A strange chittering scuttles across the deserted highway like tarantula legs. I stiffen, instinctively pin-pointing its origin without so much as turning around. Everyone I've ever come across knows that sound. Jae-Seong once told me that it reminded him of a rattlesnake, for all the visceral, gut-punch reaction it creates.

I feel every muscle in Winston's large body tense.

Great.

"What is it?" Kayleigh asks, voice rising and falling as she struggles to keep the mare under control.

"Quiet," I hiss, holding up one hand. Slowly, I turn to release the crossbow from its hook. It drops heavily into my gloved hands, loaded with deadly intention.

A cockatrice emerges from the behind the desolate hills of the former winery. Gritting my teeth, I raise the crossbow, leveling its poison-tipped bolt at the creature.

It pauses at the edge of the highway and cocks its head to the side, as if examining the pavement. The scourge of California is a fox-sized grotesque mixture of chicken, bat and lizard. Some people liken their reptile parts to a dragon, but I've always thought dragons were supposed to be more majestic than this experiment of nature gone horribly wrong.

Winston bellows and tosses his antlers, issuing a challenge to the cockatrice.

Goddammit, I groan as the creature's poison-green eyes focus on us. It's too far too early for the beast to be awake. Why the hell is it awake now?

Long lashes brush the dust from the cockatrice's eyes and it takes a step forward, black claws clicking. Red-veined wings flutter at its flanks, stirring the dead air into new patterns. It's testing us, waiting to see what we do next.

Well, what I'll do is the same thing that I did to the three others I dumped at Barney's—shoot it dead and slit its throat. But this time, I'm leaving its horrid carcass to rot on the California highway. Let's see how its coven likes seeing its remains splattered across miles of pavement.

There's no room for hesitation. Once the cockatrice issues its hunting call, it will alert the coven and no matter how deeply asleep they are, that is the one thing that will awaken them. Sighting the crossbow, I curse as a strong gust of wind stirs up the dust, throwing a protective curtain over the cockatrice.

Goddamn you, Ehtab!

Blinded by the cloud, I aim the crossbow for the cockatrice's last-known position and fire. The heavy bow thuds against my shoulder as the bolt sings towards its target. I wait as time slows, breath thick in my chest, for the sound of impact.

The world lurches forward, making my heart jump as the bolt crunches through the tough, bony plates of the cockatrice's chest. A high, piercing scream rakes across my nerves like a bow over an untuned violin. As the wind suddenly dies, I see the cockatrice flopping on the ground, black ichor pouring from its wound.

Yanking a knife from my belt, I swiftly cross the dusty highway and end the cockatrice's life. Wiping the blade on its grey-green hide, I return it to its hidden sheath and retrieve the crossbow bolt. Dislodging the steel-tipped head proves somewhat difficult; I have to plant a foot on the body and yank backwards. Bones crack and more ichor oozes as I free the bolt from its chest plate.

"Uhm ..."

Twisting, I look at the girl over my shoulder. Doing her best to remain seated atop the nervous mare, Kayleigh points at the hill.

Rising slowly to my feet, I turn in the indicated direction. Goddammit—we're not even two hours out of Eureka. A dozen cockatrices rise out of the hills, some dragging their feet as if fighting off sleep. Their grogginess lasts about as long as it takes the lead rooster to spot us.

A fan-like series of spines raises on the rooster's back, a thin, translucent green membrane stretching between the tines. Planting his clawed feet, the cockatrice rattles his spines like a set of old, dried bones and a low, unearthly moan spreads across the dust-covered highway.

Why can't I have this sort of luck when I've got a bounty? I wonder as I make it back to Winston. There's a couple hundred dollars coming at us and I can't collect a damn cent.

"Get that horse under control," I growl at the girl as I pull a different knife from my waistband.

"I'm trying!" she cries out.

I can't watch her and make a ward at the same time. Taking the knife, I turn the palm of my left hand over and make a small cut, just enough for a drop of blood to ooze free. That's all it takes—not these big, dramatic slashes that I've seen other magic users do.

