashlights sweeping across the ground—and I find a trail.
“Sawyer!” I call. My voice booms over snowy ground.
“Avery?” He appears from between some trees. His face is tinged with blue and icicles have started to form on the edges of his hat. It’s been a long week and a half, so I’m more excited than I normally would be at the sight of a rough-looking trail in the middle of the woods.
I point to the trail. We follow it deeper into the woods, picking through both dead and evergreen trees, almost losing it at some points. The snow makes it difficult to follow, but soon we reach a small clearing with a little cabin similar to Professor Helsing’s in the center.
“This is it,” I whisper, approaching quickly. “It has to be.” The snow crunches underfoot. I rush up and jiggle the front door, but of course it’s locked. I look around for a window.
“Let me try,” Sawyer says, and I move aside. He kneels down and pulls some paperclips out of his pocket, straightening them out.
“Why do you have paperclips?” I ask.
“I just like them.” Click. The door pops open.
I shoot him a disapproving glare. “Remind me to get a deadbolt when we get back.”
I sweep my flashlight across the room as I step in, getting an impression of wooden floors, a couch, a rug. Without thinking, I reach for a light switch, find one, and flick it on.
The lights come on.
I share a shocked glance with Sawyer and we both turn off our flashlights. “Why does this place still have electricity?” he asks as we walk inside.
“Aunt Trish must know about it and keep it up.”
“Why wouldn’t she tell you about it?”
“She didn’t want me to go the same way as my parents.” I look around the now-illuminated space. It reminds me of a cozier version of Professor Helsing’s cabin. There’s a workbench and a desk right next to each other on the far wall, with an array of weapons hanging above them. There’s a couch sitting in front of an old TV—where my dad used to watch those Christmas movies Helsing was going on about, I guess.
The whole place looks like it hasn’t been touched for years, but there’s no dust or decay. I feel a sad pang in my chest. My aunt must have known about this place alright, and kept it clean all these years … but why? It doesn’t look like she’s ever used it, and up until Helsing told me about it, I’d never so much as heard the cabin mentioned.