Stalk the Moon

by Jessica Lynch

I feel kind of stupid as I look down at the glowing bow and tell it quickly, “Okay. You win. I accept you—ouch! That shock hurt even more!”

  I’ll give Hunter some credit. As ridiculous as this situation is, he doesn’t even crack a smile. “If you don’t mean it, the bow won’t believe you. Mean it, darlin’. Grip your bow tight and really accept it.”

  It’s hard to believe that I wanted this bow as bad as I did before. This is like the stupid mirror all over again. The guy at the flea market made me promise I’d use it. Now Hunter wants me to make nice with a bow. Okay. I can do this.

  Folding my fingers over the shiny silver metal seems like a really bad idea to me. What if they get stuck, too? Hunter’s eyeing me closely and I realize that I have to do this, if only because he thinks it’s important I do. I don’t want to disappoint him—and that worries me because I’ve never cared what a man thought about me before. Why him? Why now?

  Why does it feel like I’ve known him all my life yet, three days ago, I had no clue who he was?

  I push that question out of my head. The bow, Noelle. Focus on getting rid of the stupid bow. Taking a deep breath, I grip the bow tightly and close my eyes. Okay. It’s mine, whether I want it or not. Hunter says to accept the damn thing. I hope this works.

  “Ah, Noelle.” Hunter breathes out my name. “You gotta see this.”

  I peek through one eye, then open the next. My jaw goes slack and, my heart suddenly racing, I manage to squeak out a “Holy shit!”

  The bow is shrinking. If I wasn’t watching it myself, I never would’ve believed it. I mean, I am staring at this sucker, and I kind of still don’t believe it. I marvel as the weight against my palm shifts, my grip loosens, and I know that I’m free. But now I don’t want to let go. And why should I? It’s the perfect size for me.

  I switch it from my right hand to my left. It transfers easily, as light as a feather. The silver gleams. The bowstring hums. And, as weird as it sounds, I feel oddly complete.

  “Told ya.” Hunter’s voice is so soft, I barely hear it over the thump of my heart. “The bow belongs to you.”

  It definitely does now.

  15

  “Again.”

  Hunter pulls the sturdy silver arrow from the tree trunk. Letting it fall, he adds it to the other twenty at his feet.

  I reach behind me, my fingers closing on the shaft of an identical arrow. The quiver slung over my shoulder is another gift. After what happened with the bow, I didn’t even try to refuse it when Hunter offered it.

  Besides, it’s magic.

  Seriously.

  No matter how many times I reach into the quiver, another arrow is already there, waiting for me. Since that’s hardly the strangest thing I’ve seen since landing here, I let it go. A never-ending supply of arrows seems like a good thing. I’m not gonna question it.

  You know what else I’m not going to question? The fact that I’m a boss when it comes to using this bow.

  After I got over my shock that it shrunk, Hunter picked out a tree for me to practice on. It’s shorter than some of the ones surrounding it—which means it only tops Hunter by a couple of feet—and its grey bark is twisty and thin. With a cap of vibrant green leaves, so glossy it looks like they’re coated in wax, I’ve never seen a tree like this before.

  When I told Hunter that, he remarked that it’s a laurel tree as if that’s supposed to mean something to me. It doesn’t, so I nod.

  Since he seems to have everything I need before I even think to ask for it, I almost expected him to whip up a target. He doesn’t. Instead, he pulled a roll of white medical tape out of his pants pocket—probably a leftover from his first aid kit—and proceeded to mark a tiny square off on the laurel’s bark. It’s maybe two inches by two inches.

  “Can you aim for this?” he asked.

  I laughed, thinking that it’d be a miracle if I could hit any part of the tree at all. But then, once Hunter illustrated the proper way to fit the arrow and shoot, I’m absolutely amazed to find that the arrow sings through the air before landing with a thwack right in the dead center of Hunter’s target.

  I blinked, stunned. “More magic?”

  That time, he shook his head. “That’s all you, darlin’.” With a nod, he gestured toward the quiver. “Try again.”

  I do.

