I take a sip of my beer and glance over at Professor Helsing. “Where’ve you been this summer?” I ask. It’s funny how I’m not awkward around him at all anymore. I didn’t find out he was Erin’s father until the end of the school year, but now he feels like family. He’s not exactly kind—he’s too gruff for that—but he’s like a prickly, gruff uncle.
He grunts. “Solomon’s temple. Near Jerusalem.” He pushes his empty beer away from him and motions for another. “Locals were reporting some kind of monster there. Turned out it was just a banshee. Brought it back here for the menagerie, since we didn’t have one.”
My gaze wanders to my hands. “Was the banshee one of the ones that died?” I ask quietly so as not to be overheard. Last year, a crazed professor let loose the monsters in the menagerie near the end of the year, causing a school-wide battle that killed several creatures and injured some students.
We’re lucky no one was killed … at least, of the human variety.
“Nah. Used to have one a long time ago, but she died. Natural causes.”
I nod, and my thoughts flit briefly to Owen. He may have participated in making my life miserable, but last year during the battle he was attacked by a lycanthrope. Last I heard, the transformation completed and he’s a full-blown werewolf now. I wonder if he’s returning to school.
I wonder if he’ll be allowed.
“Was Erin with you?”
Helsing nearly spits out his beer, and shoots me a lo
ok. “What do you think? Too dangerous for a girl like her. She spent the summer with her mother. You two rooming together again?”
I grin. “Yeah. I wouldn’t trade her for the world.”
“She’s a good girl,” he says softly. “Not sure if she’s cut out to be a full-fledged hunter, but she’s damn smart. Maybe one day I’ll be teaching from a textbook she’s written.”
I grin. Writing a textbook on monsters does sound like Erin; though she might actually make it to being a monster hunter. Last year during the battle, she turned down the offer of safety and joined the fight. With Cleaver—and an upperclassman by the name of Luiza de la Cruz—by her side, she fought her way through swaths of monsters to help secure the school.
I’d never been so proud of her before.
Helsing sighs and gets off his stool. “I’d better get on home,” he says. “Gotta be up early to teach you ungrateful little shits.” He grins at me, and I smile back. “See ya, Cleaver,” he adds, reaching down to pet my hound.
Cleaver’s hackles raise and he nips at Helsing’s fingers. The professor hisses and yanks his hand back.
“Are you okay?” I ask, sliding off my stool and pointing a disapproving finger at Cleaver so he settles down.
“I’m fine. I’ve had worse. Didn’t even break skin.” He shows me his fingers.
“He’s probably anxious and tired from all the traveling. I’m sorry,” I tell Helsing, but he just waves my apology away as Cleaver sits back down by my heels and eyes the professor warily.
“It’s not a big deal, Black,” he assures me. He puts some cash down on the bar. “Have your next round on me. See ya in class tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Professor,” I say as he walks away, heading out the door. As soon as he’s gone, I bend down to gently stroke Cleaver. “What’s gotten into you?” I ask him softly. “You okay?”
He just curls up near the bottom of the stool again, calm as ever. I don’t know what just got into him. He’s usually so friendly. I frown and go back to my beer.
The door to the tavern opens again, and I glance back, thinking Helsing might have forgotten something. But it isn’t him. My stomach drops as Piers Dagher and Bennett Little walk through.
Owen Collier is conspicuously missing.
Piers grins lazily as he saunters in, gazing around at the tables with his pale blue eyes. He scratches a little at the stubble lining his chin, then passes a hand through his thick black hair before elbowing Bennett to say something to him. Stubble. He and Sawyer have switched places. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Piers with so much as a hair out of line on his face, not once.
Bennett, at his side, always looks taller than I remember him. He’s impossibly huge, with broad shoulders and muscular arms, and well over six feet. As I watch, he glances at Piers with a blank expression, and then starts looking around for a table.
Can I just have one minute of privacy? One afternoon here without them ruining it?
Thank god this corner of the bar is dark. They don’t spot me right away.
I hurriedly down the rest of my beer, slap a couple bucks on the counter for the bartender to hold my bags until my room is ready this afternoon, and slide back off the stool. Cleaver senses my agitation and gets to his feet excitedly, tail wagging. I have to get out of here. I don’t want to be around them. I’ve been ignoring their calls and texts all summer. They were persistent at first, but dwindled off a bit once they realized I wasn’t going to respond. How can I even talk to them after what they did to me last year?
I slip into a crowd of locals around a pool table and watch the boys until they sit down. While they’re busy ordering from a waitress, I slip out. Did Piers’ eyes dart to me? Did he catch sight of Cleaver? I can’t be sure, but I have to go.