Shilloh made it back to her home safely.

  On the hike back, she hadn't even had much pushback from the hunters. Not after she pointed out that something had killed an entire den of mossquade near sunrise. That sort of wholesale violence meant the unknown monster was entirely too powerful even before one considered that it appeared to be either murderously territorial or something that killed for fun.

  Under her intense supervision, they had traveled safely and smoothly back to their cars. So safely and smoothly that—by the time they got back—they had lost their fear. Predictably, the three middle-aged men bitched about wasted money and their lost vacation time. Like a flipping switch, within minutes of being surrounded by the trapping of regur life, their terror-fueled faith in her had evaporated. They refused to tip her and ran off, talking about bars and gentlemen's clubs.

  Assholes.

  She returned home for the second time that day. Her car passed by the oversized birdhouse shaped like a red barn while she dutifully checked her do-not-get-kidnapped-again measures.

  Holy shit, but Shilloh wanted to sleep. She'd logged extra hours for the st five days just so that she could have an evening free for the tourists without putting her irreparably behind at her day job. More than a week of not enough sleep and too much coffee were catching up to her.

  "Come here, you beautiful, sexy, fluffy, son of a bitch," she said, falling to her knees at the foot of her bed and hugging the queen-sized beauty.

  "Shhh, shhh. It's alright, sweet baby girl. I'm here. I still love you." With a groan, the sweat-stained cartographer buried her face into the comforter.

  With a start, she realized that she had begun to doze off.

  "You beautiful bitch," she slurred to her bed, "You know that I'm not into edging. Fucking tease."

  Before it happened again, she shucked off her clothes and lumbered into the shower. It was the kind of shower that didn't end until the hot water ran out and was more about not thinking than getting clean. However, a nagging part of her remained constantly ready to dive for her toilet gun if today ended up being The Day.

  Luckily, no one ambushed her. Today, it appeared, was not The Day.

  Instead, she toweled off and stared mournfully at a sheet of paper taped to the wall by her dresser. It listed the cost for a huge hunk of nd on the edges of the Croaton. Her agent had forwarded the notice a while ago. Now, she only had four months. If no one bought it by then—and no one would—it would go for auction.

  Shilloh had a healthy amount of savings. More than enough to get a nicer house and car. But if that nd went up for auction, she wouldn't have enough money to be sure she'd get it.

  If she could just grow her savings a third….

  PAAW would be decades away from expanding anywhere close to that region. That meant it was far too dangerous for a regur, reasonable person. Which made it perfect for her. It would be a big step towards her ultimate goal. Even if getting the nd meant a few months of surviving without an Oh Shit fund.

  Shilloh leaned a bare shoulder against her wardrobe and looked at the mirror. She was small, with tan-resistant skin that burnt a few times a year but never darkened past what would be generously called 'fair' and accurately called 'Halloween-pallid.' Her face had an annoyingly cute nose, and getting anyone to take her seriously was a pain. Wrapped up in a towel, with wet hair so brown it was almost bck against her shoulder bdes, she did not look like a bad-ass jungle-woman cartographer. Nor like a magical being hidden by witness protection. She certainly didn't look like a rich-bitch ndowner who had created a sanctuary ready to welcome her people once they were freed.

  With a sigh, Shilloh turned away from her bed and got ready to go into town.

  There would be a reward for anything dangerous enough to kill the mossquade. The problem was that random cartographers couldn't cash in on the bounty for a crypto. Otherwise, it would incentivize dumb people to get themselves killed and provoke the local predators. Sure, she had a Blightbane level 6 certification. But that just meant she knew some basic forest craft, the importance of steel security doors and could spot the signs of a dangerous non-human threat. There was also training on when to call the hotline and how to administer first aid. All in all, level six was slightly better than a lifeguard certification, and she only had it because some of the firms that hired her required it for liability reasons.

  No, she needed a proper Bane—someone certified to the professional level or at least someone with hunting credentials. They were allowed to cim bounties for cryptos.

  This would probably be a big one, even split. It was not big when it was your sole source of income, but it was big enough to make a difference with the sort of short-term savings goals she was pointed at.

  The only question was who she could talk into splitting the money with afterward. Betting a stranger wouldn't take the money and run was not the sort of gamble that smart people took, especially not in a border town where you could drive for a few hours and leave all consequences behind with the cell reception.

