The Night Curse (Book one)
Chapter 4 The Hunter

Of course, they’d bring me to The Friars Arms.

I hear the din of the place before making out the sign—a shield of arms, swaying in the breeze, rattling to passersby like a siren’s call. The glow of candlelight leaks from the windows, promising warmth and solace.

A slap at my back has me almost tripping over my own shoe. I push back the waves of hair that have fallen into my view.

“A sight for sore eyes, aye son? Couldn’t have you celebrating your twentieth anywhere else now, could we?” There is a glint in my father’s blue eyes, and I know it speaks to more than the glimmering moon.

A chill ripples through me that has nothing to do with the cold air. “Am I allowed in?

My father grabs my shoulder. “Of course you are. You’re with me, ain’t you?”

“And me,” my brother adds while lifting the collar of his jacket. A devious smirk pulling at his lips.

I lean forward, angling my head towards the entrance. “I mean, will I be accepted?” The Friars Arms is one of the meeting places. The meeting place. I’ve heard stories, but I’ve yet to see it for myself.

Father levels with me. “You’re of age now, boy. They’ll welcome you with open arms. Now come along.”

I follow him into the pub. It’s clad in oak, dimly lit, like the altar of a church. People pay us no attention. Instead, they appear lost in conversation or at the bottom of their beer glass. We pass the bar in great strides towards a red, velvet curtain with a giant man, don in black, standing guard. “Good evening, Frederick, Austin,” he greets as my father and brother pull out their necklaces. The man looks me up and down. “And the boy?”

“He’s with me. My son, Harlow Elworth. They are expecting us.”

The man surveys me then steps aside and pulls back the curtain, revealing a square and compass with an eye carved into its centre. The door opens. All the noise evaporates.

Inside, the wood and velvet is darker, richer. The candlelight nearly extinguished. An oval table takes up most of the room. Around it, men’s faces turn to stare at me.

An aged man, wealthily dressed in green and gold, rises to his feet and extends his hand. “Frederick Elworth, it’s been too long.” The deep tenor of his voice commands attention, and I know instantly that he’s the man in charge.

“It is good to see you, Kennith.” My father takes his grip into a secret handshake. I use the moment to scan my surroundings and the equally well-dressed men inhabiting the space. They stiffen to attention, as if ready to pounce. The ice in their gaze forces my direction back to the man called Kennith.

“And I see you brought your son.” Kennith leers, like a master greeting his pup.

Austin steps forward, but my father’s arm stops him in his tracks. He lifts a brow.

“Sons,” he corrects. “I bring both my sons.”

Kennith’s gaze tightens. “God has graced you with two fine men. Ambition, too, it seems.”

“Today is his birthday.” My father’s grin stretches the breadth of his jaw. “Twenty.”

An approving grunt escapes Kennith’s mouth, and he snaps his fingers. A waitress emerges from the corner. “Then we shall celebrate…”

Austin kicks my leg slightly, and I realise, he’s waiting for my name. “Harlow, Sir.”

“And your poison, Harlow?”

My chest tenses. “Brandy,” I reply, wanting to impress.

“You heard the good man,” he barks at the waitress, and she hurries away. “Sit, please.”

I lower myself on an empty chair, opposite the ringleader, who hasn’t blinked since our arrival. The room is smoky, and I have to stifle a cough clawing at my throat. The waitress returns with a glass of brandy for each of us. I take the glass between my fingers and marvel at the weight of it in my hand.

Kennith tilts his crystal to the group. “To the birthday boy.”

I gulp a large swig of the liquid courage, welcoming the sting of heat. It’s some of the best brandy I’ve ever tasted. Admittedly, I haven’t had much experience to compare.

Kennith licks his lips, reminding me of a predator’s blood-soaked snout. “So, Harlow, do you know what we do here?”

I catch a glimpse of my father looking at me with encouragement. “Harlow knows about Dreamwalkers, and the work we do, and that of his forefathers, and their forefathers.”

Kennith snarls at the name. “Dreamwalkers,” he spits, his voice loaded with venom. “What do you know of them, Harlow?”

I shift in my seat, swirling the gold remnant in my glass. “Dreamwalkers take over one’s dreams, Sir.”

A puff of air escapes Kennith’s mouth. “You make it seem so innocent when you put it like that,” he sneers. “Dreamwalkers do much more than enter dreams, Harlow.” Kennith’s eyes darken, his lips twitch. “Dreamwalkers defy nature. Defy God. With practice and skill, Dreamwalkers cannot only influence a person’s thoughts and feelings in waking life but also change their memories and beliefs. Dreamwalkers can keep their hosts in a dream-state for as long as they like, or keep them from dreaming altogether. They can terrorise a dreamer to such an extent that they can scare them to death, quite literally.”

“I know,” I growl, louder than intended. “They killed my mother.”

My father takes my hand and gives it a small squeeze. Austin clears his throat, his expression grave. For a few seconds, no one speaks. Then, Kennith taps the rim of his glass for a refill.

“Then you understand just how dangerous they can be,” Kennith hisses before emptying his glass in one noisy swig. The waitress obediently refills it once more. “We don’t just harbour stories and hate for Dreamwalkers, Harlow, we hunt them. Courtesy of Her Majesty the Queen.”

“Hail Queen Roselin,” the table rejoices in unison, jolting me in my chair.

Kennith dips his chin to one of his men and they leave the table. A shudder fights for release deep inside my muscles. Moments later, the man returns carrying a tray with a box at its centre. He passes it to Kennith.

“Harlow Elworth, on behalf of Her Majesty the Queen, join us on our mission to cleanse this world and restore balance.” Kennith opens the box and nestled within lies a gold necklace, embossed with that all-seeing-eye.

I know what taking that necklace means, what it requires of me. I won’t just be the son of a Dreamwalker hunter, I will become one. A killer. No matter the race, gender, or age, I will be required to commit murder—and retribution for my family.

I take the necklace from the box and slide it over my head.

Kennith’s glare simmers. “Welcome to The Freemasons.”