The Killing Season (9 page)

“Aconitum,” she said, brushing aside the petals reaching too far into the row as she passed. “Ovid claimed the poison of these flowers came from the drool in Cerberus’s mouth.” She paused and glanced back at Ollie. “In case you didn’t know, Cerberus—”

“Guards the gates of Hell,” Ollie finished, smiling sweetly back up at Nyny. The smile was as sweet as the wolf’s bane around us.

“More importantly,” Nyny continued on like Ollie hadn’t said anything, “the Aleutian hunters up here in Alaska used to put the poison on the tip of their spears and hunt whales. One man in a tiny canoe could take out a giant whale. We started using the poison in the same manner, coating arrows, spears, and bullets in the toxin to bring down the ’swangs quicker. Less ammo. More efficient kills. Hence the large supply we have to grow up here.”

“Can it turn someone into a werewolf?”

I cringed at Ollie’s question; she was just trying to piss off Nyny. But, surprising me, the scientist laughed. “Centuries ago, people on the outside thought we were hunting actual wolves with the flower so they started calling it wolf’s bane. Over the course of time, storytellers worked bane into their little horror stories just like they do with everything else. Our bane doesn’t turn anyone into a werewolf. It just helps us kill more monsters.”

Eventually the row we walked down came to the middle of the room, where large workbenches took up most of the space. Tools and vials lined the wooden shelves. Potting soil coated the tables and stools, spilling onto the tiled floor. Right as we arrived, the sprinkler system turned on and started watering the flowers, sending a fine mist throughout the air.

“Seems like a lot of effort to go through just to keep the costs of ammo down,” Ollie said. She took a seat on a nearby stool and stretched out her mile-long legs.

“By now, the system is pretty self-sustaining. Primary costs come from keeping the mature plants swapped out and the irrigation lines from rusting. The bullet-proof glass used to build this place was just a precaution, but it was pretty expensive. Still, it’s cheaper than bullets. Look at that, hunter. Science keeping the killers alive.”

Ollie snorted. “Right.”

To change the subject and keep Ollie from saying anything too sarcastic, I asked, “How does the bane tie into what you’re studying up here?”

Nyny let out a bark of laughter before she sat down at a workbench and pulled on a pair of safety glasses. “It doesn’t. I’m just the only one around who can keep up with the plants. Gardener by day, mad scientist by night.” She waggled her finely arched, ashy-blonde eyebrows at me.

I took a seat next to her and watched as she pulled the flower’s roots apart, her fingers moving deftly inside the bulky gloves. “So what are you studying up here then?”

“Besides trying to watch ’swangs screw?”

I blushed again. Across from me, Ollie scowled at Nyny’s back. “Yeah. Besides, um, that.”

“I’m working on proving a theory I uncovered last season.” She cut me a sideways look and grinned. “I think I can prove aswangs are matriarchal by nature.”

Ollie and I leaned forward a little more on our stools. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“As in, their packs are actually governed by one head matriarch. I also think the mating rituals happening up here are dictated by the females.” Nyny set down her tools and spun around in her seat to look at Ollie and me. “Like, the females claim their own mates. Not the other way around.”

Ollie’s mouth popped open. “Are you serious?”

Nyny smirked, clearly pleased she’d impressed her. “During the past few years, I’ve noticed male ’swangs exhibit certain scarring patterns across their bodies that mar their hide or face. Some are even missing eyes or ears. I started keeping a database of each aswang I see on my camera feeds so I can later identify them when they come back to the area in subsequent years, but last year I noticed I wasn’t documenting any females with old or new wounds.” She paused, her voice dipping into a conspiratorial tone. “A similar scarring phenomenon happens with female great white sharks during their mating season—another mating ritual which also hasn’t been previously documented.”

“Are the males just fighting?” Ollie asked before I could.

Nyny grinned wider and shook her head. “That’s the thing. There’s something very specific about the scarring on the males’ bodies. Something I didn’t notice until I had a few years of data on the same ’swangs to compare.”

