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the first thing that sets jon on edge is that she finds the stranger that keeps giving her sidelong glances attractive—besides the sidelong glances themselves, of course, because jon is far from the most interesting thing in the room even if she’s the only thing openly armed. they’re attached to the arm of a taller man, errant brown curls having escaped an intricate braid-bun to hang loosely around their face. their dress could almost pass as modest, were it not for the slightly too low cut of the neckline, the way it’s a little shorter than the ones around it. the normal people that flock to these kind of events never catch her eye, and now they have. the unfamiliarity is unwelcomed.
jon stares for a little too long trying to puzzle it out, long enough they catch her looking back. she almost has the time to be embarrassed before they smile at her, fangs catching on their bottom lip in a tease that cannot be anything but intentional. every bit of embarrassment turns cold beneath her skin. she straightens, standing still amongst dancing bodies as they wave at her and vanish into the crowd.
no matter how many times she sweeps her gaze over the ballroom, she cannot find them again.
she returns to the side of the one who brought her here once she deems it a truly lost cause, poised as she was before as long as nobody looks at the weapons her hands linger over. thomas maximilian is in a rare moment between conversations, and jon can’t be anything but grateful for it. she had left his side to escape the line of people who wanted to make connections with such a divinely favored monster hunter, and frankly wasn’t looking forward to trying to drag him away from one.
“there’s a vampire here,” she murmurs. thomas raises an eyebrow, almost skeptical. “they were accompanying someone. i’m not sure if he’s in on it, or if he’s going to be tonight’s victim.”
“are you sure it was a vampire, jon?” he smiles, almost pitying, and jon grips the handle of her whip to keep her expression even. he isn’t doing it on purpose, she reasons, if i’m wrong, we could cause a scandal. still, she scans his teeth, almost mourns that his canines are human enough. “there’s certainly a lot of prey to be had, but such high-profile events are risky feeding spots—”
“for the same reasons,” jon interrupts, “i’m aware. i saw the fangs, and i trust my instincts besides.”
“i suppose you’re rarely wrong. keep your voice down though, dear. people are starting to stare.”
jon stiffens, eyes darting from thomas’ face to scan the people around them. none of them are looking, at least not obviously, but she still looks for the vampire amongst them. she could care less about court manners, has no love lost with them, the polar opposite of her teacher, but if the vampire noticed—
thomas clasps a gloved hand around her shoulder. she nearly elbows him, adrenaline spiking. “you have my blessing to follow your leads, as always. just be cautious. don’t make a scene of it- they’ll get a kick out of that, if nothing else.”
and it’ll look bad on you. jon draws in a deep breath, goes down the list of all the life-saving techniques thomas has taught her over the years with a practiced frustration, and nods. “i won’t,” she says. she almost means it.
it is a relief, to escape his orbit.
“if they are not in the ballroom…” jon cuts around the edges of the extravagantly large room, nodding politely at anyone who catches her gaze. there’s doors on the east side, ornately carved wooden ones thrown open to reveal the moonlit gardens beyond. leaving the crowds means leaving the relative safety of numbers, but it’s not just her strategy—the vampire could’ve easily thought of it too, if they thought they could be caught.
no, not quite. if they wanted to be chased after, revealing themself to the hunter in the crowd like that. jon’s eyebrows furrow, but she saves her scowl for when there isn’t a crowd to witness it. soon enough there isn’t.
the gardens are cooler, the breeze easy but present enough to be notable, and sprawling. jon’s lip curls—there is no love lost with the nobility that hires them, either, even if it pays well enough. their wealth only makes her job that much harder tonight. she ducks behind the treeline separating the ballroom proper from sight, and shakes out her shoulders, taking her whip off her waist and brushing her fingers against the silver daggers strapped to her thigh, the lone wooden stake in her pocket.
then, she goes to chase silhouettes in the hedges.
most couples she passes are the typical sort you get in the gardens at this sort of thing—horny, fighting, or both. she pays them no mind beyond eavesdropping on enough conversation to know they aren’t who she’s looking for. she hits the outskirts with a sinking, nearly disappointed feeling settling between her lungs, scowl set deeply into her face. if they were going to tease her, they could at least make it worth her damn time—
“aw, you know me! i just can’t help but feel bad for anyone stuck with- what’s he going by, now?”
“maximilian.”
a mocking scoff. “eugh. it’s worse than i thought.”
jon can see two figures through the bush next to her, visible through the not-fully-grown leaves. she recognizes the dress before anything else, but the rest falls in line soon enough. the vampire speaks to their companion with enough familiar affection that jon feels safe assuming he’s an accomplice at best, and another vampire at worst.
she doesn’t pounce. not yet. something about their conversation nags at her—maybe the fact that they’re talking about her, maybe the fact that she’s frustrated with her teacher tonight and they have the freedom to voice it.
“you didn’t have to grab her attention,” the man points out. “i was looking forward to an uneventful night.”
“you were not! you wanted to do it as much as i did.”
“i wouldn’t have done it like that.”
“of course you wouldn’t have. i have a lot more flair. and she stared back at me first, thank you!”
“hm. don’t fish.”
“mean! well- am i catching anything, dear?”
“you know you’re not very hard to find attractive.”
jon’s scowl deepens. she has no interest in listening to two vampires flirt with each other, and even less interest in being reminded that she fell under the thrall of one of them—however attractive that one of them was. she braces herself and lunges through the underbrush, whip snapping out to knock a wine glass out of their hand. the man takes a step back, eyebrows arching up, and the vampire just laughs in surprise as they dart back faster than jon can blink.
“speak of the devil! look, tot, she really did come out to meet us!”
“she did,” ‘tot’ agrees. “i told you she wouldn’t take kindly to it.”
“this is more fun anyway!”
jon grits her teeth and steps over the shattered glass, red wine—or blood, hell if she can tell right now—seeping out into the grass. “stop talking about me as if i’m not right here,” she snaps, lashing out with her whip again. the vampire tries to catch the blessed leather and recoils, shaking out a tan hand marred by a violent line of red. their grin still doesn’t falter. “are you two both vampires? what’s your goal, here?”
“my name is luis acevedo!” they grin widely, all teeth, and give her a bow. “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, jon… halifax, was it? you’re more prepared than i thought any student of his would be.”
