Chương 5: Exploration

A soft, golden light hovers just above the pair of hunters as they walk through the salt flats, a dry snowlike layer that takes in Shrike's light and gently refracts it; a mirror of the brilliant night sky above them. The crunch of their boots along the salt is only broken by Martin's occasional stop to plant a small green flag into the ground. April is almost at a close, and with it warmer weather is on the horizon. For now, the spring chill still caresses the dry air.

Shrike stands on one leg when stopped, anxiously scratching at her other leg with her boot, a gentle brushing sound against the otherwise total silence.

"Still?" Martin asks, before planting the flag, adjusting a shovel slung across his back like a hunting rifle.

"Still." She scratches deeply at her neck, digging into her skin with her nails. They continue to leave winding paths through the salt for another half hour, until Shrike stops, and takes a tentative step off course.

"This way." She starts walking to the left. Martin follows close behind, trusting her senses, as planned. Martin plants yellow flags as they continue, until Shrike slows down and takes a couple steps back.

"Here." Martin nods, placing a red flag into the salt.

"How many?"

"I cannot tell. At least... three?" She seems less anxious, and much more still in the moonlight. Her bright golden eyes are illuminant against her ghostly pale skin. Out here against the backdrop of the infinite sky, she's an ethereal figure, a mirage given flesh. Martin turns away, trying not to stare.

"Perfect. This is the nest." Martin takes a sample of the salt and places it in a vial. Soon after, he takes out a shovel, and starts digging. Shrike increases the brightness of the magically projected light hanging over their heads, letting it more fully brighten the area. Beneath only a few inches of salt, a two foot long worm-like creature is coiled into a perfect circle, inactive and unresponsive. He take out a knife, and stabs it in the head, killing it instantly.

Shrike points out three more locations, and the same practice repeats. Dig, stab, dig, stab. Shrike takes a step back after the third, feeling something beneath her feet.

"I believe one is moving."

"Where?" Martin takes a step back, looking for any disruption in the salt flat's surface.

"I am unsure. This is a vague sense. It is cold blooded as well as underground, meaning I cannot rely on my sense of heat."

"Okay... just get ready to cover me." He takes out his gun, pointing it at the ground, waiting patiently. She senses nothing.

"What am I covering you-" An incredibly loud gunshot rings out against the nearly silent night, making Shrike flinch back and reflexively cover her ears. A now headless worm lies in the sand, acid slowly dissolving away the salt it lays on. Martin nods to Shrike approvingly, before retrieving his shovel.

"Good work. Now the egg cocoon." He starts digging again, uncovering a four-inch long slimy case of sloughed worm skin coating six or seven individual eggs.

"So... flip a coin for who carries it?" Shrike picks up the egg case before he can even reach into his pocket, cradling it in both arms. Martin doesn't complain, or ask questions. Probably better not to. As soon as the Jeep drives away from the salt flats, Shrike sighs of relief.

"That was a miserable experience. I do not intend to repeat it."

"Yeah. Salt and supernatural don't mix well, especially that much in one place. The death worms don't seem to mind it too much, but still look for the parts of the flat with the least. Which is why I needed you to tell me where you were the least uncomfortable." Martin doesn't like the idea of intentionally making Shrike do something so uncomfortable, but there was little recourse for it.

There's a massive bounty on death worm eggs, and the amount of money they would get for a full egg case would more than cover any of their multiple upcoming expenses. Martin is down to five rounds for his gun, and the custom made bullets are an absurd $20 each.

"I refuse to participate in this a second time," Shrike says, still holding the eggs close, a slimy film clinging to her coat.

"I know it sucks, but its important. It's helpful to have someone who can sense where the worms are. You did a good job, too."

"All I sensed was my burgeoning panic attack dwindling to severe anxiety. Then, I was in proximity of others of a similar magic, which seemed to lessen the effect. This is why I carried the repugnant egg sack as well." Shrike's voice has an unusual hiss to it. She's actually irritated with Martin, for the first time he can think of. He's not sure if that's necessarily a bad thing: it may be a sign of her growing more comfortable with him. He pushes just a little further, to make sure.

"And you keep saying you can't sense other magical beasts."

"I cannot, I could only say where the salt was least irritating to me. I am tired and cold, human. I hope this endeavor was worthwhile."

