Page 48 of Victorious

The stag snorted, and heaved itself upright, so fast that Sydney had to scramble back, away from its antlers and its hooves. She rose, palms out, waiting to see if it would charge or flee. But the stag just stood there, its eyes wet and dark and undeniably alive. Its gaze hanging on her.

Syd took a step forward.

It didn’t retreat, primal instinct seemingly overwritten by her role as resurrector. People were more complicated, fueled by their own wants and needs (see: Victor), but animals sensed the thread that ran between them now, the bond she’d made.

Sure enough, when Sydney touched its muzzle, it let her, hot breath against cold fingers.

“Hello,” she said, marveling at the beast’s size, its beauty. Nearly as tall as she was, taller with its bone white antlers scraping the air.

Just then, a branch snapped beneath a heavy boot, and by the time the sound ricocheted, the stag was already bolting through the trees, leaving Syd alone with the threat. She spun toward the footsteps in time to see the shotgun swinging up, the barrel leveled at her head as—

“Jesus,” said a second man, catching the first hunter’s muzzle and pulling the weapon down, away. “We nearly shot you.”

Syd swallowed, hands raised. “Sorry.”

“You should wear a vest,” he went on. “During the season. Where did you come from, anyway?” he added, looking around. But the first hunter was looking down. He’d noticed the ground between them, dotted with blood.

“Thought it was a clean shot,” he muttered, peering past her through the trees. “Can’t have gotten far.”

Sydney hoped it had, and feared it hadn’t.

“Come on,” said one hunter to another. Syd wished she could sever whatever tie she’d made, propel the animal away. But it didn’t work like that. As the men stalked past her, the second alarm chimed on her watch, warning her to hurry, or she wouldn’t beat Mitch home.

Syd grabbed the bike and forced her legs to pedal toward the cabin. Didn’t slow, even when she heard the shotgun blast, and felt the brittle thread crumble back to ashes in her wake.

IINOW. THEN.MEANWHILE, AT HERALD DINER …

MITCH was at it again, a plate of pie crumbs—apple this time—at his elbow and the laptop filled by the black coding window, the same two words glowing white on the screen.

TRY HARDER.

He cracked his knuckles, and checked his watch, was about to make a final attempt when he caught sight of Jenny coming toward the booth.

“Working hard or hardly working?” she said. “I’m guessing the first, based on the way you’re scowling at that screen.” He double-clicked and the coding window collapsed, right before she glanced over his shoulder at the gardening forum page. “Slugs, huh?”

Mitch nodded gruffly. “Eating all my seedlings.”

“Didn’t take you for a gardener,” said Jenny cheerfully, before tugging the pencil out of her hair. “Get you another slice?” she asked, gesturing at the plate, now devoid of pie.

“Nah,” he said, “I know my limits.”

“Suit yourself!” Jenny started to turn, then caught herself. “Oh, hey. I almost forgot. A guy came in a few days back, looking for you.”

The words landed like a cold hand on Mitch’s neck. “Oh?” he said, trying to keep the worry off his face. “What did he want?”

“No idea,” she said. “I told him I didn’t know when you’d be in, but he didn’t seem to mind. Said he’d just swing by your place, next time he was passing through.”

Mitch felt the blood drain from his face, pool in the bottom of his shoes.

“Huh,” he said, returning the laptop to his bag as casually as he could. “No one’s come by yet.”

Jenny shrugged. “I figured he was a friend, given that he knew where you lived.”

“Did you get his name?”

The waitress frowned. “Come to think of it, he didn’t say.”

The diner door chimed open, and as Jenny strolled over to greet the new customers, Mitch forced his body to move like nothing was wrong.