Pale morning light barely brightened the tiny camper, but it was enough for Chelsea. She found her underwear quickly. The bright-white cotton glowed on the kitchen table. But her bra eluded detection.
She swore under her breath, not wanting to wake Carla. She didn’t exactly regret sleeping with the other monster hunter, but…
*Oh no, I exactly regret this.*
The Blind Bronco had never looked better to Chelsea as the cold, relentless wind blew her and Bentley through the door of the trailer. The bar stood immaculately clean, as always, and Florence smiled at her.
The teen aged beauty queen gestured to a stool. “Welcome back. I thought we’d seen the last of you.”
The second day of the storm had Chelsea pacing the hotel room. There were five steps between walls. The only five steps she had. She’d been walking them since she woke up.
He shuffled over, eyes bright and smiling. Chelsea’s stomach bottomed out. The man had tried to lie about his name and had done so poorly. Like many new hunters did. Yet he had beheaded a fairly big monster in moments. He moved a bit like the older people she hunted with, smooth and precise. But Rick had… an edge. He was so much faster… better than anybody she’d ever seen.
Dean sat up. “Isn’t there some weirdness for you at Halloween?”
“For werewolves or Canadians?”
“For were- Wait, they celebrate Halloween in Canada?”
Matty rolled his eyes. “Yes, Canada has Halloween. Why did you think there would be weirdness?”
Chelsea flipped the wheel of the lighter. A single yellow flame burned in the growing twilight. It flickered in the ever-present wind but didn’t die.
The only signs of civilization were the blue ones on the side of the highway. They told of food and shelter, but Chelsea wanted neither.
Chelsea slumped against the porch, staying out of the crowd. She still felt like she would puke. She wasn’t really watching monster hunters gather excitedly to learn how to use polearms. Instead, all she could see, over and over, like some sick commercial on a loop in her head, was Amber bolting from the car while the words “I love you” stuck in Chelsea’s throat.
The door popped open and two long, dark, furry creatures scurried across the floor in opposite directions.
Chelsea groaned. “Not again.” The nearly forgotten stitches in her arm began to itch as she searched the floor for the dronkes. “You really need a better cage.”
Chelsea breathed in the heady fumes of the oil paints. She had finally finished her reference outline. It had taken months. Much longer than she had spent with Jackson Hawk in real life
