The Fox and The Hunter

Viktorya still had time off to adjust from what happened. She looked at the wall of destiny as she called it. Drawing covered drawing of the same man she’d seen in her dreams. It didn’t even have all of the sketches. There were so many she’d thrown away. Blond hair to his shoulders. Blue eyes. Strong jaw. A serious yet kind expression.

“I’ve seen you too many times for that night to be it.”

If she were still a thief, she’d think he was always destined to chase after her, but now she didn’t have a reason to run. She couldn’t run in good conscience.

She wasn’t romantic enough to think of the other option. She’d stabbed him. Rational men’s interest in women who stab them is to press criminal charges. A rational man wouldn’t have let her go though.

She needed to stop staring.

Mail would be here by now. She could go downstairs, find bills, late holiday cards from people she didn’t know, and maybe a magazine trying to sell her on hating herself.

She did the usual awkward waves, and found a package very similar to the one that started this mess.

“If this is another job, I’m burning it,” she muttered.

“What dear?”

“Nothing, Gladys.”

She tossed it into the mail bag and ran back up.

She dumped the whole contents of the bag onto the table then ripped open the package.

The same pendant from that night, back in her hands. She was tempted to put it on, but there was something else to do first.

She found the card where she’d pinned it over one of the destiny drawings. The number was hard to read. Apparently calligraphy wasn’t on Jonathan Hunter’s list of skills, but she figured it out.

“Who is this?” Jonathan Hunter said in a threatening tone.

“This is the Fox. I was just sent a package with the pendant I stole. I can send it to a forwarding address if you’d like.”

“No. I want to see the package without a middle man. I’ll see you next week.”

He was to the point. She put the phone back down.

“I knew that wasn’t it.”

“How were your holidays?” Evie asked as Viktorya punched in.

“Lonely, aside from the New Year’s party.” She placed her coat on the rack, and finally pulled her hair into a ponytail; it was too warm at the desk to let it insulate her neck. She still made sure to mostly cover her ears though. “Yours?”

“Lots of family. Broke up with Nick because he proposed to me.”

“He what?”

“Proposed, in front of his whole family. We hadn’t even talked about marriage, so obviously I threw the book at him, or more accurately, the ring.” Evie showed off her naked finger.

“You didn’t.”

“Not physically” she admitted, “But I think he got the picture. If flowers show up, be a dear and throw them away.”

“Can I steal them? I could use the art reference.”

“Be my guest.”

Viktorya took her seat at the front desk, glad to finally be back in the library.

“So why exactly was the New Year’s party not lonely?” Evie asked, perched on the other side of the desk, “Achieved your midnight kiss?”

Viktorya smirked. Technically there was a kiss, not that she’d really count it.

“Not at midnight. I had to go before then. It was out of state.”

“Look at you being invited to fancy out of state parties. Where?”

“California.”

“That is a long way,” Evie’s expression turned inquisitive, “And have you talked to your not-midnight kiss since then?”

In the most curt business-like way possible.

“Yes, actually. He might be coming down sometime this week.”

“What!?”

Oh no. She got a little too comfortable about what happened. Evie, newly single, was going to care too much about her work friend’s nonexistent love life, emphasis on nonexistent. What happened when Jon caught on to what she’d implied?

“Forget I said anything. He probably isn’t going to show. I just met the guy.”

“And you’re very pretty. If you were a guy, I’d fly across the country for you after one meeting.”

“What makes you think I’d still look this good as a man? I did a lot of work over the years to look this good.” Viktorya twisted her hair on her finger in joking flirtation.

Evie groaned. “Take the compliment. I’ll open up.”

Viktorya took a chance on quickly looking through what the day had in store. Nothing dangerous, just normal patrons coming up to the desk, asking questions, occasionally flirting, but no Jonathan Hunter as far as she could tell. She could breathe easy.

“Good afternoon, what would you like to check out?”

“You. When does your shift end.”

Viktorya bit her lip. She enjoyed a corny line, and confidence. She met the patron’s eyes, and she realized why she didn’t see him in her visions.

Jonathan Hunter looked different with his hair pulled back, not bad though. The casual clothes—a looser shirt and jeans of all things—made for a different silhouette, but those eyes were just as hard to miss as before.

“You look different with your hair like this,” he noted, “And the glasses.”

“I could say the same to you, not about the glasses of course.” He didn’t seem to need them, lucky bastard.

“Your shift?” he asked, keeping the flirty tone.