  It’s not a fluke. Every time I take a shot, I hit the same exact spot. After half an hour, the square between the tape is marked by a stripped-down circle where the arrow bit the bark off the tree. Every hit is perfect. I can’t miss. And I know because I tried.

  Im-friggin’-possible. At the last minute, no matter where I’m aiming, my wrists jerk, my fingers move, and my neck turns until I’m staring at the laurel tree and the arrow’s already sticking out of it.

  We’re going to go off in search of a portal soon. Hunter wanted to make sure that I knew how to use the bow before we headed off for the mountain. Even after he’s satisfied that I miraculously turned into that redheaded chick from Brave, I keep on shooting. I can’t help it. It’s so easy.

  Nothing’s ever been this easy for me before.

  Thwack.

  The arrow vibrates as it lands right in the middle of the stripped square. I wait for Hunter to add it to the pile. When he doesn’t, I notice that something is off. His side is to me, head turned as he searches the trees behind him. He missed watching me take my last shot.

  Hunter hasn’t taken his eyes off me all morning. Something’s not right.

  Tightening my fingers around the bow’s upper limb, I take a step closer to him. “Hunter?”

  A tic in his jaw. His lips go thin. Hunter’s entire expression shuts down, going flat as he looks back at me. His right hand slips under his cloak, obviously reaching for his sword.

  “Didja hear that?”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s probably nothin’—”

  Why don’t I believe that?

  “Stay put. I’m gonna go check and see. It might just be Maron again—”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  Hunter reaches behind him with his free hand, pulling his hood over his head. “No, darlin’. I don’t.”

  “I can help you.” I show him my bow. Between that and my knife, I’m not so helpless.

  “Of course, you can. I’m still gonna insist you wait here for me to make sure it’s all clear. It’s safer here.”

  “Hunter,” I begin.

  “Please. Don’t ask me to take you with me.” His voice is a rasp that makes me shiver. “I have to know you’re safe. There’s too many threats out there. I need you to stay close to the cabin.”

  I’m not sure if I should be touched that my safety is such a big concern for him, or offended that he doesn’t think I can take care of myself. But he’s not wrong. Someone shot an arrow at my head yesterday. I haven’t forgotten that.

  Feeling a little unsettled, I glance behind me, making sure the cabin is still within my line of vision. When I turn back around, Hunter’s already gone. Poof! He simply disappeared into the trees. I can’t even follow him. I have no clue where he ran off to.

  It doesn’t seem right to keep playing with my bow when Hunter’s out there, facing off with a potential threat. I’m not an idiot, though. Resigned as I am to wait for him to return, I keep the quiver on my shoulder and my bow at hand. If he needs me, I’m ready.

  I owe him that.

  It’s not long before I hear rustling coming from behind me. First, a few snaps, then the dry leaves as they crackle and crumble underfoot.

  Hunter. Thank the friggin’ gods.

  “Hey, that was quic—”

  My thought dies the instant I turn toward Hunter and discover that he isn’t there. Wind suddenly screams through the eerie tree branches, tossing leaves angrily down to the dirt. My shadow stretches behind me.

  Okay.

  No one is there.

  My grip on the bow tightens. I know what I heard. Something is moving behind me. An animal? Maybe. Considering
the rustle, it has to be something big. My eyes dart to the silver glint on the bow’s magnificent curve. If it’s a giant scorpion looking for a rematch, I’m totally ready.

  Bring it.

  I wait a few seconds. Like yesterday, right before the archer’s arrow sang, my senses are on high alert. A strand of dark hair manages to escape the rat’s nest that is my messy bun, slapping me in the cheek. An impatient swipe knocks it away. I turn my back on the fierce wind.

  My bow is raised in a heartbeat. Faster than I would’ve ever thought possible, I reach over my shoulder and grab Hunter’s magic arrow, nocking it in place before I take another breath.

  I’m not alone any longer.

  A young man stands maybe ten feet away. His stance is somehow lazy yet sure as he leans up against one of the laurel trees in the distance, brawny arms crossed over his chest. I put him at around my age, quite a bit taller than me, too. He’s smaller than Hunter, though, his body long and limber instead of big and strong. He looks like he’s fast on his feet. Might explain how he went from behind me to all the way over there.