"Didn't I mention what the bounty on these eggs are? For a full case... yeah, I know what you're gonna want in return." The Jeep pulls away from the military base, one egg case lighter and with a refilled government issue debit card flush with bounty money. He makes a salary from hunting, but it doesn't quite cover everything. More importantly, right now, he needs to repay Shrike. He had an idea the other day, and now's as good a time as any to test it.

"So, some humans have a stress relief custom you may like. There's a spot fifteen minutes from here, and right next to where I need to go anyway."

"If you suggest the practice of 'yoga,' I will do something heinous. Moving my body in ways it already moves sounds pointless, and I will not be subjected to two intentionally uncomfortable experiences today." Martin glances back at Shrike. She's probably joking... right? He's glad his idea wasn't yoga. Shrike looks up at the sign in front of the clean, beige building Martin took her to.

"I cannot pronounce this word."

"Sauna."

"Sauna," she repeats, familiarizing herself with the pronunciation.

"I am unsure of its definition. Is this a form of stretching?"

"No, and I can almost promise you'll like it." Martin opens the glass door and steps into the building, tatami mats and exotic plants creating a calming effect for the room. Soft music plays over the speakers as Martin approaches the attendant. He leans his arm on the pale wood of the counter she sits behind, trying to seem friendly.

"How much for... I don't know, three hours in a private room?"

"... sir, the typical stay is fifteen minutes to thirty minutes," attendant says, with a look of bemusement.

"That wasn't my question." He points over at the bundled up Shrike, who is focused on one of the plants, studying its structure with her hand.

"Let me rephrase this, how much will it cost for you to keep a secret and for three hours? Oh, I saw on the website one of the rooms has a skylight?" Shrike hesitantly creeps out of the locker room, and through the wooden door she was instructed to enter. The heat and humidity is instant as she pulls it open. She looks around in confusion after removing her blindfold, before cautiously sitting down.

"... this is a human custom? This seems torturous to them," she says to herself, before the effect of the heat starts to fill her. She leans against a corner, sighing gently, her mind already entirely free of the salt flat. The intense heat would usually be past her preferred temperature, but something about the humidity mixed in makes her feel uniquely comfortable. Within five minutes, she's asleep. A gentle knocking wakes her up.

She blinks a few times with hazy eyes and a contented smile on her face as one of the staff checks in verbally through the closed door.

"It's been forty minutes. I'm just checking on you..."

"I am absolutely wonderful. Thank you for your concern." She slowly nods. There isn't a drop of sweat on her, only condensation.

"... of course." The staff member awkwardly backs away from the door, wondering what the hell is happening with the alleged magical beast inside. Still, a two hundred dollar tip means she isn't going to ask. Shrike carefully walks behind Martin, placid and noticeably disoriented after the sauna visit. Martin chuckles seeing her so calm, without her usual cautious and alert movements.

"Don't touch anything inside the store, Shrike. Just stay behind me."

"Yessir." She nods lazily, following him inside an empty gun store a few doors down from the sauna. A younger man behind the counter glances up at them from his phone watching as Shrike bumps into the corner of a cabinet, nearly tripping over it. She quickly apologizes to the cabinet before going back to following Martin. Martin pretends not to notice Shrike's clumsiness as he purposefully walks to the counter.

"Is Dennis in?" The younger man looks up at Martin with bored dismay.

"Maybe." Martin tries to remember the code phrase. It was three words...

"Oak and ash and elm?"

"Close enough." The man behind the counter shuffles into the back, and another comes out instead. He's as thoroughly Utah as they come. Clean cowboy hat, salt and pepper beard, at one hip a multitool and at the other a Glock. He slams his hands down on the caliber diagram covering the glass counter.

"Martin."

"Dennis." They share a look somewhere between respect, distaste, and fear. Dennis looks Shrike over, watching her fog up his display cabinet as she presses her blindfolded face against the glass.

"The hell is that thing?" Dennis asks, annoyed. Martin barely glances at her, trying not to make a spectacle of his partner's intoxicated state.

"New partner. Kynde. Name's Shrike." Shrike turns her head up, politely offering a handshake in Dennis's general direction. Dennis ignores it.

"I don't like beasties in my shop."