“A few minutes remaining. Feel free to hang around until then.”

“I might.”

That went well, and he started off flirting. The ponytail, flirting… He was incognito. She wasn’t sure how many people would actually care about Gareth Shepherd’s head of security, let alone recognize him, but she benefited from her coworkers thinking she was a normal librarian like they were. She wasn’t going to break this ruse.

“Is that him?” Evie asked.

“Who?”

“The not-midnight kiss who’s supposed to come down this week. I saw you flirting.”

“Yes. It’s him.”

“You failed to mention he was gorgeous.”

“He looks even better with his hair down,” Viktorya added.

Evie squealed.

“Don’t draw his attention. I can’t have him thinking I’m desperate.”

“You haven’t dated in the whole time I’ve known you. How are you not desperate?”

“Self-respect. If I’ve been alone for this long, I can be alone for longer.”

Jon was looking at them. Did he hear what they said?

“Get back to your work, I’ll get back to mine. We have a few minutes left.”

“Fine.”

Jon walked her home in complete silence: No questions, no comments on the wildlife, not even the small muttering people do when they’re thinking about something important. Nothing.

Viktorya, meanwhile was thinking through excuses for when Jon saw the Wall of Destiny. It looked like a shrine, which wasn’t completely inaccurate, though devotion wasn’t the real purpose. It was all up there because otherwise the dreams were more frequent, and it was harder to sleep. If she woke up every morning to stare at that face, then whatever sent her the visions got the message that she knew about it.

Now Jon, who was all business and probably wouldn’t accept excuses to let his eyes off the suspicious thief, would see a wall full of sketches of his face right in front of where Viktorya ate breakfast. The chair had even been facing it this morning.

Maybe he’d just respond with the same silence he’d been using the whole way there.

They finally reached her building at least, so they were only a few minutes from the mortifying ordeal. Viktorya ignored the stares from her neighbors about silently bringing a handsome man to her apartment. They were never going to look at her the same way again, but it wasn’t like she cared how they looked at her before.

“I know this is a long-shot, but do you mind waiting outside while I grab the package for you?” she asked, “I promise I won’t take anything out.”

“Sure, go ahead.” he leaned on the opposite wall to further confirm.

“Wait, what?”

“Are you going to get the package?” he asked.

“I’m just a little bit surprised you trust a thief who stole something from you to now give it back.”

“Not from me, from Mr. Shepherd, and I have a special relationship with the princess if you recall.”

Right, not that Camille ever mentioned him.

“What exactly is the nature of that relationship?”

“Answers after I get the package.”

“Of course.”

She stepped in, grabbed it from the table, checked the contents like she knew what else should be inside, and returned.

“I promise I didn’t touch it after calling you. Well I moved it once or twice for convenience, but otherwise untouched.”

Jon nodded.

“This would be easier sitting down,” he said, “And I think I saw a coffee place on our way here. I’ll meet you there in a few.”

“Why can’t we go together?”

“I want a look at this without you in the room.”

“But a room full of strangers is fine.”

Jon didn’t answer, leaving her alone in the hall.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Vik?”

She may as well change if she had to give him a few minutes.

“You changed outfits.”

“I needed something to do with the minutes you two needed alone.”

His perturbed stare was enough to make her laugh.

“I usually change into something more comfortable when I get home from work anyways.”

“And paint stained.” he gestured at her shoulder. Sure enough, a big pink spot of paint on the otherwise white shirt. She must not have been paying attention.

“Hmm, so are we free to move on with our lives now?” she asked.

“Not quite.”

What on earth else could he want from her? He couldn’t possibly be interested, and even if he was, she couldn’t let herself be interested back. His special relationship to Camille made it morally impossible.

“What else do you need?” she asked.

“Confirmation,” he unhelpfully answered.

“Of what?”

“This package has nothing else in it, and went through the usual runaround to get to you by the wear and tear of it. Like I said before, the item was to stolen get Shepherd’s attention, so why send it back to you?”

“So you need to confirm either that I lied about being hired—doubtful with Senator Walter’s testimony of the drop-off—or why the only person my client is bringing your attention to is me.”

“Exactly.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“There’s a hotel across from your complex,” he pointed the building out to her, “And the room with the perfect view of yours is now reserved.”

“Creepy. Are you planning to stalk me until you’re satisfied?”

“Something like that.”

“And how many days is your employer going to let you stay?”