“What?” I sounded breathless. I felt breathless. I was hearing first-hand research on the ’swangs that no one else knew.

“Every male has their own unique set of scars. Unique to that individual. They get fresh wounds after each season, while the females typically leave the area unmarked.”

“But—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Nyny said, interrupting Ollie’s argument. “But the scars aren’t unique because they are random. They’re unique because they’re
uniform
. A male has his own particular, completely individualized, set of scars. No two creatures have the same style. And he will get a fresh set every year.” At her words, Ollie and I both sucked in a surprised gasp of air. “A female marks up her male. Claims him. Scars him for life. Long before they ever get around to mating. She’ll mark him every year in the exact same pattern.” Nyny took a deep breath and released it in a low laugh. “Totally wild, isn’t it?”

I nodded, having lost my voice at some point. Ollie seemed just as affected, and a long moment passed where no one spoke. Basking in the details of her discovery, Nyny went back to dissecting the bane in front of her with a crooked smile on her face and a steady hum beneath her breath.

After a moment, Ollie leaned back on her stool and caught my gaze. I saw the question forming in her eyes and the little wrinkles crinkling between her brows. I nodded at her.

She licked her lips and asked, “On your feeds . . . have you seen
other
things in God’s Forgotten Woods?”

Nyny frowned down at her fingers, which had stilled. “What kind of things?”

I didn’t need to see Ollie’s gaze sharpen to know she’d heard the careful deliberation in the scientist’s voice.

“Something besides aswangs,” I said.

“Some secrets have their reasons, you know?” But she sounded uncertain. “I’ll put it this way, there’s a lot to be afraid of in those woods. You have to watch the treetops as much as the shadows on the ground, if you get what I’m saying.”

“Trees?” Ollie asked sharply. I was just as startled. In all of Gran’s stories, I’d never heard anything about creatures other than the aswang, much less any that lived in trees. “You mean there’s something in the trees?”

Nyny looked away, her eyes falling behind a mask of indifference. “I need to get back to work. You two can see yourselves out.”

“One last question,” I said quickly, “Do you happen to know if there are any genealogical history books here at the base?”

“Genealogy? Really? You’re interested in
that
?”

“What’s wrong with genealogy?” Ollie asked.

“Nothing, if you don’t have your doctorate. That’s a type of degree, hunter. For smart people.” Nyny turned to me and added, “There’s a set of records in Killian’s office detailing the families who operated up here in Barrow. I don’t know how complete they are, but they go back a few centuries. Coldcrow might keep some sets too. You can always check with him.”

“Why isn’t this shit on a computer somewhere?”

“Because of security reasons, dumb hunter. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Okay. Great! Thank you so much, Nyny. Enjoy your work!” I put my hands on Ollie’s shoulders and propelled her down the row of flowers. Only when we’d taken off our gloves, shouldered our way out of the door, and let it seal behind us did I breathe a sigh of relief. As we walked to the stairs, I shook the moisture off my thermal and light jacket. The humidity in the greenhouse had ruined what semblance of order I’d achieved with my hair this morning.

Ollie put a hand on my arm and drew me to a stop at the top of the stairs. “Have you heard anything about something being in the trees?”

“No,” I said, thinking hard on it. “Gran and Mom never told me anything like that, but . . .”

“But,” Ollie continued where I left off, “your family is a university-sanctioned hunting family. If Dean didn’t want the secret out, your Gran wouldn’t tell you.”

I hated to admit it, but she was right. My family was committed to the school’s doctrine. If the creatures had come from the Philippines, Gran and Mom would know of them. But they’d chosen not to tell me or my brothers, trusting Fear University to reveal the secret when the time was right.

When students wouldn’t balk at the fear.

I sighed heavily. “I’ll email Gran and ask what she knows. But at least we found out Coldcrow has some records we can look through.”