"Special case. She's... usually more sensible. Long story."

"One I don't want to hear. The usual?"

"The usual." He opens a false panel in the floor, and pulls out five boxes of the unique revolver rounds Martin uses. Dennis gives Martin a hard stare.

"Three thousand." Asshole, Martin thinks.

"Since when?"

"Since you brought a beastie in my shop." Dennis's eyes follow Shrike, who is trying to look professional by mimicking Martin's movements, echoing even his hand gestures while he speaks.

"She's a kynde, not a vampire!" Martin protests, watching Shrike lose interest in the mimicry and instead trying to find a way behind the counter.

"Damn it, Shrike, wait outside."

"Yessir." She stumbles out of the shop, giving the display she previously bumped into a wide berth. Dennis watches her leave.

"The old magic doesn't like all these new creatures running around."

"The old mag- She's been around since the Neolithic! Last night, we took out an invasive death worm nest in Bonneville, for God's sake!"

"Mhmm. Bet she has a pot of gold for you too." He holds out his hand. Martin shells out $3, 000 in cash from a now nearly-purged jacket pocket. He can't say he didn't expect Dennis to pull something like this, but a 50% markup is ridiculous.

"Shove it up your ass."

"Same time in three months?" Dennis asks, pocketing it without counting. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"Yeah. Who's the new guy?"

"Friend's kid. Not really working out... in any sense."

"Tough break. Hope he gives you a good excuse to get canned."

"Mhmm." By the time Martin leaves the store, Shrike is asleep in the back seat of the Jeep. At least she enjoyed the sauna, he thinks. Martin drives off to the next location, one not too far from Dennis's gun shop. By the time he pulls his Jeep into another parking lot, Shrike has started waking up, blinking away the deep trance.

"The experience was... bizarre. Enjoyable, though. Was I in a gun store?"

"Yeah."

"I believed that was part of the dream... All I have ever dreamed of is snow and an endless forest. Yet my dream here was different. It was warm. There was steam... it was odd."

"Huh. I didn't think that a sauna would be that profound for you." He makes a mental note to limit sauna trips to non-working days.

"I too am surprised. I believe I would enjoy experiencing it again, budget permitting." Shrike withdraws a buzzing phone from her pocket, and listens to the nine text messages from Cain as Martin backs the Jeep into a parking spot outside a seemingly abandoned warehouse.

"Dot, reply to Cain with Yes, Yes, Maybe, Fashioning a spearpoint, No, Yes, Boiling." She seems unphased by the number of questions.

"He's still pestering you? You may want to tell him to ease up on the questions." Shrike takes a moment to think as she and Martin step outside of the car.

"I require heat. For him, I believe he requires connection."

"And you're the only one who can provide it."

"So it seems. Why are we here?" She looks over at the large building, noticing dozens of cars outside the inconspicuous building.

"Because it's the first of May. Big hunter convention happening right in there." He points at the building.

"May 1st and the solstices are the big ones in the state. Which reminds me, keep your hunting license handy, just in case."

"... perhaps it is better I do not enter." She watches as another pair of armed people walk into the warehouse.

"Trust me, you're fine. There's always a handful of moon-ranks in there. Just stay close to me and you'll be okay. Come on." He moves across the deeply cracked asphalt lot to the aging warehouse. He holds the door open for Shrike. She glances at him before putting on her blindfold and walking in. The warehouse is enormous, and completely filled with vendors and hunters of all stripes.

Hunters are eccentric as a rule, but Martin's partner looks absolutely boring compared to the shirtless man wearing a half-turned werewolf pelt on his shoulders and squeezing a tiny, lumpy little animal and drinking its tears. Shrike tries not to get disoriented, but with so many people around, she can't pick out Martin's specific heat signature. Martin, noticing her difficulty, takes her hand and guides her along.

"Don't let go or you'll get lost."

"Yes," she replies. Holding hands can have a special meaning for humans. Romantic, or parent-young child. She hopes it's simply pragmatism. He stops first at some kind of apparel store. The ambient heat of so many people is making her senses falter even with objects.

"Hey, buddy." Martin offers a handshake to the person at the stand, who takes it.