“you’ll find my teacher has little to do with my skill,” jon answers, brittle. she gestures to the other person in the clearing sharply. “and you?”
tot offers nothing, just tilts his head slightly and watches as luis crosses the clearing again. jon leans back and grabs the end of her whip, holding it taut between her hands to ward them off from trying to get closer. “ze’s none of your business,” they say cheerfully, with a split second glance to their palm. “not right now, anyway! we haven’t even hurt anyone here, so i think we can probably calm down some, don’t you?”
“that’s- irrelevant, i heard you talking about me—”
“aw, were you flattered?” luis leans forward, grabbing onto the whip with both hands with a painful-sounding sizzle. jon tries to recoil, but they have a vice grip and the leather is too tightly wrapped around her hands to easily let go. stay calm, stay calm— “you are so out of your depth, you know. i have no idea why maximilian let you even try alone- does he even care about you?”
“don’t,” jon hisses, sweeping her leg out. she catches them in the ankle, barely staggering them—but barely is enough to loosen her hand and grab a dagger, stabbing it through their shoulder. they finally let go with a startled yelp, retreating back to their partner’s side. jon draws in a breath, lets it go. calm down. “don’t try that. you’re right, you haven’t hurt anyone- as far as i’m aware, but- that was deliberate, in there. i have every right.”
she’s prepared for the fight to keep going, not for the startlingly affectionate smile that crosses luis’ face, even tinged with the discomfort of the silver beginning to rot through their muscles. “call it even, then? ah- and tot—”
“got it.” tot yanks the dagger out of their shoulder and tosses it back at jon’s feet without flinching, considering her once more. hir mouth twitches when she nudges it with a foot, blood coating the toe of her boot. “that was impressive.”
“was it? i haven’t agreed to ‘calling it even’ yet,” jon warns, confusion turning to further wariness turning to the simmering anger beneath her skin. “i won’t until i know exactly why you’re here to begin with, if it’s not to bleed somebody dry.”
luis frowns, exaggerated, and reaches up to massage their shoulder. the wound is already healing, freckled skin sealing up without a hint of a scar. “isn’t it obvious? we wouldn’t have bothered with the risk of you fighting us if we didn’t wanna see you!”
“you wanted to see me. specifically. not my teacher?”
“he’s not very interesting,” tot points out, in the same, desert-dry tone of voice he’s approached everything else with so far. jon buries the hysterical giggle that tries to bubble up; she’s been waiting for anyone to say that, and it turns out to be now. “you, on the other hand… not many hunters come openly armed to balls anymore, at least.”
“i don’t like coming unprepared.”
“it’s a good habit to be in.”
luis steps forward again as tot speaks, half-tentative, as if they’re expecting her to stab them again. it’s probably a good thing, too, because if they were quick about it she definitely would. when she doesn’t, they take another step forward, within range to reach out a hand.
“it’s fine if you want to kill me,” they start, “because that’s fun! but any good hunting should start with sportsmanship, right?” luis pauses, face scrunching in amusement at the dagger jon’s palmed. “a little bit of it, anyway. and, if we’re calling it even for the night—”
“never agreed to that.”
“never said you did! but we have information that might be… interesting. if you want it.” luis smiles, slow and serene, fangs bared. their hand stays outstretched, palm up, the burn from the whip still knitting itself back together. “a night’s truce. and then i would be honored to have a new hunter.”
jon stares at their hand, and then slowly slides the dagger back into its sheath, stepping on the one below her feet to keep it in the grass. she is out of her depth, after all—not enough experience to know if she would win against luis, let alone tot, who barely lifted a finger and seems somewhat immune to silver. “one night,” she says, “nothing more. whatever information you give will likely put us on uneven standing, anyway.”
luis bristles with excitement, now, eyes gleaming. this feels like a trap, anticipation heavy on her skin. she’ll step into it willingly if nothing else, she supposes. it’s almost as dramatic as the vampire wants it to be.
jon puts her hand in theirs.
*
“you know, i forgot to ask! so sorry, jon.” thomas leans across his dining table with his glass outstretched, and jon obligingly pours more wine into it. she doesn’t comment on how it’s his third, fourth glass of the night; she’s tried before, and it seems to fly right over his head. “how did it go tonight? i didn’t see you until we left.”
“i…” jon’s shoulders slump a little, just the right kind of fracture. “i was mostly burning off energy. there wasn’t a vampire there, so i suppose i just… needed to get out of the party.”
thomas frowns, tapping his nails against the table. “i thought as much, dear, but every hunter has their lapses in judgment.”
“mm. don’t blame me for not wanting to talk about them- how was your night?”
he takes the subject change easily, and begins to ramble about this lord and this lady and the people he had talked to. jon hums along, and fills his glass a fifth time when he requests it, then a sixth. “oh, we’re out,” she says, frowning at the empty bottle as if it personally offended her.
“ah, jon, you didn’t get any, did you? go grab another! it’s a merry night for it.”
“thank you,” jon says, sliding back her chair and standing up. the bottle slips in her hand until she’s got a vice grip on the neck of it, thumb rubbing against the rim. “i don’t know if i’m in the right mood for drinking, though.”
thomas waves a hand, dismissive as ever, eyes gleaming in the light. “don’t be that way,” he protests, leaning heavily on the arm he isn’t using to gesture. “what’s there to ruin?”
“i’m not sure.”
she flips the bottle in her hand until she’s holding it like a club, and the motion catches his attention a hair too late.
“your teeth, maybe?”
the glass shatters against his skull, as satisfying as it is ear-splitting, and he stumbles back from the table—too fast, too strangely, a bug in human skin as it skitters. not fast enough. jon takes a slow step towards him, smiling. her boot crushes twin pieces of porcelain, grinds the dust into the floorboards. thomas’ fangs shine ever-so-brilliantly in the light of the chandelier.
“there we go,” she hums. “how did the wine taste, dracaena? was it good? blessed enough for a divinely favored hunter as yourself?”