A flinch. She’d take what she could get.

“Mr. Shepherd leaves me in charge of my own schedule. I’m head of security, not just a bodyguard.”

“Of course not. What about that special relationship with the princess of thieves herself? It takes a lot to be special to her.”

He smirked. She realized she didn’t want to know.

“Actually, instead of answering that question, can you answer a different one?”

He leaned back nonchalantly.

“Go ahead.”

“Why don’t you care?”

“I care about a lot of things.”

“About me,” she specified.

“We’ve only just met, Ms. Renfield.”

Where did he learn her last name? He probably found it the same way he found her workplace. It didn’t matter.

“That’s not what I mean. I mean you’ve been a perfect gentleman: No rudeness really, no glaring in my periphery, nothing.”

“Would you like me to start?” he almost sounded apologetic.

“No. I just—I stabbed you. I stole an item of emotional value, and you’re acting like this is a weekend outing. I just want to be sure this isn’t how you act around women you’re going to murder.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

“I healed from the stab-wound, you’ve returned the item, the only thing unresolved between us is the kiss.”

“The kiss?” she asked.

The kiss she’d just talked about this morning. She narrowly avoided staring at his lips.

“It was a bit of a surprise,” Jonathan Hunter admitted.

“Well, I guess you have permission to randomly kiss me any time you want.”

What did she just say?

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.”

He stood up, offering a charming smile that made her want to burn alive.

“See you tomorrow.”

And he was staying in a room that could stare at hers.

“I’m closing my curtains.”

“That won’t do much.”

He was bluffing. There was no way he could just sense what was in a room that far away. Why would he choose a room where he could see her if he didn’t have to?

She did her best to ignore the fact Jonathan Hunter could be watching her right now while she changed out of her clothes. She grabbed a black nightgown with a blob of white paint she had to pull off the chest and put it on. It was hardly conservative, but she preferred something less scandalous than underwear when someone would be watching her.

She focused efforts on the wall of destiny, carefully pulling each piece down and placing them in a box. With any luck she’d stop being haunted by Jon Hunter’s face after this was over anyways, and she didn’t need him to know about it.

She glared at the curtain. Like it or not, with this many loose ends, she probably wasn’t safe. Jon Hunter could handle himself in a fight, and probably didn’t want her to die. She could live with a peeping tom in exchange for some protection.

She opened the curtains, offering a wave, though she couldn’t really see Jonathan from her current perspective. She was sure he was there, if only because there wasn’t anywhere else she could imagine him being. Maybe he’d gone back to the coffee shop. She flipped him off on the slight chance he was watching, then stepped away.

It didn’t even matter. Why should she care? What she really needed right now was to go to sleep, and ignore the idea of what all was happening. She’d already pressed her luck timewise on a sleep aid, which meant she was going to have a bad night.

Her dreams were hard to grasp, which was for the best. The ones that stayed were the truly dangerous ones.

When she opened her eyes, she was crying. There was too much going on to pinpoint a source because she couldn’t stop the tears long enough to think.

“Fuck.” she tried to wipe them away, but it only made it harder to stop.

“You really have fucked it all up, haven’t you,” a mildly familiar voice asked.

“What do you want?”

She heard a click, feeling a gun pressed against the back of her neck.

“Stand up.”

She climbed off the bed, still unable to see her intruder, but her tears were drying as a wave of apathy overtook her.

“To the bathroom. I think it will hurt more there.”

“A bullet’s a bullet no matter where it’s shot.” Her voice still sounded like she’d been crying. She didn’t really care.

“Cute line, now stand in front of the mirror.”

She walked to the mirror, and recognized the man behind her.

“You piece of—”

It was a vision, just a vision. She placed her hand on her forehead, then the back of her head. They weren’t usually this violent.

What was Jonathan Hunter bringing into her life?

Still shaking, she pushed up from the bathroom floor and walked over to the desk, not even bothering to turn on the light as her hands made the motions to create something just as confusing as the dream itself, though this one made itself pretty clear.

“There are slower ways to go.”

And who knew if the vision was reality or the feelings around it? It was usually the latter for her part, which meant she probably wasn’t going to be shot in her own bathroom, right?

She shook out her arms, and turned the light on to see the drawing, maybe the insight wouldn’t be what she expected.

Shorter hair. The Jonathan Hunter holding the gun had short hair.

“Probably a weird-ass metaphor.”

She didn’t see him as the kind to get anything more than a trim.