“You survived your third day then.”
I look up from my notes to find Huxley leaning against the office doorframe. “Just about. Fair warning, after spending the day out in town, I’ve got even more questions now than I had this morning.”
He laughs good-naturedly. “I’d be surprised if you didn’t. Come on, pack up and we’ll head over to the Hunter’s Moon for a drink. I’ll do my best to answer your questions.”
Huxley and I are clearly not the only ones indulging in an after-work drink—the Hunter’s Moon is bustling with activity when we arrive, but we manage to snag a table tucked off in acorner. My heart rate is more of a gallop than a steady thud, but I focus on forcing air into my lungs in deliberately slow breaths while I wait for Huxley to grab our drinks. It’s difficult, and I keep getting distracted by the cacophony of sounds and smells all around me, but eventually my racing heartbeat slows and my breathing turns steady. Now that I’m no longer being ruled by my fight-or-flight impulse, I’m able to better take in my surroundings.
It’s a nice place, somewhere I would have happily hung out at before. Not that I had much of a social life after Garrett left even before the attack, but I made it out to after-work drinks and the odd birthday celebration. I’ll have to come back here to talk to the owner about their preparations for the Halloween festival, but now I’m here, checking out the place beforehand to give me an idea of the vibe feels like the right move for the article. At least something’s going right today.
The bar décor is leaning into the rustic look—dark wood-panelled walls adorned with what, at a glance, appears to be town memorabilia. There’s even a few framed articles from The Chronicle up there. The furniture is nicer than you’d expect from a small-town bar. While the tables and chairs are all mismatched, the details carved in the dark wood suggest they’re all handcrafted and keep them looking uniform despite their differences. There’s a small, raised platform opposite the bar that’s currently filled with a few extra tables but, judging by the lights hanging overhead, must serve as a stage for live entertainment. I jot down a reminder in my notebook to ask about that when I stop by to conduct my interview with the owner.
“Here.” Huxley deposits two beers on the round wooden table, nudging one towards me.
“Thanks.” My smile is weak at best, nerves getting the best of me. Huxley seems pretty laid back, but I’m still worried I mightask something that offends him. I can’t say I love the idea of looking utterly clueless in front of my new colleague either, but my need for answers is greater than my sense of pride.
Huxley takes a pull of his beer then leans back in his chair, stretching his arms wide. “Alright, lay it on me. What do you want to know?”
I flip to the back of my notebook where I’ve been jotting down questions as they’ve occurred to me throughout the day. The long list is daunting, and suddenly I don’t know where to start. Do I ask about the supernatural in general? The town? Being a demon? All of it feels equally important.
Taking pity on me, Huxley says, “How about I ask you a couple of questions first?”
I nod. “OK.”
“You didn’t know the supernatural existed before yesterday, correct?” I dip my head in confirmation. “Forgive the personal question, but, to your knowledge, were you adopted?”
“Yeah, when I was a baby. My birth parents left a note with my name and this.” I pull the necklace out from beneath my shirt collar, and Huxley’s hazel eyes go comically wide behind his glasses.
“Well, that explains a lot.” At my cocked head, he continues, “That amulet is packing some serious juice. Until you showed it to me, I couldn’t even sense it was there. For it to be suppressing not only your magical signature but also cloaking its own…” Huxley shakes his head. “Whoever your biological parents were, they didn’t want you to be found.”
“Wait, so you’re saying this doesn’t just block any abilities I might have. It hides me from other supernaturals?”
“Exactly.” He takes another pull of his beer. “Unless a supe saw the amulet, there’s no way they’d know it was there, let alone that you were also supernatural.”
Well then. That answers my question about why I’d not stumbled upon the truth before now—the chain’s long enough that the pendant was always hidden beneath my clothes and, until I found out the truth, I’d never once had the urge to take it off. I’ve worn it my entire life.
“What would happen if I took it off?”
“Hard to say.” He shrugs. “Though I don’t recommend testing it out alone. That’s some powerful magic you’ve got there—heck, even now I’m still having trouble figuring out what you are.” He stares at me intently. From someone who seems so easy-going on the surface, it’s a little disconcerting. “You’ve always worn it?”
“For as long as I can remember,” I confirm.
“Then there’s no guarantee you won’t face some magical backlash from taking it off. At the very least, the chance of a sudden power surge is high. Depending on what you are, that could be dangerous for more than just you.”
“Selene said I’m a demon.”
“Selene? Interesting.”
“Why’s that?”
His lips twitch. “She’s the one who spilled the supernatural secret then?”
“In her defence she thought I already knew.”
“A reasonable assumption given where we are,” Huxley concedes. “Selene’s powerful, but I’m still surprised she could sense anything.”
Not for the first time, I think back on my encounter with the hauntingly beautiful witch. “I think it happened when she touched me.”
“Oh really?” He smirks.