  This whole thing was going to be a pain with no guarantee of reward. But Shilloh only had four months and still needed to nearly double her savings if she was going to get that nd.

  Luckily, she knew just the person to talk to.

  ~~~

  The sun was sinking towards the horizon when she parked in the older part of Forsythe. Quickly, she dropped by a couple local apothecaries and checked her P.O. Box.

  She couldn't grow too much in the garden, but it was enough to occasionally put gas in the tank. The real money came from specialty requests to retrieve pnts from the more distant parts of the woods. The trick was being reliable about the small deals, like the small batches of gore root she grew at home. Then, the local hedge witches and herb stores would trust her enough for the specialty requests.

  "Hey, Nick," she said, walking into her favorite client's business. It was twice the size of a mom-and-pop grocery store but full of herbs, magic knick-knacks, and all the tools needed for big ritual magic. Nick's Arcanum was divided. Half were old gss curio cabinets holding velvet line boxes, heavy lead-lined containers, and taxidermied hands. Then, on the other side of the store were cheap aluminum shelves with tools to cut PVC pipes, burp-wrapped bundles of sticks, and industrial-sized bags of kosher salt. Everything a wizard needed.

  The counter was mid-way through the store in what seemed like a horrible location if you wanted to spot and stop shoplifters. But it was an even worse idea to try and steal from anyone who knew serious magic, so it probably didn't matter.

  Nick was the sort of person who looked intimidating until you heard him speak. Then, without fail, the man would put everyone around him at ease within a few sentences. And not because of some insane charisma, either. He was just a huge dork, and it showed.

  "Wiggity what is up, my dog," said Nick, grinning at her and speaking in the most monotone and awkward way he could.

  The wizard was bald and wore gsses despite being built like a man designed to kill people with a sledgehammer. He thought in straight, academic lines, like the world could fit neatly into a spreadsheet if only you found the correct formus. His delicate effrontery, whenever those neat, clear protocols in his imagination were broken, had become one of Shilloh's great joys.

  She ughed at his greeting, "Not much. Had a shit walk in the woods with some tourists earlier today. Found something, though. I'm looking for a halfway decent Blightbane who will split the money if I guide them to something concerning."

  Nick nodded and looked at her seriously. "First," he said, "I think we need to address the fact that Blightbane is a horrible and melodramatic name. I understand the history behind it, but even calling them 'Banes' sounds dumb, and I resent having to say it."

  She hopped onto his wooden counter and sat crisscross. The surface was clean, had a leather top, funky steampunk-looking magic tools, and an old-school metal cash register that was reminiscent of a typewriter. His left eye twitched as she settled into her seat.

  "What?" she smiled, happily ignoring his annoyance." You don't get a kick out of eleven-year-olds sipping juice boxes and informing you that they are, in point of fact, a level 3 Blightbane?"

  "No," he scowled, prissily brushing away a leaf that hitched a ride on her boot. "But let's put a hold on this until we finish the other important point. You and your lynx—"

  "Cat," she interrupted.

  "You and your lynx are menaces. Going forward, I do not want dangerous animals in my store."

  “Aww, come on. You love Fraulein.”

  "She's gorgeous and an obligate carnivore. I'm not trained to handle wild animals, even gorgeous ones, and especially not carnivorous ones. I'm not a zoologist, and I can't ensure my clients' or my own safety with her around. So she shouldn't be around. That seems abundantly reasonable."

  "She's just a cute 'lil kitty. Treat her like you would any other cat."

  "But she is self-evidently not like every other—"

  "Fraulein!" Shilloh interrupted, shouting to the bobcat and scratching her nails across the counter, "Come on up here and see your boyfriend!"

  "Wait! She's here in the—"

  And that was as far as he got before the bobcat nguidly leaped up to his counter. The two of them froze, faces less than two feet apart. Fraulein sniffed, ears twitching, and Nick maintained total stillness, his hands half raised.

  NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s [and publisher’s] exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning nguage models.

  Piracy Notice: If you’re reading this anywhere other than Scribble hub, Royal Road, or my Patreon then this is pirated. Please let me know by going to the Jeffrey Nix website’s contact area so I can get really annoyed, compin to my cat, have her tell me this never would have happened if I had just gone back for a Ph. D, send a takedown notice, and get back to writing.