"Hey yourself. Been a while. Still in the state?" she asks. Her voice is an odd mixture of accents, none of which Martin can place. Tightly woven braids of short, black hair fall behind her head, and her milk chocolate skin tone only broken up by the occasional pale scar here and there. A crisp, military-style jacket has every pocket filled with some kind of hunting equipment, while her hands stay tucked inside equally overflowing cargo pants.

"Yep. Got family here. Plus, I have a new partner who's local. Shrike, meet Fennel. She's the best when it comes to general hunting gear." Shrike holds out her hand in the rough direction of Fennel, who takes it with grace. The vendor appraises Shrike for a moment after feeling the warmth of her hand. With a mischievous smirk, she turns her head to Martin.

"If I guess wrong, you get half off. If I'm right, you have to buy three hundred minimum."

"Done deal. Good luck." Sucker's bet, Martin thinks. Shrike stands still, trying to decide if she should move. Fennel snaps her fingers.

"Pale, human-passing, human customs but stilted, sensitive to light. Huldufólk." She leans back in the folding chair, pleased with herself.

"Not even close. Kynde." Martin smirks, already considering what to buy.

"Damn it! That's bullshit, they all look different." She laughs.

"Deal's a deal. So what's with the blindfold, then?"

"Artificial light is uncomfortable for her. Blacklights are okay if needed. Think you can help?"

"Huh. Well, deep violet is on the end of the spectrum of visible light. Any difference between LEDs and incandescent?"

"Nope. Probably something specific to artificial light in general."

"Kyndes are always strange. Let me think..." She looks through a few containers, eventually retrieving a pair of welding goggles.

"Hey, Shrike, would you like to do a quick experiment?" Shrike skeptically shifts her posture.

"Your phrasing alone makes it sound unpleasant, and I have had exclusively poor experiences with 'experiments' in the past."

"It is unpleasant. But, I'm an expert at workarounds. Try these on." She takes Shrike's hand, and places the goggles in them. Shrike skeptically lifts the blindfold, shutting her eyes tightly as she puts the goggles on. Shrike opens her eyes, and it's immediately like being hit with a flashbang, so bright and painful that it entirely disorients her. She stumbles back, cursing, and accidentally trips over someone's leg and knocking them both down.

Martin quickly goes to help them both up, trying desperately not to laugh. The other hunter who tumbled down is unbothered, shrugging it off after checking all his gear is still in place. Shrike rips off the goggles and throws them at Fennel, who catches them. Shrike puts the blindfold back on, rubbing her eyes through it.

"Was that intentional?" Shrike asks in irritation. Fennel snorts.

"Depends. Is that how you usually react to artificial light?"

"Not so... intensely."

"Then yes, it was intentional. They're just normal welding goggles. They block UV light. Current theory makes me think you want..." She looks into the same box, withdrawing a pair of glasses instead.

"These. Try these ones." Shrike hesitates, but takes them.

"If this is equally unpleasant, I will assume you are gaining pleasure at my expense." She slips off the blindfold, and puts on the new glasses. They fit snugly. She hesitantly peeks through one eye, and then opens both. Everything is extremely dark, but still uncomfortable. She takes them off, returning them, shaking her head.

"Still painful with less light and infrared blocking... Must be a magic thing. You can see in sunlight, moonlight, fire, I'm assuming things like magma and lava... how about fireflies?"

"They are inoffensive."

"Definitely magic. I can work with that..." She takes out a third option, offering it to Shrike. She takes it with a grimace, and puts them on before looking. She blinks a few times. Everything is black.

"I cannot see anything."

"Good! Okay, turn to your right." Shrike does so, slowly. Amongst the total darkness, she can see a door leading outside open to let someone through, and then close, leaving her back to seeing nothing. She holds back the sudden urge to vomit, ripping off the goggles and holding them back for Fennel to take.

"Huh." Fennel thinks for another few seconds.

"How is your innate magic connected to light, specifically?" Shrike holds up a hand in an attempt to match Martin's 'wait' gesture, then sits down against the booth's table, putting the blindfold back on. Martin thinly frowns, answering for her.

"Sunlight absorbed through eyes." Fennel thinks for a bit longer.

"Hmm... Okay, I think I got it this time." She leans over to hand a pair of glasses to Shrike, who takes them with a groan, putting them on with acceptance of her fate. She can't see anything through them.