“you- i am not a vampire!” thomas snarls, and tries to lunge for her. it really is too bad. the rot in his throat, in his stomach makes itself well-known, holy poison unraveling all the pieces of him he’s kept in such good shape. “this is- who told you? who told you these lies—”
jon raises an eyebrow, grinding her teeth at the denial for one moment before she lets all that slip away from her. “that’s funny. holy water doesn’t do anything to me, does it? and yet… but i did promise them you’d leave with a name.”
she crouches, gesturing to nothing with the neck of the wine bottle, now missing the bottle from an inch above her fingers. the jagged edges are dripping red, and a few drops splatter onto thomas’ perfect, pretty white shirt. “this is for me,” she tells him, as his vocal cords wither. “but it’s also for luis acevedo. congratulations.”
from here, it’s easy to see the way his face contorts with anger before he’s nothing but dust. jon drops the glass into the pile and sighs, standing back up and stretching. this won’t be easy to brush over with all of his fancy connections. the thought sends another jolt of frustration through her, another drop to add to the slowly growing maw in her chest.
she ignores it. she has a mansion to search through, a bag to pack, and—most importantly—a new hunt to start.
revenge is nice enough, but the thought of that is what gets her moving. no time to waste. not with this.
*
the town jon finds herself in is quaint, even at night when all the lights are extinguished and the cracks in the streets are still full of dirt and yesterday’s rainwater. there isn’t any visibly richer neighborhood, no mansion looming over everything else, and it’s as refreshing as it is surprising. it makes her job easier, at the very least.
“aw, is it that time already?” her whip cracks against the awning of a bar without even glancing in its direction, and luis laughs, jumping off its roof to meet her. “i thought i had a day or two before you’d catch up to us! you’re really getting faster.”
“or you’re just getting slow,” jon suggests. she doesn’t move yet, surveying them warily before glancing to the window of the bar. either nobody in there has noticed the commotion, or they don’t care—with the exception of a familiar face keeping an eye on hir husband, of course. “i’m surprised you haven’t settled anywhere yet.”
luis shrugs, pulling their hair out of their face and into a loose ponytail. they follow her gaze before shooting a fond smile at the window, and it lingers even when they look back to her. “eh. we’re not exactly the type!”
“even after months?”
“that’s nothing but a blink for us and you know it.”
something in her flares, abrupt and angry, and she drops all pretense of conversation to lunge at luis. it’s sloppy, unplanned and reckless. it catches them off guard. that’s all she needs to barrel them over, whip handle pinning down one of their wrists and her other hand holding a stake to their chest.
“do you need me to make it memorable?” jon demands, sharp against the litany of calm calm calm drumming in the back of her skull. “because i can make it memorable. no amount of years will make you underestimate me.”
luis stares, something almost like surprise in their eyes, before their expression sharpens and they give her a toothy grin. “i know,” they reply, twisting out of her grip and slamming their knee into her stomach. she tumbles to the stone, glaring as she hisses a stream of curses through her teeth. “that was messy, jon!”
“i know,” she spits out, regretting it easily. they could kill her right here, in this quaint little town, right outside of a bar oblivious to the fighting, to the vampire in their midst, to anything wrong at all. the thought drags her to her feet again, a little hunched but nothing more, refusing to give into that little weakness. luis studies her as she does. their gaze always feels like a knife, cutting right through the chest to pin up the skin and get to the heart of the matter. it’s one of the worst feelings jon knows. “don’t make me do it again.”
“you could always stop chasing me!”
“it’s hunting,” jon corrects. it lets her put herself back together, annoyance an easier thing to sooth. “you’d miss it. god knows why, but you would, wouldn’t you?”
luis shakes their head, but doesn’t deny it. they’re much too cheery for that. “you’d miss it too!”
“i’d find a new hunt.”
“i think i’ve well ruined you for any more of those, haven’t i?”
“i still take on other jobs, acevedo. how do you think i can afford this one?”
“but they’re not me,” luis points out, smug even though it’s a meaningless statement on its own. of course none of them are luis acevedo. luis isn’t the werewolf jon had gotten proper restraints for in the last town. luis isn’t the vampire they had killed in the town before that.
but they have every right to be smug, because she’s not still hunting any of those, is she?
“bastard,” jon mutters, suddenly, deeply exhausted. she pockets the stake and takes another long look at the bar, deciding that it’ll be worth the distraction if nothing else, and turns her back on luis. it’s reckless, again. messy. “i’m getting a drink.”
luis falls into step beside her, ignoring the easy shot. it isn’t surprising, but her gaze still lingers on them for a moment longer than it should, one eyebrow raised. “my husband’s in there,” they say, in way of explanation. jon shrugs. “plus, you’re buying, right?”
“for you? no. absolutely not. it wouldn’t even be bloody.”
they gesture to her with one hand, wiggling their eyebrows. she rolls her eyes and moves a little faster, swinging open the door and stepping in without holding it open behind her. luis ducks in beneath her arm anyway.
“thank you,” they sing, winking as they straighten up. jon debates the merits of stabbing them in the throat—not worth it now that they’re inside, probably—and instead heads to the bar, frowning when luis follows her.
“tot?”
“aw, ze’s fine. look, ze says hi!”
jon glances over her shoulder without really thinking about it, and sure enough, tot throws her a little wave, face as unreadable as ever. “fine,” she sighs. no rest for the wicked. “still not buying you a drink.”
“i’ve got that covered too!” luis hops onto a barstool, and despite her better judgment jon sits right next to them, offering a half-smile to the bartender. “one whiskey sour, please.”
“a pint the best you’d recommend on tap,” jon requests. luis raises an eyebrow at her, and she gives them her best smile. “you’ve got it covered, don’t you? it doesn’t seem like too fancy a place.”
“isn’t it a little rude to not ask the price?”
“on the contrary, i think it’s fine. good business for them.”
luis laughs, bright, and shrugs it off. “once we get our drinks, let’s move over, okay? you and tot haven’t gotten to talk nearly enough!”
“i don’t hunt you for the socializing,” jon argues, but it’s an appealing prospect anyways. it’s not like she has to make a particularly good impression—she’s already trying to kill hir husband, and it’s hard to get worse than that.
she pauses before she can agree. it’s this line of thinking that made her stop fighting tonight to begin with; it’s this line of thinking that keeps her from actually hunting properly. one of them should’ve been dead by now.
the bartender passes her a glass, and she takes it silently, clutching the glass handle a little too tight. when luis’ hand brushes her shoulder, featherlight, it nearly shatters. “okay,” they say, loud enough to cut through her thoughts, “we’re moving now!”
jon sits across from tot and takes a sip of her drink, glancing between tot and luis before focusing on the bottom of her glass, murky through the alcohol. “acevedo.”
“hm?”