  Pale hair, so fair it’s pretty much white, frames a pointed yet handsome face. His eyes are light, a striking silvery grey that pop against skin a couple of shades darker. Holy shit. I’m looking at a real-life Draco Malfoy, right down to the condescending smirk pulling on his lips.

  His eyes flicker to my bow, dismissing it as quickly. He reaches up and plucks one of the glossy leaves with long, thin fingers, twirling it aimlessly as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. A weird leather bag is at his feet. I notice that he’s wearing a pair of sandals just like mine, except the ribbon that laces his is a gold color. It matches the thick, collar-like necklace thing wrapped snugly around his throat.

  “I knew the huntsman would take you here.” With a tsk, he flicks the leaf away. “So predictable.”

  The huntsman. He’s got to mean my Hunter. Ignoring the fact that I’ve starting to think of him as mine, I hear the snide tone and figure that they’re not quite bosom buddies.

  Still, he’s here. First Maron, now this guy. And I thought Hunter said something about being a loner. Right.

  “Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be here. Hunter doesn’t like—”

  He snorts. “Hunter? I’m sure he doesn’t. Too bad. I’m not here to see him.”

  Then why is he standing there? “Then go.”

  “Why would I do that? Not after I’ve come all this way to see you.”

  I’m so surprised, I nearly drop the bow. At least, I expected that I would. I don’t. It takes me a second to realize that my hands are rock steady and, holy shit, I think they might be glowing again. It’s either me or the damn bow because a silver shine is definitely illuminating my hands.

  I wouldn’t bother trying to hide it even if I could figure out how. No time. The stranger catches sight of it right when I do.

  His lips curl. “And it seems that I made the right decision after all. Here.” Reaching down, he gracefully swoops the satchel at his feet up into his arms. “I’ve brought you a gift.”

  Suspicion wars with curiosity. “What is it?”

  “Mmm, let’s call it... an offering.”

  I’m instantly reminded of Maron and his dusty bottle of wine. Another offering? No thanks.

  “Pass. No, no— hey. Stay where you are,” I warn when he starts moving toward me. “Don’t come any closer.”

  His cold gaze narrows on my bow and the steady way I’m keeping that arrow in place. The bowstring is so taut, I can feel it cutting into the tender tips of my fingers. I see him trying to weigh his odds. Would I shoot him? I might. Who knows? Not me. Only thing I’m sure of is that I won’t lower my weapon.

  With a slight bow of his head, he stops in his tracks. He obviously thinks I have it in me.

  I’m not so sure he isn’t right.

  “One shouldn’t refuse an offering,” he tells me, holding the bag out in my direction. “You never know who you might offend.”

  I don’t like the way he says that. Here, in the Other, I don’t know any of the rules. What if he’s telling the truth? I wouldn’t have thought so if it wasn’t for Maron and the way he tried to share his wine with me. I wasn’t afraid of the furry little goat man.

  This guy, though… something about him has put my back up.

  “Okay. Fine. Put it on the ground.”

  A hint of amusement dances across his face. “So trusting.”

  “So mocking,” I counter. “You want me to have it? Put it down and back up.”

  Whatever is inside, it’s not breakable. With a gentle arc, he tosses the satchel high up in the air. It lands with a soft thud about a foot away from me. I nudge the bag with the tip of my sandal. It’s got some give to it.

  “What is it?”

  “A change of clothes. Some jewelry. I’ve gifted you a few things far better to suit your station. You can thank me whenever you like.”

  Desperate not to let him see how much I’d kill for a fresh shirt, I focus on the golden torque around his throat. If he thinks I’m going to wear something that gaudy, he’s way off—

  I blink. How the hell did I know his necklace is called a torque?

  And then he says, “Honestly, anything would be an improvement over that plain nightie you’ve been wearing since you finally crossed over from the mirrorside,” and I forget all about his offering.

  My grip on the arrow shifts. Before it slips out of my hand, I recover and reset it, but my momentary lapse rattles me nearly as much as what he said. I’ve been wearing this cloak ever since Hunter gave it to me yesterday morning. Part of my filthy nightgown is visible where the cloak splits in the front, sure, but how does he know it’s a nightie? Why doesn’t he think it’s a dress?