"Blackout lenses. My guess is your eyes don't know what to do with light from an unnatural source. Hell if I know why." Shrike stands up.

"I do not understand."

"It's better than a blindfold. Makes you look less noticeable. Oh, I might have something else. Are you wearing the coats because you're cold?" She looks up in what she assumes to be Martin's direction. He answers for her, explaining her system of heat.

"So a lizard with extra storage," Fennel jokes.

"Yes. An accurate summation," Shrike replies with a serious nod.

"Though I have already discussed with Martin the ramifications of a glass tank and heating lamp." Fennel appraises Shrike for a moment, unsure if she's making a joke.

"As for your clothing, you can do better. You're gonna want..." She looks around a few racks she has, then returns.

"I have no idea. There's a booth a bit down from here. Guy's a pro with arctic hunts. Explain the situation, he'll help. His name is Gary."

"Thanks," says Martin.

"While I'm here, do you have any A7 cut resistant or above jackets?"

"I don't think I have jackets that aren't at least A6." She winks, helping Martin select a jacket while Shrike continues to focus on not puking. Martin chuckles under his breath.

"If you could see, I would make a very funny joke right now."

"There is a very noticeable patch of heat... everywhere over there." Shrike points in Gary's direction. He waves, and Martin waves back. Martin takes Shrike's hand, and pulls her over to the booth. Gary is a wiry older man, sitting at the booth in a loose t-shirt. His skin is dry, noticeably so. He peers up at Shrike, his polarized transition lenses only slightly darkened.

"Hey there," Gary says casually.

"Mountain climbing in your future?" Shrike shakes her head.

"Almost certainly, but it is irrelevant to my major concern. You are Gary?"

"I'm Gary. So what, you have a cold? It's like 80° in here, what's with the ski gear?" He looks closely at Shrike, before pulling back a bit.

"Hey, this one yours?" He asks Martin, who stands behind her. Martin pats Shrike's shoulder.

"Yep. Wanna guess what she is?"

"I have no goddamn idea... Definitely not human, since she isn't sweating. Not a lot of pale hot weather monsters... Let's go with ghoul." Martin shakes his head.

"Kynde."

"Damn it. Ahh well. So, kynde, what can I do for you today?"

"My name is Shrike, and I am looking for warm clothing, human." Shrike leans in a bit.

"Thinner. To blend in with your kind." Martin forces an awkward grin, trying to reassure Gary that she's not intentionally sounding malicious. Gary smiles widely.

"Finally, I can unload this..." He gets up, and unpacks something from deep in a storage box, before setting it down.

"This is what you'll want." Shrike leans in closely.

"This appears inadequate, based on current surface temperature."

"Just press the button in the pocket." He points out which pocket on the black and grey jogging suit. Shrike follows his finger, and presses the button. A growing warmth starts to radiate from pliant metal cords inside it. She is intrigued, leaving her hand in the pocket.

"... what is the maximum temperature?"

"About 140. Starts from 80 if you want to preserve battery life. It's intended to be used in sub-zero temperatures, but its not going to stop working if you use it outside them. I also have gloves, hats, pants, even socks. Best part is that they were designed to be durable, so the heating elements won't break if you fall a few dozen feet or get hit by a car or something. They all attach, too, so you only need to plug in one battery. It's a damn big battery, I admit, but it fits nicely in a small backpack or purse."

Shrike's face does not turn away from the jacket as Gary describes it. Martin grimaces. Nothing about this situation says 'reasonably priced'.

"Shirt itself is wool, so it retains heat well if you run out of battery or you need to drop it if you get in a scrape. Outer layer is cut-resistant to a degree, but don't rely on that. To wash them, you can pull out the flexible heating element from the clothing with the zippers on the inside. There's nothing better if you're trying to stay warm and discrete about it. Which, I admit, doesn't come up much until now." He brings out the hat, socks, gloves, and pants as well.

"From the outside, looks like a warm jogging suit. I have the whole ensemble, in a stylish mix of white and gray, with black accents. The colors of a shrike, in fact." Shrike's hands are now fully pressed against the rapidly heating jacket.

"It's four thousand, if you like it."

"You're insane." Martin scoffs.

"I could buy one of these online and have thirty-six hundred left to spare." Gary shakes his head.