“why hasn’t one of you killed me yet?”
luis blinks, slow. tot purses hir lips but says nothing.
“it’s clear you could, even if i haven’t seen both of you fight. it’s been months, and i’m nowhere close to being able to kill you.” the words feel like shed weight, something off her shoulders even if this ends with her dead in the alley next door. jon feels level-headed for the first time in weeks. she takes another drink, longer this time, and meets luis’ eyes. “i don’t know why i’m interesting, and i don’t know why i’m alive. so. i want an answer.”
“you said it yourself, didn’t you? i’d miss you.” luis leans back, still smiling, but it’s small, fangs catching their lip. “but that’s probably not good enough right now, huh! hmmm…”
“i don’t want to,” tot answers, blunt. jon snorts, not caught off guard but something close, and luis stifles a laugh. “luis likes you, and i like what i’ve seen of you. if you actually manage to kill them someday, it might change, but.” ze shrugs. “not right now.”
“succinct as always, darling. as for me, well—” luis’ smile blooms into a facsimile of their usual grin, something strange and unreadable behind it. “i want you to be the one to kill me someday, is that so bad? seeing you improve is a delight, and you’re already getting the best of me on occasion! i don’t want to die, but i want to see you succeed.”
jon stares at them. the table sits in silence for long enough that she catches the rarity of embarrassment begin to seep into their expression before they knock their drink back.
“don’t look at me like that,” they mutter after they’re finished, “especially since you asked.”
“i- you said months are a blink- how have you decided that already?” jon sets her drink down with a little too much force, resisting the urge to climb over the table and throttle luis with her bare hands. “fine! fine. i’m never asking again. i’ll keep hunting you- and you will not make it weird.”
“i’m fairly sure that ship has sailed,” tot says. this time she can hear the faint amusement in hir voice, the minute curl of hir lips into a smile. “time is strange for us. but months matter. seconds matter, if they’re eventful enough.”
“and you’re pretty eventful!”
“i’ve gathered.” jon rubs a hand over her cheeks, willing away any stray emotions that might’ve made it to her face. “... thanks.”
i want to be the one to kill you too, she doesn’t say, wary of how possessive it might come out—how much they might’ve rubbed off on her. it’s obvious enough, isn’t it?
it will be, at least, once the night is over and the hunt begins anew.
*
the field she’s in stretches out endlessly around her, no sign of the treeline she emerged from, and no sign of anything but corn—stalks tall enough that she has to stretch to see over them, forming narrow passageways through the sea of green that feel like they get narrower the longer jon stalks through them. the woman she’s chasing vanished out of sight long ago, and jon’s instincts snap to attention at every rustle.
stick to the left, she repeats to herself. she’s thought it so many times that she shouldn’t have to, anymore, but she’s enough of a cornered animal to not let go of it. stick to the left.
after what feels like hundreds more turns, she emerges into a clearing, where the horned woman sits in waiting. jon cracks her whip by way of greeting, and a grin stretches over what she can see of roadhouse’s face, her hat drawn low against the rest of it. “i thought you’d never make it,” she drawls.
jon shrugs loosely, faux-casual as she surveys roadhouse’s hands. there’s a gun in each, safety off, likely full of ammo; she’s had plenty of time to reload. “if you want a good fight, maybe get rid of the corn field, yeah?”
“it adds charm.” roadhouse fires a shot off into the corn, before turning to fully face jon. “didn’t anyone ever tell you not to bring knives to a gun fight?”
“once or twice,” she deadpans. she throws a knife towards roadhouse’s wrist, and she jerks out of the way, shooting at jon’s foot. as the fight gets going in earnest, jon can’t help but admit she has a point—it’s much harder to manage this. the handful of years spent largely fighting someone who “doesn’t like the mess” of guns certainly doesn’t help.
still, she manages to knock one out of her hand, kicking it out of range into the wall of corn. roadhouse is distracted for long enough by it that she can aim a dagger properly. it misses her face, but tears right through the cowboy hat, halves of it dangling off her horns.
“oh, you cowardly son of a gun—”
shit, jon thinks, right before roadhouse’s arm crackles with purple-black light. the next shot lands, square in jon’s shoulder. the pain whites out her vision, fire crackling and burning down her arm, and she clutches it as she goes down.
roadhouse doesn’t shoot again, even if jon’s an easy target. when she opens her eyes again, the gunslinger is standing over her looking almost panicked, lightning gone and eyes wide. “shit, didn’t mean’ta- oh, shit. godspeed, hunter, you’re gonna fuckin’ need it.”
“what the hell does that—” jon cuts herself off with a bitten-back yell, squeezing her eyes shut again. by the time she sits up, the corn is flattened, no sign of the maze or the infinite fields that she was trapped in before. no sign of roadhouse.
when she peels away fabric to survey the damage to her shoulder, there’s no gunshot wound, no blood. just an ugly mess of bruising, and strands of miniature lightning running down her arm and to her chest, made of red-purple fire that aches as much as it looks like it ought to.
supernatural. it can’t be anything but.
everything in her is screaming that she needs to figure out what it is, but it’s unfortunately fighting a losing battle against the screaming-in-pain, and jon just ends up biting her coat collar to avoid verbalizing either. the corn field isn’t the place for any of this. getting to her feet is a fight all on its own, but she manages that, at least, unsteady but standing.
in the corners of her vision, there are flares of light, blue-red-white-gold, painfully visible now that all the cover is gone.
jon stiffens. her arm convulses.
godspeed, hunter.
she runs.
*
“acevedo! clark!”
she’s banging on their door too hard, she knows it. it’ll ache later, and she can’t afford losing total precision in both of her hands, but the adrenaline is wearing off. jon hasn’t seen the lights in hours, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. hunting takes patience. hunting takes timing. she shudders and bangs on the door again, contemplating if she could break it down before it swings open beneath her. she nearly tumbles over, barely staying steady.
tot takes one good look at her before ze grabs her by the shoulders and drags her inside, closing the door behind her with a solid kick. “you’re in trouble,” ze states. jon nods, wincing as ze lets go of her injury. “hm. what kind?”
“there’s- lights.” she doesn’t know how else to elaborate, how to say that she knew she was in danger before she could even see what they were—how she knew that if she stuck around long enough to find out, she’d be dead. by the way tot goes still, she thinks ze already knows. “i can go—”
“do you have anywhere else?” said like ze already knows the answer, christ. it’d sting a lot less if ze wasn’t right. “we’re not turning you away. especially not with this. can i touch you?”
