Courting Augustine (The Hawthorne's) by Bree Porter

Author:Bree Porter [Porter, Bree]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Augustine

The clue hadn’t exaggerated when it told us the smell would lead us in the right direction. My eyes watered with the stench, and I covered my face with the bedsheet while Soren used his shirt. It became pretty obvious where the next clue was when I took in the large barrel of–

“Fish guts?” Soren’s voice was muffled, but I understood him perfectly.

Beneath the tallest tree in the area, four massive barrels of chopped raw fish were filled to the brim. Judging from the smell, the fish had definitely gone off and hadn’t been refrigerated in recent history.

“I’m going to kill that fucking bastard,” Soren muttered under his breath as he rolled up his sleeve and pushed his arm into the first barrel. Moments later, he tore his arm out, a small piece of paper between his fingers.

Behind us, I heard footsteps nearing–other punchees who had figured out what Soren and I had.

Soren beelined straight for the water’s edge to wash his arm and I followed. He passed me the note over his shoulder.

When I’m hungry for peasant and quail, there’s only one place to go.

I’ll protect you from predators, but I’m no chateau.

The clue inside will make you the winner.

But beware of the potion that makes a sinner.

“Is there a hunting cabin nearby?” I asked.

Soren rose to his feet, and I passed him the clue. He scanned the words, but as he opened his mouth to say something, a dozen or so punchees broke through the silence and hissed as the stench hit their noses.

“This way,” Soren said quietly.

I followed him through the woods for a few minutes until we reached a small wooden cabin. Splinters rose from the porch, and I tip-toed over them. Inside was cool and clean, but there was an undertone of stink to the place that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Above two armchairs, a taxidermied bear head stared at me.

In the center of the room, a wooden table. One of the legs was broken, held up by a stack of books. A dozen or so red cups were laid out. Soren stepped forward to inspect them, but I grabbed his arm at the last second, pointing toward the crossbow that was holstered to the wall.

“Careful.”

Soren paused. “What do you think triggers it?”

I followed the wire to the table, up the stack of books. “It must have something to do with the cups.”

“Obviously.”

I assessed the cups. The liquids were all varying shades of the rainbow. None of them were particularly strange–most of them looked like juice or booze.

I rubbed my temple.

Beside me, Soren coughed.

We shared a look.

“The drinks are another decoy,” he realized, looking around the room. He coughed again. “Oh, shit. Let’s find the clue, there’s something in the air...”

I scanned the cabin. My vision blurred like a camera out of focus, sharpening briefly for me to see a small piece of parchment in the jaw of the bear. Carefully, I hurried over to it, careful not to trip the wire, snatching it from the beast’s jaw.

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