"Nope. This is a unique set, specifically for our line of work. Go ahead, try and look it up." Martin looks at Shrike. She is fully transfixed by it.

"How heavy is the battery? She's kinda... not physically inclined." A growing resignation dampens his professional tone.

"I have two. First one is just under a pound. Second one is six pounds."

"Christ. What's the battery life with something like that?"

"About 2 hours for the first on the highest setting, about 12 hours at the highest setting for the second."

"Uh-huh... Shrike." She lifts her head up and turns to Martin. Even through the opaque sunglasses, he can guess what her eyes look like.

"This is kind of extreme, right? We can-""I will burn your house down to simulate this clothing's warmth should I leave the building without it." Gary starts laughing uncontrollably.

"You're screwed, sorry man." Martin pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on.

"God damn it... You take Venmo? Kinda light on cash. God damn it, Shrike, don't put it on here!" Martin grits his teeth at the next booth he visits, eyes trying to avoid the dozens of beast pelts that line the booth. He makes eye contact with the vendor, who smirks at seeing Martin hesitantly walking up.

"Well now, if it isn't the Treant-hugger. And... oh, a kynde! That's a rare sight, I've only hunted a single one before. I don't usually make leather out of human-like beasts, but I can make an exception." His voice is rough, his skin rougher. A blue and white plaid dress shirt is tucked neatly into a pair of Wrangler jeans, a belt of unknown leather holding them in place.

"Not funny. This is my partner, Shrike. Shrike, this scumbag is Peccary, five star hunter." Shrike awkwardly holds out a hand, to which Peccary grabs and yanks towards him.

"Really pale, no sweat pores. Great for an accent piece. You sure you don't want to give it up, Martin?" Shrike lazily turns her head to Martin.

"Does this constitute a threat I must dispatch?" Martin pushes Peccary's arm off of Shrike.

"You're lucky she's patient, Peccary. You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"Skin that doesn't metabolize sunlight well and obvious issues with thermoregulation. Gonna guess she can use something cold or heat related. I can handle that." He open-mouth smiles, revealing teeth like broken glass. Martin coldly looks down at the sitting Peccary.

"I just need strzyga ashes."

"At least you know the value of my wares. Yeah, I got some, but I'm running low. Tell you what, I'll give you a few ounces if you give me a handful of the kynde's hair." His smirk is repugnant, as he waits for Martin to eventually relent.

"Gross, even for you. Why would you even want that?"

"Warding charms, obviously. Have a theory I can make a kynde repellant to flush out any hiding in plain sight." Shrike runs her fingers through her hair a few times.

"Do you require the roots, or would any hair be satisfactory?" Peccary draws a knife.

"Just the ends is plenty. Good to see a beast that's so compliant." Martin grimaces. The ashes are a mandatory component of one of his tools. And if Shrike is willing...

"Fine. But I'm going to cut it." After a few more booths to say hello to friends and pick up some odds and ends, he and Shrike leave the warehouse, Martin guiding her by the hand.

"Martin, why are you continuing to hold my hand? We are outside, and my blindfold is removed."

"Oh." A hint of color tints his cheeks, as he withdraws his hand.

"Also, can you please not threaten me with death in such a deadpan voice? I know you weren't serious about my house, but people are going to get the wrong impression."

"Yes, I apologize."

"Also, do you know how much $4000 is?"

"Approximately... three weeks pay." She narrows her eyes, a smile spreading on her face.

"I have been employed without payment for my services for well over that timeframe, in addition to the strange donation of hair. Our arrangement is for food, shelter, and heat. I believe this falls neatly with the 'heat' category." He groans loudly.

"You're turning into a real headache to manage."

"Consider me as an expensive piece of equipment. Is what I offer an acceptable exchange? I have been attempting to be of sufficient value." Her smile levels out to neutrality. He stops as he puts a hand on the door of the car.

"You're not equipment, you're my partner. Just let me complain without depressing me."

"... yes." Shrike does not understand why the comparison would upset Martin. They are both in a contract, mutually binding, but either party can cancel at will. She was only offering a perspective for him. One she personally doesn't need to consider, but assumed he did regularly. She curls up in the Jeep to return to her napping, though the question remains. What exactly is his metric for deciding she is worth keeping at his side?