Stuffing the knife back into its sheath, I dip the tip of my right index finger into the blood and summon the magic. A tingling sensation rushes along my skin, unpleasant but not painful. Staring at the advancing cockatrices, I make a circular motion with my right hand. "Protect."

The spell leaves my body with the force of a punch to the stomach. A puff of air escapes my lips as a red ward circle burns on the dusty highway, surrounding us.

Kayleigh's mare whinnies and spins, bumping her hindquarters against Winston. The battle-elk twists his head around, brown eyes narrowing behind his protective shield. Arching his neck, he loosens a low, warbling call that vibrates the ground beneath my booted feet. Immediately, the fractious mare quiets, head dropping low to the ground.

The girl stares at her cowed Arabian. "H-how?" she begins, but I cut her off.

"Take this." I shove my crossbow into her hands. "Do you know how to shoot one?"

She looks down at it with surprise. "No ...?"

I pull the Winchester from its holster and check the chamber. Loaded. "Point that away from us at all times." I grab the quiver of bolts off Winston's saddle horn and hand them to her as well. "It's dummy-proof. Load the bolt and pull that lever to cock it; press the red trigger to fire. Repeat. Don't," I snap as she lifts the crossbow with trembling hands, "fire now. I'll tell you if I need your assistance. I only have so many of those bolts. I don't want to waste any time looking for them. Understood?"

All the cockatrices have gathered around the lead rooster. Gritting my teeth, I don't wait for the girl's reply. Lifting the Winchester, I aim for the biggest one and fire. The blast tears through the beast and several ones standing behind it.

The shot doesn't scatter the cockatrices; rather, it galvanizes them. As a unit, they rush the barrier, throwing their bodies up against the flaming red ward. Flesh and scales sizzle as they attempt to break through. Next to me, Winston lowers his head, bellows deeply and shakes his poison-tipped antlers at the monsters.

Each hit on the ward is like a physical punch to my body. Breathing heavily, I reload the Winchester and fire again. There's only so much time left before I lose control and the ward collapses.

"It's coming through!" the girl screams.

Shit.

I twist around just in time to blast a cockatrice whose head has breached the ward. It's blown backwards and lies on the highway, a limp bundle of black ichor and blistered flesh.

My fingers falter as I reach for the next cartridge. My attention is torn between the barrier, the cockatrices and the girl. I can feel the magic draining from my body as the seconds tick by. Sweat drips down my forehead and onto the tip of my nose. Dragging a sleeve across my face, I reload and cock the rifle.

It was never this hard ...

"There's more!" the girl shouts, pointing. A wave of grey-green and red flows over the desolate winery hills towards us.

Are you kidding me? A coven of cockatrices usually numbers fifteen, but I've already killed at least that many. Is this a colony? I shoot the next three that try to break through the barrier and reload again. I've only come across one colony in my lifetime and it took four Hunters to take them all out.

We are dead.

Two hours out of Eureka and I'm dead.

I've got to think of something. Shoving the Winchester into its holster, I grab onto Winston's saddle and jump onto his back. "Get ready to run—"

The words die in my mouth as I look back at the girl. Her eyes are covered by a thin, pale blue film and her mouth hangs open in a silent "O". The mare stands completely still, but her eyes roll in their sockets and sweat dampens her copper coat.

As the ward falters and dies a band of energy snaps out from the girl's center like a shockwave. It hits the colony of cockatrices like a wrecking ball, laying dozens out flat on the highway.

What the hell did I just witness?

Winston's ears flick up, then back. His brown eyes roll as he stamps his cloven hooves.

The girl's head lolls around and I reach out to grab her, but she snaps upright, dazed. There's no time to process what I just witnessed. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the cockatrices writhing on the ground, still alive. Grabbing the Arabian's reins, I knee Winston into motion and drag the other two behind us.