“not the right shoulder,” she allows. tot removes her coat, brisk but careful when it comes to taking off that sleeve, and hangs it up by the door. the short-sleeve button-up beneath does little to hide the bruising or the lightning, and hir expression somehow gets more solemn. “you know what it is.”
“luis will be home soon,” ze says, in lieu of an answer. ze’s… avoiding it. that’s more worrying than anything else, somehow, and the quiet shock of it lets hir direct jon to sit on the couch. “it’ll be… easier. to explain once they’re here.”
“this is bad.”
“very.”
“great.” jon sinks into the cushions, grips her arm right above the elbow as if the pressure’ll do anything at all. it can’t even ground her, not now. “i’m putting you both in danger.”
tot sighs, sitting next to her and fiddling with the edge of hir gloves. “it’ll be easier to explain when luis is home,” ze repeats. “but it’s not new. don’t feel guilty.”
“wasn’t planning on it,” she lies. ze levels her with a look but otherwise doesn’t call her on it.
they sit in silence until the door opens, luis’ cheerful greeting abruptly cut off when they catch sight of her on the couch. when they don’t say anything else, she looks over, just to see their gaze fixed on her arm, mouth pressed into a thin, straight line.
“jon,” they start, then stop, shaking their head. they drop their bags in the doorway and go to unbuttoning their shirt, and tot doesn’t make a move to stop them, so jon doesn’t either. she just watches as they pull it off, frilly sleeves carelessly turned inside out, and then—
blooming across their stomach is an ugly, dark bruise, strange veins snaking out from it.
jon is up and across the room before she can stop to think, pausing a foot away from luis, hand outstretched between them. they take it and guide it to the place, palm pressing against the pulse, too-warm for their cold skin, twitching all irregular and wrong. luis’ free hand hovers over her shoulder, and then settles against hers, a cool balm to the awful aching.
“we can explain,” they murmur, after a long moment. they still aren’t smiling, but their hands are gentle when they lift to guide jon back to the couch, to tot. “let me guess- murderous, minotaur gunslinger?”
“that’s the one,” jon confirms, though the fight already feels so distant in the face of what came after. “what’s her problem?”
luis barks a laugh, startled, and shakes their head when she snaps her head to look at them. “silvy’s- we’ve got a lot of problems. you’re really not gonna believe it!”
“i think i’m willing to believe a lot right now, luis.”
they blink at the name, before smiling, finally—slight, and more exhausted than she thought they could be, but a smile. “good to hear. it’ll make everything a hell of a lot easier that way.”
jon feels strange, almost naked sitting on the couch without her coat—no easy access to her stakes, just a few knives she’s actively trying to keep away from where luis is leaning into her side. tot passes her a blanket, and she tugs it around her shoulders quickly, suppressing a wince as it drags across her arm. “yours- gunslinger?”
“the hard stuff right away, huh. try more… targeted human bomb?” luis keeps going before jon can do anything but jolt to stare at them, grinning sheepishly. “it lasts for about a month, but mine’s almost healed! we’re both more worried about you- or, at least, i am. tot’s physically incapable of not worrying about me.”
“mostly on account of the targeted human bomb,” tot deadpans. luis shrugs, as if to say what can you do?
“i’m not addressing that right now,” jon says, reluctantly. “what exactly is it? why did it get… whatever those were on my tail?”
“instability,” tot answers. “it’s a target on your back.”
“for immortal hunters! rogues, we’ve been calling ‘em.”
“but i’m not—”
luis’ grin gets a touch strained before they interrupt her, as if the thought has already been running through their mind. “we know. most of the time they’re just focused on us- a couple hundred targets, all over the world? immortals of any kind, not just the ones you hunters go after. but the instability is… new!”
“people brought immortals that died back. it had consequences. the rogues interfered, probably.”
jon grimaces—necromancy is nasty, even without whatever the hell is going on here getting in the way. she gets the gist, mostly. bad fight, worse consequences. she’ll have to be on the run for a month. she relays as much to luis and tot, and they exchange a look she can’t quite parse.
“you can stay here,” tot offers, but she’s already shaking her head.
“having two in the same place sounds like a bad idea,” she states, leaving no room for argument. she doesn’t have to know every detail to know she’s right, on this. the way tot almost grimaces says enough all on its own. “i’m not dragging any more trouble to your door.”
luis leans back, shifts away, giving her space. jon resists the urge to frown at them, tugging the blanket a little closer. “at least stay the night? you’re not gonna get anywhere like this!”
that’s… also very true. the fight with roadhouse is still fresh, and this is the longest she’s stopped since running away from the playing field. jon stands to test her limbs and, unsurprisingly, finds the exhaustion has settled into her bones, pain flaring with a vengeance. “sure,” she concedes. “just one night.”
*
a moment they don’t talk about:
they’re still shirtless, blouse abandoned in the entryway and forgotten soon after. she doesn’t like to think about the fact that they’ve been hunted by something that isn’t her. it’s hard not to think about it, when they’re standing right there. she settles on their guest bed and hums as they go to leave, letting her dagger belt fall to the floor between them with a clatter.
“i’m going to be the one to kill you,” she tells them. “it’s mine. so don’t die, acevedo.”
a smile, cheeky. “they’d have to try harder than this,” they answer. not quite a promise, but the look in their eyes is brighter than the lightning.
she snorts, rolls over. their footsteps are soft when they leave.
*
the reason they don’t talk about it:
it all goes to shit.
*
“jon!”
it’s a testament to years of vigilance that jon doesn’t even question why she’s being woken up—just rolls out of bed into a crouch, snatching up one of her daggers and straightening. the smoke in the air registers moments later, and she brings her sleeve up to block her mouth and looks to the doorway.
“they’re here,” luis says, teeth bared in what could’ve been a lopsided grin, if jon didn’t recognize the resignation in it. her shoulder throbs dully; she knows their stomach is the same. “you ready to run for it?”
“you’ve given me plenty of practice,” she throws back. “window or door?”
“window! fire started downstairs.”
“clark?”
luis’ expression shutters like a tree in a typhoon, before they dart across the room to break the glass of the window in one fluid motion. “ze can’t die,” they answer, simple. as if it’s a statement of fact, one jon can’t quite believe. “don’t worry so much!”