Ollie curled up her nose like she smelled something distasteful. “I don’t know if we can trust him yet, even if he is related to Peg. I want to feel him out some more.”

We started walking down the stairs, lost in our own thoughts. Ollie was probably right about Coldcrow, even though I wanted to run to him now and demand to see whatever he had on the Volkova family. But we had to be careful. Ollie’s secret was too precious, too dangerous.

“She totally has the hots for you, you know.”

My foot stuttered above the stair and I nearly fell. “Who does? For who? What?”

“Nyny
likes
you.”

“No way!” I choked on the words. The tips of my ears felt like I’d dipped my entire head in boiling water.

“Oh, yeah,” Ollie said, smirking at me, before she started jogging down the stairs. Over her shoulder, she called, “She likes the sexy in your nerdy for sure.”

* * *

An odd thing happened to time in Barrow. The days blurred together in one long endless night.

For a week, Ollie and I roamed the base from level to level, wing to sprawling wing. It wasn’t nearly as big as Fear University, but days passed before we had a clear map in our heads of where every hunter stayed, which bedrooms were empty and good for secret chats, and where the narrow halls randomly dead-ended into block walls.

Through the endless maze of wooden floors and dusty chandeliers, gothic paintings, and locked doors, we talked and laughed. We explored as I told Ollie funny stories from my childhood about my brothers and eccentric grandmother. We easily picked up where we’d left off at Fear University with our friendship. Only when we were certain we were alone and no one could hear us did we whisper about secrets and lies, Dean and the university, fathers and ’swangs.

We tried Killian’s office door every day, and every day we found it locked. In the evenings, before dinner, we worked out together, and I knew Ollie had to take it slow and easy on me, but that didn’t bother me because it meant she was going slow enough to let her body heal. Through it all, we got no closer to finding information on the Volkova family, Irena’s disappearance, the other things in God’s Forgotten Woods, or the person giving away our secrets to the aswangs.

The week passed with little issue, but I knew it was just a matter of time before the calm broke.

I was right to be worried.

S I X

Ollie

W
hen the dinner chime sounded softly throughout the house, we were in Sunny’s room, both showered from our workout, and talking about Luke and Hatter. Together, we ventured downstairs, the smell of venison and bacon quickening our steps. Venison had quickly become my favorite meal here; it was so fresh I normally tasted the pine and snow in the meat.

During the week that had passed since our arrival at Barrow, we’d fallen into routine. Or as routine as possible. The hunters normally returned an hour or so before dinner, which gave the ones who normally ate at the table time to shower and find clean clothes. Tonight, as Sunny and I took our seats next to each other with Abigail, Nyny, and Coldcrow, only Killian and the Barrow trio came down to join us.

Luke and Hatter might have been too tired to eat, but I knew something was wrong by the way Sin kept leering at me. My eyes landed on him and he smirked. Eve cut him a sharp look. My fingers crept up to fiddle with the edge of my bandages before I realized they were gone. The scars on my cheek and neck were bare, exposed, and getting darker every day.

I dropped my hand back into my lap and took a deep breath.

By the time the soup was served, Hatter and Luke’s seats still remained empty. I remembered the conversation Luke and I had last week about not giving Killian any reason to question us, so I swallowed my concern and kept eating, bearing Sin’s smiles the best I could.

Like they did every night after a hunt, no one asked how many ’swangs were killed today. No one boasted about close calls. Anything hunt related was barred from conversation, like it was a superstition. As if merely speaking about death would bring bad luck.

“Is Hatter on guard duty?”

I glanced up at Killian’s abrupt question. His eyes were dark as he waited for my reaction. Of their own accord, my eyes skipped over to Luke’s empty seat.

Jumping at the opportunity, Sin wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and slung an arm onto the back of Eve’s chair. “Naw,” he said slowly, measuredly, making sure I was paying attention, “bite wasn’t that bad, but apparently ol’ Hatter is worried about someone sneaking in to see Luke.”