The Night Curse (Book one)
Chapter 6 The Hunter

My head throbs. I can’t decide whether it is from the copious amounts of brandy that I’d drank last night or from the initiation. I wrap my hand around the shield pendant still laced around my neck, reminding me of my decision.

I am a Freemason.

I am a hunter.

Austin barrels into the cramped confines of my room, bread bulging in his cheeks. He takes a large bite and chews. “It isn’t your birthday anymore, Harlow. Get your lazy arse up. There’s work to do.”

I ruffle my hair, and rub my eyes. “Didn’t anyone tell you that it’s rude to speak with your mouth full?”

The door smacks on his way out. I flop back onto the bed, clutching the necklace to my chest.

“I mean it,” Austin booms from somewhere within the house.

I reluctantly pull the sheets off and join my brother. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the Findɴovel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

We’d worked all morning feeding the animals and tending to the crops. With Spring nearing, carrots, potatoes, and onions needed to be harvested for market. Tomorrow, we’ll plough the fields and sow lettuce, tomatoes, and cauliflower seeds. Then there are hedges to be trimmed, drains to be cleared, and fences to mend. Life on a farm is physical and it will continue, even when my new work begins.

I stare out across the valley framed by the kitchen window and plunge a calloused hand, thick with dirt, into my coarse hair. “What was it like?”

Austin blows steam from his soup. “What was what like?”

“The first time you killed a Dreamwalker.” He’d never spoken of it. The only reason that I knew he’d killed at all was from the gunpowder on his clothes and the silence that consumed him days after.

Austin continues slurping his lunch. He might not answer me at all, but then he sighs and his shoulders sag. “It wasn’t what I thought.”

I stare into his ice-blue eyes as if staring into a mirror. “What do you mean?”

“I thought it would be easy. After all, I have so much rage towards them.” He clenches his fists into balls on the table. I wait for them to reopen, but he keeps them tightly closed. “After what happened to Mother, I would have killed a Dreamwalker just for the pleasure.”

I bow my head, knowing the feeling all too well.

“They give you a gun, but I thought I’d never need it. I’d imagined taking my hands around their neck and squeezing the life out of their god-for-saken purple eyes. Then telling Kennith and his crows about the deed and having them sing my praises. Herald me a nickname like Bonecrusher.”

My brother is stockier than me. Three years older, he’s worked the land for longer and harder. Farming keeps us lean and strong. But killing doesn’t require muscle and brawn. It’s a mental strength.

I don’t speak, not yet. I let the beats of silence pass until he is ready to resume his story.

“I’d been given my target. A fisherman, working the docks. The plan was to ambush him before he cast out his nets at dawn. So I went. Few people were around. Kennith had organised a boat. I dressed as a mariner and made it out to sea, but kept close to the coast. I saw him load up his gear and watched as he sailed closer and closer. I laid down and hid behind the hull like a wolf in waiting. I swear, you wouldn’t have known the difference, Harlow.”

“Between you and a wolf?”

“Between him and a human. He was just going about his day, earning his keep, and there I was—not a man, but a reaper.”

I imagine the scene, every detail of his tale. I can see the vapour of the ocean, the greyness of the day, and my brother stalking his prey.

“When we locked eyes and I saw those hellish, unnatural violet vessels, I snapped, and the gun popped. He fell instantly into the water.”

Austin’s chest expands. He lays down his spoon. The remaining soup now cold in the bowl. “The next time though, I didn’t give myself time to hesitate. I suggest you do the same.”

Father bursts into the kitchen, picks up Austin’s bowl of soup and drains it into his mouth. “Eat up lads, one of Kennith’s men is on route. I just got word.” He lifts a letter courtesy of a homing pigeon, I presume. I try to pass Father my bowl, but he pushes it back. “You need the calories.”

The man arrives on horseback, and I immediately recognise him from The Friars Arms. He wears a thick, woollen coat with wide lapels that he clasps onto.

“Welcome, Peter. What an honour to have you—”

He raises a hand off his lapel and then resumes its placement. “No time for that, Frederick. I’m here for the boy, Harlow. We have a job.”

Austin hovers next to me. I can’t read his face.

“Already,” my father says. “But he hasn’t even had any training.”

Peter’s glare tapers. “This morning, Joseph Fletcher, a Freemason at the Harling Estate was fired and paid a very handsome fee for staying quiet about what he had seen.”

“And what was that?”

“A Dreamwalker by the name of Amelia. According to Mr Fletcher, she is only staying at the property for a short while, so as you can see, we don’t have time to waste. Don’t worry, you won’t need your training. All we want to know is that Amelia is still there and that she is indeed what Joseph suspects.” Peter hands me the address and picks a grape from the table. “Send word when you know more.”

He plops the grape into his mouth, and the squelch is audible.

“How am I supposed to do that, exactly? The estate is behind a wall and gate.”

Peter looks me up and down. “The Harlings require a new groundsman and you my boy fit the bill, just fine.”

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