“even—” jon cuts herself off, shaking her head. it isn’t the time to doubt them, and the way their attention is steadfastly on the world outside the window only highlights that. “alright. lead the way, acevedo.”
“trust me, halifax.”
with that, they jump out the window, jon doing the same a moment later. the stone makes for a rough landing, and the heat and smoke behind them makes her lungs stutter, gasping in a breath to avoid stopping. luis hasn’t hesitated, darting in irregular patterns down the street, away from the burning wreckage. (the burning wreckage of their home. jon files that away to feel steadily not guilty about later, and focuses on following after them.)
her shoulder burns, and she spares a glance back, blue-gold-white-red all too present in her mind. tot catches her eye through the fire-spun silhouettes, one eyebrow raised, an unfamiliar sort of smirk on hir face—and then ze salutes, a loose, two-fingered acknowledgement.
“don’t look back,” luis calls, too little too late.
jon watches as their husband goes up in flames like flashpaper.
she takes a step backwards, and then turns on her heel and breaks back out into a sprint as the masked stars turn towards her, keeping her eyes firmly locked on luis’ back. she’s familiar enough with that—enough that she can stop thinking, just focus on keeping in reach, and out of reach of the flames.
“where are we going?” she calls, once they’ve been running for long enough that it strains her to do anything but keep moving. “is anywhere safe?”
“not really!” luis looks back at her for a moment, then past her—hypocrite. they slow down at whatever they see, though, enough for her to reach their side. “once dawn breaks, mine’ll be gone, so the risk should be much less- can you see them behind us?”
“if i stop to look, i- won’t be able to keep going,” she answers, between breaths and strained. luis’ nose scrunches, as if they had forgotten all about her very reasonable human limits. she’s pushed herself enough hunting them that she maybe isn’t surprised, but it’s never been an endurance race with them. “if you can’t see them, hell if i’m going to be able to.”
“we’re almost somewhere we can stop,” they reassure, bright. “i can carry you the last stretch?”
“you shouldn’t have enough energy to- start shit, acevedo.”
“but i meant every word, my dear hunter!”
jon doesn’t dignify that with a response, though the answer is easy: honesty doesn’t mean you’re not fucking with me, practiced enough to be on the tip of her tongue even as she heaves another breath. she doesn’t miss the concerned look luis throws her, but it doesn’t result in anything but them hurrying a bit, back to leading her somewhere rather than checking up.
a small relief. she can still taste the smoke clinging to her, and if she looks them in the eye for long enough it’ll ferment into guilt. it’s nothing she can afford to have choking her.
so she just keeps running.
*
the safehouse is tiny, tucked away in an alleyway and through a well-concealed door. luis ushers them both inside as the sun rises, and they lock a complicated series of bolts before sliding to the ground and covering their face with both hands. “aha, oh wow, that was closer than anything’s gotten in a while! hah…”
“... acevedo?”
“i’m fine,” they wave off, peering up at her between their fingers. “exhilarating in hindsight, really! i wasn’t expecting them to catch up so quick, but they’ll be hard-pressed to do the same again.”
they seem genuine enough, which paradoxically makes jon’s mouth go drier. she curls her fingers against her palms in not-quite fists, before sinking to the floor across from them, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “clark?” luis blinks. “i watched him burn up, acevedo, that’s not the kind of thing people… come back from. even you.”
“oh! are you worried?”
“no,” she denies, the syllable lemon-sour in her mouth. “you just don’t seem very concerned.”
“i’ll… admit it’s never been anything quite this bad! at least- as long as i’ve known hir, but i meant what i said.” luis lowers their hands, folds them in their lap. it has to do a good job hiding the way they shake, if it was anyone but jon sitting across from them. “tot’ll be fine.”
“you can’t- you can’t know that.”
“i can! and i do.” luis tilts their head, stare burrowing straight through her. “y’know, for a person who isn’t worried…”
jon sighs, flipping them off. it earns her a bright laugh and a tongue sticking out at her for a moment, before they pull themself to their feet and offer her a hand. “we have actual places to sit in here, y’know!”
“you were the one who sat on the floor first,” she points out, but she takes their hand and hauls herself up anyway. she’d like to think she does a pretty good job hiding her grimace at the way it pulls her shoulder, but luis raises their eyebrows in clear question. “don’t look at me like that. take me to the places to sit.”
“aw, don’t be so mean to your host.”
“i’m not asking again.”
“it wasn’t even a question the first time!”
the minute luis leads her over to the cushioned armchair, jon sinks back into it, tense but too exhausted to resist a moment of rest. she tracks them across the room as they pull a chair away from a nearby table, settling next to her with a yawn. “... daylight’s when you usually rest, isn’t it?”
“i don’t need much sleep,” luis deflects. their hands move to rest on their stomach, something invisible unwinding in them when the movement doesn’t appear to cause pain. “you barely got any rest last night yourself!”
“i won’t be able to sleep for a while.” the admission is easy, though jon can’t look them in the eye while she says it, offhand as if it’s the weather and not a verbalized weak point. “i won’t stake you in your sleep, acevedo, i have much more self-respect than that. and i’ll wake you up if anything comes.”
luis’ mouth curls into a grin, sharp but undeniably fond. jon tilts her head up until she can’t even see it in the very corner of her vision anymore. “if someone knocks three times in short succession, then four in long, they should be safe.”
“should be?”
“nothing is ever easy,” luis sighs, melodramatic. jon rolls her eyes. “you’ve got good judgment! you’ll figure it out.”
“fine. but if we both get murdered—”
“my fault, i know, i know. please don’t take back your gracious offer of sleep.”
jon snorts, and slings her legs over the side of the armchair, shifting so there’s a person’s worth of space next to her uninjured shoulder. “get over here, then. i won’t keep it free for long.”
luis stares at her for a second, visibly caught by surprise. a smirk tugs at her lips at the sight. “luis acevedo, flustered? at the idea of sharing a chair?”
that snaps them out of it, their awful teasing grin back as they hop off the shoddy wooden chair and slide in next to her. “taking advantage of my husband being out, i see,” they jab, tilting their head to use her shoulder as a pillow. jon stiffens, elbowing them, and they hiss a short breath through their teeth. “stomach’s still tender.”
