Page 72 of Huntress

“You knew, though.” She caught his eye. Saint nodded without looking away.

“I knew.”

Much of what they’d been through would have been avoided if he’d spoken up, but she’d known ahead of time that he refused to help them hunt. He could have helped sooner, but the onus fell on Elsie and her squad. They’d missed what was right in front of them, and it wasn’t Saint’s responsibility to fix their shortcomings.

Elsie rummaged around Franklin’s desk, looking for a little box with a bright red button inside.

The demon skulked along the far wall, looking at Franklin’s shiny medals behind a glass case. He cast furtive glances at Elsie, while keeping an eye on Franklin’s body. She was taking too damned long, and the dead guy was unsettling.

She opened a desk drawer and found the box in the center, locked. Why the architects insisted on hiding these things, she’d never know. It made more sense to her that they should be easily accessible in case of an emergency.

“Got it, but where’s the damned key?” Elsie muttered. She rummaged through the drawers, finding nothing. A sour taste in her mouth made her jaw flex and ache as she realized where it must be. The piper had obviously left Franklin’s body here for safekeeping right after initiating the sirens, which meant he’d had the key in his hand recently.

Saint made a face as Elsie slid Franklin’s chair away from the desk, dragging his legs out straight in front of him. He continued sitting straight and tall, like a statue. She needed to search him, but there was no way in hell she’d brave the task without first neutralizing the threat.

Elsie hesitated. It was one thing to dispatch a demon actively attacking her or putting someone else at risk. It was quite another to behead an already deceased, decorated soldier. The idea of it gave her a full case of the jeebs.

She unsheathed her dagger. Sharp enough for the task, it wouldn’t give her any space between herself and the dead man. If only she’d brought her sword from home. Or a scythe. It finally made sense to her why her mother and sisters favored them. No need to get up close and personal with the range a scythe offered.

Saint crossed the room, and Elsie caught the determination on his face. She felt the offer to do it for her coming, but she couldn’t expect him to cover for her squeamishness. She adjusted her grip on the dagger, then looked back to Franklin just as he blinked, his hand shooting up to grab her wrist in a crushing grip.

He blinked again and worked his jaw open and shut before his eyes focused. The intelligence of the piper’s gaze lit Franklin’s eyes with an unnatural light and bored into Elsie’s very essence. Once he knew who stood in front of him, a wide smile stretched across his lips. She froze in horror, watching his corpse reanimate after what they’d fought outside was the stuff of nightmares.

“There you are, you little bitch,” he said in that high voice of his. “I’d intended to return the favor by taking out your underlings, but it’s too late now. Don’t worry your pretty head, though. I’ll be seeing you again.”

Every single hair on Elsie’s body stood on end. A demon lord had declared a personal grudge against her, and in that moment, the thought of being found was more terrifying than her fae king father showing up with a retinue of soldiers by his side.

“You talk a big game for someone who turned tail and ran. What happened? Did watching her little squad demolish your entire army turn you into a coward?” Saint growled, stalking forward and leaning over the desk. “If you so much as breathe in her direction, I’ll personally make your death a cautionary tale future generations will pass on to their stinking rat children in the night. Harm what’s mine and prepare yourself for the consequences.”

Franklin’s free hand gripped the seat, and Elsie broke the hold his reanimation had on her nerves. She flashed forward and slashed hard. A piper may be inhabiting Franklin’s corpse, but it was still the body of a diseased, magic-devoid old man.

Franklin’s head flopped to the side, not completely detached, but close enough to get the job done. There was no blood splatter or drama, but removing the head severed the magic keeping the corpse fresh, and Franklin’s body deteriorated to match the decomposition level it would have reached without the magic’s preservation effects. A horrific stench immediately filled the room. Elsie gagged and backpedaled so hard she bumped into Saint, who immediately put his hands in the air to avoid touching her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, straight back to business. She wiped her dagger off on Franklin’s pant leg before sheathing it, then checked the breast pockets of his uniform before moving on to the cargo pockets. When she accidentally bumped the chair and he rolled back, neck gaping wide, her stomach lurched, and she nearly lost it. The rot of his flesh permeated everything, making her eyes water.

“I’ve got this, Mistress,” Saint offered, and she gratefully backed off. The savage half of her mind didn’t even gripe at the fact that she thoroughly considered this a favor she’d have to pay back one day.

He pushed Franklin’s body to one side to check the hip pockets. The first was empty, but when he pulled his hand out of the second, there was a set of three keys tinkling in his grip. He handed them off to Elsie, pushed Franklin’s chair back against the wall to make space around the desk, then got out of the way.

The lock was silver, narrowing the choices down to two, and Elsie guessed correctly on the first try. The key turned, the lock clicked, and she pried open the box to reveal the bold red switch inside. A tiny plaque at the bottom read, “FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY!”

Elsie flipped the switch. The lights dimmed with a menacing electrical hum, and the haunting wailing of the sirens outside powered down. The silence was a heavy thing, making everything seem far too close.

She made her way to the communication room’s door, Saint right behind her. The hound hadn’t shown a single sign of disgust, but he must be suffering with that keen nose of his.

She flicked the lights on and closed the door, grateful for the flimsy barrier hiding the horror on the other side. Elsie wiped her hands on her pants, then approached the table. The technology dated back to the First World War, hundreds of years ago, and it relied on radio waves. Field captains took an in-depth, month-long class in operating them when they were first assigned.

Elsie checked the list for the frequency that would get her to Marshal Harlan’s headquarters. She settled the headphones over her ears, then flipped the switch to turn the thing on. Turning the dial, she found the sweet spot, then picked up the handset to speak into it.

“This is First Field Captain Chantraine. I have interim control of Nest Oasis and need to get an urgent message to Marshal Harlan.” She listened to the static as she waited for a reply. She only had to repeat herself once.

After a brief explanation, the man on the other end gave her the Marshal’s personal frequency. Elsie tuned in and waited nearly half an hour before he finally answered. Harlan listened for less than a minute before interrupting.

“How many of the humans did you get killed, Captain?” he demanded.

Elsie stared at the handset in shock. “There has been no count of the dead. My people are fighting for their lives in the infirmary, and their well-being comes first.”

“Why does a girl-child have control of Nest Oasis? Where is the rest of their allocated squad?”