Chapter 12 : HUNTER GAMES
The blue pickup sat in a grocery store parking lot four blocks from the cemetery.
I'd spotted it during my exit—two figures inside, taking turns with binoculars aimed at the graveyard's eastern wall. Professional. Patient. They'd been doing this long enough to know that stakeouts required endurance.
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: HUNTER OPERATIVES] [COUNT: 2] [ARMAMENT: SHOTGUNS (CONFIRMED), BLADED WEAPONS (LIKELY), CHEMICAL AGENTS (POSSIBLE)] [EXPERIENCE LEVEL: INTERMEDIATE-ADVANCED] [RECOMMENDATION: OBSERVATION AND COUNTER-SURVEILLANCE]
I found a rooftop with a clear sightline and settled in to watch.
The hunters rotated shifts every four hours. The larger one—male, forties, beard going grey—handled the night watches. His partner—female, younger, movement suggesting military background—took the day shifts. They communicated via hand signals when in visual range and kept radio chatter to a minimum.
Competent. Dangerously competent.
By dawn, I had enough information to make a plan.
The female hunter left for a supply run around 7 AM. I followed at a distance, hawk form invisible against the grey sky. She drove to a motel on the outskirts of Helena, entered a room on the second floor, and emerged twenty minutes later with fresh clothes and a thermos of coffee.
The room number was 214. The motel had exterior-access doors. Easy to monitor.
I landed behind a dumpster, shifted back to human form, and circled to the parking lot. The pickup sat in a numbered space. Montana plates: KR7-4821.
[RUNNING PLATE...] [REGISTERED OWNER: KIRA MORRISON] [ADDRESS: 847 CEDAR ROAD, BILLINGS, MT] [ADDITIONAL REGISTRATIONS: 2 VEHICLES, 1 TRAILER] [HUNTER DATABASE CROSS-REFERENCE: MORRISON FAMILY — THIRD GENERATION]
Third generation. These weren't amateurs who'd stumbled into the life after a vampire killed their girlfriend. This was a hunting family with decades of experience and—I checked the System's database—a confirmed kill count of over forty monsters.
The ghouls had drawn serious attention.
I spent the next six hours building a false trail.
Ghoul scent markers weren't difficult to replicate—decomposition and something distinctly not-human that any experienced hunter would recognize. I laid them carefully, leading away from Evergreen Cemetery toward an abandoned mine complex sixty miles north. Added supporting evidence: torn clothing from a thrift store, chicken blood aged to look old, disturbed earth that suggested recent feeding.
The mine itself got special attention. I planted fake lair indicators—scattered bones, a soiled mattress, scratch marks on the walls that matched ghoul claws. Any hunter who investigated would find exactly what they expected to find.
And nothing they could actually hurt.
By nightfall, the trail was complete.
I returned to the grocery store parking lot. The hunters were still there—both of them now, the larger one eating a sandwich while his partner watched the cemetery.
Time for phase two.
I'd collected a ghoul-scented cloth during my visit to Evergreen. Now I used it, dragging it along the sidewalk on the far side of the parking lot. Not obvious. Just enough scent to catch attention.
The female hunter stiffened. Said something to her partner. He set down his sandwich, pulled out binoculars.
I was already gone, hawk form climbing toward the clouds.
They found the scent trail within twenty minutes. Followed it to the first marker. Had a brief, intense discussion that I watched from a power line overhead.
Then they got in the truck and drove north.
[MISDIRECTION: SUCCESSFUL] [ESTIMATED EFFECTIVENESS: 48-72 HOURS] [NOTE: HUNTERS WILL REALIZE DECEPTION EVENTUALLY]
Forty-eight hours. Maybe seventy-two if they were thorough about investigating the mine.
I dropped a coded message at Evergreen Cemetery's main gate—a symbol I'd agreed upon with Edgar during our meeting, something only he would recognize. The message was simple: Hunters diverted. 48 hours, not 72. Decide.
Then I found a 24-hour gas station and ate my first real meal in two days.
The eggs were overcooked. The bacon was limp. The coffee tasted like it had been brewed during the Reagan administration. I ate everything anyway, watching the sun rise through grimy windows.
A trucker at the counter complained about baseball. The waitress argued back about pitching rotations. Normal people living normal lives, completely unaware that a monster sat three stools away, manipulating hunter movements to protect a family of corpse-eaters.
I tipped too much. It felt like the right thing to do.
[COALITION STATUS UPDATE] [CURRENT MEMBERS: 8] [PENDING RECRUITS: 12 (RENFIELD FAMILY)] [ALLIANCE STABILITY: HIGH] [HUNTER THREAT LEVEL: GREEN (14)]
The System tracked everything in cold numbers. Members. Threats. Probabilities. It didn't understand the human element—the way Edgar's dead eyes had flickered when he mentioned his grandmother's grave. The quiet determination in Margaret's threat.
These weren't just recruits. They were people with histories, loyalties, fears.
I was learning to use those fears. To manipulate them toward outcomes I wanted.
Is that what leadership is? Finding people's weaknesses and exploiting them for the greater good?
The question didn't have a comfortable answer.
I paid my bill and drove toward the mountains. The hunters would chase ghosts for two days, maybe more. The Renfields would make their decision.
And I would wait.
Jenny's presence pulsed at the edge of my awareness—distant but steady. She'd know I was returning. She'd have questions.
The coalition was growing. The hunters were neutralized—temporarily. Everything was moving in the right direction.
So why did I feel like something was watching? Like every success built toward a failure I couldn't see coming?
The feeling stayed with me the entire drive home.
By the time I reached the territory boundary, the sun was setting again. Ruth met me at the cave entrance with coffee—instant, barely warm, perfect.
"The werewolves caught a deer," she reported. "Shared it without being asked."
"Progress."
"The young one—Anna—asked about shifting forms. Wanted to know if Skinwalkers could teach her."
I paused mid-sip. "What did you tell her?"
"That I'd ask you." Ruth's expression was carefully neutral. "Was that wrong?"
"No." I finished the coffee, thinking. "No, that was exactly right. Wolves can't shift forms, but maybe there's something we can share. Training techniques. Combat approaches."
Ruth nodded. Said nothing.
"Something else?"
"A message came while you were gone." She handed me a folded paper. "Left at the south boundary. No signature, but it smelled like ghoul."
I unfolded it.
We accept your offer. Edgar will come to you tomorrow at sundown. He has one condition.
I handed the paper back to Ruth.
"Prepare quarters for guests. Extended stay."
"How many?"
"Twelve." I started toward the main cave. "And Ruth? Make sure they feel welcome. Ghouls remember slights for a very long time."
The coalition was about to double in size.
Now I just had to find out what Edgar's condition was.
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