“so is me watching your husband burn to death,” she says, faux-casual. luis winces.
“i walked into that one. but ze isn’t dead!”
“does the nonchalance surrounding major injury come with immortality?” it comes out more curious than insulting, much to jon’s chagrin. “it’s a pretty big deal, to me. it’s- nevermind.”
they hum, leaning more into her side as they think it over. “time and a lot of brushes with death makes everything feel a lot… smaller,” they say, slowly, deliberately. “even if it isn’t small. i also know ze’s going to be fine, from experience. i didn’t look back to watch on purpose, y’know.”
“i didn’t want to,” jon mutters. luis sighs, nodding. “experience?”
“experience.”
“but nothing this bad?”
“i’m going to sleep,” they say. i’m not repeating myself anymore, they don’t say, but jon hears it loud and clear. she doesn’t think it’s a lack of patience, but maybe it is—maybe being on the run and the day hours have left them dry. either way, she stays quiet, dagger clutched in the hand that aches, eyes lingering on the door. “good night.”
“good morning,” she corrects, half-heartedly. luis laughs, nothing more than a huff of air against her shoulder, and closes their eyes.
*
three short knocks. four long ones.
jon eyes the door warily before carefully getting up, leaning luis against the back of the armchair rather than her side, which they had slowly monopolized more of as the day went on. she holds her breath for a moment when they shift, then lets it go when they stay asleep. her eyes ache. she’s not entirely sure how long she’s been staring at the door, mind a rotating door of static and stray spirals. she blinks hard a few times on the way over anyway, trying to clear the itch.
“who is it?” she asks, fingers tight around her dagger.
“tot clark,” the voice on the other side intones. the tone is deeply convincing already. “you can wake luis up if you need to confirm. but i don’t think you want to.”
jon sighs, and pretends like she doesn’t hear the amused huff at it. “just give me a second.” there are more bolts than she had already guessed, and it takes a minute to get all of them undone. by the time she’s finished, the person on the other side is already pulling the door open, eyebrows raised.
she takes a long look at tot. tot looks back, expression carefully neutral.
“i watched you burn to death.”
“i got better.”
“apparently. get inside, i need to put all of those back.”
tot steps in, slipping past her—presumably to go check on luis, jon figures, even if ze doesn’t want them woken up either. jon slides all the bolts back into place and heads back towards the armchair, frowning when tot opts for the wooden chair rather than the still-open space beside luis. ze looks over and shrugs at her, scratching at hir wrists idly.
“you’re the one still injured,” ze explains. “i’ll be alright for a while. i never liked the texture of that armchair plain anyway.”
jon’s frown only eases halfway, but she sits back down anyway, instinctually pulling luis back into her side. “why’d you get it, then?”
“luis likes it. it’s nice with their blankets.”
“those—” jon pauses, taking a deep breath and shaking her head. “how much did you lose in the fire?”
“not as much as you would think.” tot counts a few things on hir fingers in silence before looking back up at jon, tone firm. “don’t feel guilty,” ze repeats. “that wasn’t a permanent residence. we knew it when luis got hit. everything important is safe.” a meaningful glance to luis, and then back to jon. she stays very still. “maybe a few blankets, though. luis told me you know how to knit?”
“i’m not making you new blankets, clark.”
“hm. it was worth a shot.”
silence settles over both of them. jon tries to keep an eye on the door again, but tot keeps fidgeting with hir clothes, discomfort more clear than anything she’s ever seen from hir. she isn’t luis—can’t do anything about it, not really—but if she went to wake them up, she’s pretty sure ze’d kill her. “... what color blankets do you like?”
tot pauses, then nods in acknowledgement, thinking over the question as seriously as luis had her earlier ones. “blue’s a nice color,” ze answers, finally. “white, too.”
“i have a white scarf. i don’t wear it very often around you both, though. hunts are messy.”
“the stains are difficult to clean out.”
“aren’t they always…”
the conversation trails off again, but jon feels less out of place in it now, sinking into it much like she did the cushions. tot hums, looking between her and the door before hir mouth twitches. “you have more questions.”
“nothing pressing,” she replies, which is true. truer than it would’ve been a few minutes ago, at least. “but we’ve got a lot of time, i figure.”
“go for it.”
“you sure?”
“sure enough.”
“alright. what’s with your immortality?” jon sits up a little straighter, barely noticing; tot’s eyes catch on the movement but make no comment. “it isn’t like anything i’ve ever seen before. i know my specialty is limited, but these are immortal hunters specifically, and it seems like it barely did- anything. which is—”
“strange,” tot finishes. jon nods. the wording she was going to use was more along the lines of kind of fucked, but strange fits much better. “well. unfortunately, i don’t know exactly what i am, and neither does anyone else. i just… happened.”
jon raises an eyebrow. “you just… happened?”
“i remember the precambrian,” tot says, a little wistfully. she chooses not to mention that she doesn’t know what that is—it sounds old, and that’s good enough for her. “not well. my memory is good, but not that good. what’s important is that i was around long before most people, and i’ll be around long after. given nobody finds a way to kill me.”
“it’s not transferrable, i presume?”
“no. see: luis.”
“does it still…” jon struggles for a moment, before gesturing loosely with her dagger. “it seemed rough, burning like that.”
“it hurt,” tot says, plainly. “but a lot of things do, and i’m glad they still do. not that i’m glad to have been set on fire. it was rather unpleasant.”
that’s an understatement, jon thinks, but the rest of it is understandable enough. luis feels pain, and she certainly does—and it must be reassuring, to keep that even if things become smaller. she says as much, and tot nods once, a look in hir eye like ze already knows where she got the phrasing from.
“i’ll make you a blanket when this is all over,” she says, a note of finality in it. even once her hunt resumes, tot isn’t her target. a blanket is fine.
ze doesn’t call her bluff, not about that and not for making an almost-promise she might not be able to keep. ze just hums, meeting her eyes fully for a moment. “i look forward to it.”
*
the instability passes. jon knits tot a blanket. none of them bring up that span of hours again, not for a while. her thirty-fifth birthday passes, and she spends it alone, tucked away in the corner of a bar in a tiny town that luis already blew past. am i getting slower? she wonders, idly wiping condensation off the edges of her glass. has the opportunity passed?
there’s no real point to wondering, though. it’s not like she’ll quit.