  His raises his eyebrow. “Did you know you could see right through the lace when the sun hits it at a certain angle? The huntsman’s worthless, but I appreciate the gesture in covering you up.”

  “How do you know that?” I demand. How does he know what I’m wearing? Or that Hunter gave me this cloak? Something’s not right here. “I’ve never seen you before.”

  “You might not have seen me. I’ve certainly had my eye on you.”

  With a sly grin, he holds up both hands until they’re in front of his chest. He reminds me of a boxer, putting up his dukes, getting ready to fight. He pulls his right hand back, mimicking my stance with an invisible bow of his own.

  His silvery eyes sparkle as they meet mine. This stranger is making sure I’m watching his every move as he, with a click of his teeth, spreads his fingers as if letting go of something.

  At first, I don’t get it. Charades isn’t my game at the best of times, especially not when I’m already rattled and confused. His gaze purposely shifts from my face to my bow and, as he turns his head, a stray sunbeam glances off of his golden torque. And it hits me.

  The golden flash that blinded me right before Hunter got shot.

  Holy shit.

  This guy’s not a stranger. He’s the fucking archer!

  “You… you asshole! You shot an arrow at me!”

  “No,” he corrects, wagging his pointer finger at me. His smirk widens. “I shot an arrow at the huntsman. Very important distinction.”

  He can’t be serious. “Why would you mess around with a bow and arrow if your aim is that shitty? I was standing right there. That arrow was heading straight at me!”

  “Of course. I knew what I was doing. If you were worth it, if he thought you were, he would jump. We both know that he did.”

  “You shot Ryan Hunter as a test?”

  “Ryan?” The bastard’s eyes brighten, as if Hunter’s name is funny. I don’t get the joke. “Is that what he said his name was? Aww. How cute.”

  I can’t help myself from snapping out, “Who are you?”

  The tip of his tongue darts out to play with the point of his lip. I know then that whatever he’s going to say, it’s a lie. “Call me Alex.”

  I like bastard archer better.
“Sure. Whatever— whoa, hold on, pal. You can stop right there.” He’s scooching closer and closer. I sight down the arrow and make a small adjustment. “I told you before. Don’t come near me unless you want me to repay the favor.”

  His expression turns calculating. He isn’t anything like Hunter, I realize. Hunter’s face is usually closed off. Not the archer. Not Alex. His every thought is splayed across his features, written for me to see. I can tell that he’s asking himself again if I’m really going to shoot the arrow.

  I’m stalling. I have been all along. I know it. He knows it. But that was before he admitted that he was the one who shot Hunter.

  I had to pull an arrow out of his shoulder. Hunter’s blood still stains my nail beds.

  Fucker.

  I lock on my target, take a deep breath, and let the arrow fly. It whistles right past Alex, his pale hair fluttering in the breeze left in my arrow’s wake. It strikes the laurel tree with a thud that echoes, the shaft vibrating with the force of its strike.

  I keep my eyes locked on his as I reach behind me again. My fingers close on the arrow as it regenerates. I pull it out and nock it back in place.

  The whole thing takes maybe five seconds.

  Alex runs his hand through his hair, patting each strand back into place. Then he claps. A slow, sardonic clap that makes my jaw tighten. “Impressive. Very impressive.”

  “I meant to hit the tree.”

  “Obviously.”

  I glare at him. “Then you know I can hit you at any moment. Want to give me one good reason why I shouldn’t?”

  I wouldn’t kill him. Probably. I mean, being smarmy and self-satisfied isn’t a crime, and it shouldn’t be a death sentence. Hunter survived his injury. Then again, he does have a hole in his arm. Maybe turnabout is fair play. An arrow in the shin might teach him not to shoot at someone who’s helping me.

  Alex is really pushing his luck. With a knowing grin, he moves toward me again. His smirk makes my palm itch to slap it off his face. “I have plenty of reasons, my dear, but the most important one is that you’re my sis—”

  “Noelle? Noelle! Where are you?”

  Hunter.