*
“you’d better not be here to put another target on my back.”
roadhouse holds her hands up in mock surrender, sliding into the booth across from jon all easy, like she didn’t almost kill her. her horns are gone, no sign of corn outside the windows, but jon keeps her guard up anyway. “that was a mistake,” silvaire says, almost apologetic. “won’t happen again. swear it on my honor as a gunslinger.”
“sure.” jon leans back, evaluates her before shaking her head and taking her hand off the whip in her lap. “still, i assume this isn’t a casual visit?”
“we already got half of it over with, didn’t we?”
“you tell me.”
roadhouse grins, crooked, and tosses an envelope onto the table between them. jon eyes it before snatching it up, holding it between two fingers and examining both sides. nothing but her full name, in fancy script. “i’m just the delivery girl, but between you and me, it’s an offer you might want to consider. could even make that li’l mistake of mine worth the trouble.”
jon’s eyebrows furrow, and she tears into the paper, curiosity well and caught. her grip tightens as she reads, the letter crumpling and threatening to rip. “is this a joke? like hell i’m going to some strangers on offer of immortality- you know what i do here, right?”
“don’t shoot the messenger, halifax!” roadhouse tilts her head, eyebrows raised. “is it really that big of an insult? you’re gettin’ older, and all of luis’ friends know they ain’t dead yet.”
“how long my hunt takes is none of your business,” jon replies, voice carefully level. “frankly, i think acevedo would be more insulted to hear that than me.”
“my apologies, then!”
“hm.” the letter uncrumples loudly when jon lets it go, airing its grievances at the rough treatment, and she smooths it out and slots it back into the ruined envelope. “i’m not interested. go find another vulnerable monster hunter to fuck with, roadhouse. try not to shoot them with your debt, either, or i’ll have to take another shot at your little bounty.”
“ha! i’d love to see you try.” roadhouse takes the envelope back, standing and shoving it into her pocket. “just come find me if you change your mind! it ain’t all that bad, y’know. i’d love to keep seeing you around.”
jon watches her leave. only when the door of the establishment swings shut does she let out an annoyed sigh, rubbing her forehead. “i’m only in my thirties. it’s not like i’m going to wither into dust in a year…”
if monsters are starting to take her less seriously because of it, maybe she should start taking on side jobs more often. stretch her legs, and all that. luis probably won’t notice. her absence isn’t something that’s very eventful, after all.
“bartender? where do you find the bounties around here?”
*
“you’ve shaken the rust off,” luis says, half-smiling. of course they’d notice—even if jon didn’t have them pinned, the edge of her knife leaving a burn on their neck without even breaking the skin, they’d notice. she shouldn’t have thought otherwise. “i was wondering where you went, but it seems i didn’t have to worry!”
“you should probably be more worried about this,” jon tells them. their nose scrunches, eyes lifting into a broader smile than their mouth betrays, like what she said is funny. “don’t look at me like that.”
“are you gonna kill me?”
jon leans forward, dagger still, close enough for her hair to brush luis’ face. “what do you think?”
“last time someone got this close to kill me, i turned them.” luis tilts their head, licking their lips quickly, amused. “but you already knew that.”
“don’t compare me to him.”
“i would never,” they assure. “you’re much more fun, after all!”
jon grimaces. her grip tightens, the hand pinning luis’ wrists above their head twitching. “any last words, acevedo?”
“i thought you’d never ask!” their eyes brighten, fangs catching on their lip as they beam up at her. an expression that feels acutely victorious, for reasons jon can’t put her finger on, the cards all in her hands but the faces hidden. their next words scatter them completely. “but you won’t kill me, right?”
“of course i will.” she adjusts her grip, but before she can say anything else luis leans up the best they can, and her hand jolts, dagger leaving their throat—tossed aside before they can cut themself on it. their forehead knocks into hers, laughter warm against her skin. “acevedo—”
“you won’t,” they repeat, confidently. “see? i win!”
jon’s face feels too hot, hands too shaky, frustration boiling up and about to burst. “don’t,” she hisses, surging forward to cut off any retort with a kiss. it’s messy, too much teeth and too much force, but it gets them to shut the hell up.
she lets go of their wrists, and their hands come up to press against her shoulders, nails digging into the flesh where the instability once made its home. the kiss turns into a tussle as she pulls away, dagger forgotten in the grass. luis manages to flip their positions, pinning her and grinning down at her scowl. “i’ve been waiting a while for that, too!”
jon groans, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back into the dirt. her face is no doubt too flushed for her tastes, and no amount of willing it away will help very much. “i should’ve killed you. why didn’t i kill you?”
“you’ll have plenty of time to get over your endearment to me,” they tease, letting go and sitting back into a crouch. jon doesn’t bother with sitting up yet, just waves a hand from her position on the ground to dismiss them. “aw, don’t be so rude! you almost had me. that was exhilarating.”
“what if i can’t do it again?”
“hmm?”
“what if,” jon says, eyes still closed, voice level, “i just die? and i never manage it?”
the grass next to her crumples as luis settles, just close enough that their pinky brushes against her hand. “what’s got you thinking about it?”
“offer of immortality, from some of roadhouse’s friends. turned it down. didn’t want it.”
“huh.” luis is quiet for a long moment, and jon finally forces herself to look, turning her head to the side to watch them stare up at the trees. “didn’t want it from them, or…?”
“are you offering, acevedo?”
“only if you agree to call me luis,” they joke, already shaking their head. “if you wanted it, i’d give you it! no conditions needed- it’d be a shame if you died. then i wouldn’t ever be able to!”
jon snorts, swatting her hand against their shoulder. “you can’t really mean that. you’d find another hunter to give you a hard time.”
“nope! never!” luis looks over, meeting her eye and smiling, a soft, strange thing that still shows all their sharp teeth. it’s more reassuring that way, to know they’re never hiding it from her. they never could. “you’ll be the one to kill me.”
“i- no. you’re right.” she tilts her chin up, neck exposed with the collar of her coat crumpled against her chest from the fight. “does it hurt?”
“does it matter?”
jon lets herself grin, sharp, and doesn’t break eye contact. “not really,” she answers, “so sure. if it’s you. might as well let you sign your future death warrant.”
“gladly,” luis says, sharpening their smile right back.
they lean over, tilting their head to match the angle of her neck, and jon doesn’t flinch away.
it only burns for a second, in the end.