Chronicles of a Huntress

Chapter 5. "There're Gods and There's The Hunt."

Hey guys!

Chapter 5 is now up! Now, this is set in 1920's England so I'm still working on the dialogue to make it perfectly British. If there's any word or slang I've misused or that I forgot, please let me know!

Disclaimer: The title is inspired by one of BBC's Peaky Blinders' iconic lines. Also, I was slightly inspired by the tv series to come up with this plot so there's that too. Also, some of the characters here are of my own invention but the ones you guys already know belong to Rick Riordan.

Warning: There's some coursing here so reader's discretion is advised.

Please vote and comment! Cheers for reading!

Word count: 10,368.

Chapter 5. "There're Gods and There's the Hunt."

"There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken." - Leigh Bardugo, Six of Crows.

October, 20th, 1920.

The Hunting Trap Pub was jam-packed, its clients mostly consisting of middle class' men who wanted to enjoy a few pints after a hard day of work before heading home to their wives and children.

The pub in itself spoke of a grandeur hard to find in the post-war era. The booths lined up by the right edge of the room were made of red velvet, each of them attached to a round, mahogany table. Between them and the bar, equally round tables had been lined up, each of them surrounded by six comfortable, wooden chairs. Across the room, columns painted golden were supporting the entire structure. The counter in itself was a long, wooden board that ran across the left side of the room, large displays behind it containing every sort of ale available. By the center of the room, a chandelier hung proudly from the ceiling and the wooden floorboards had been covered by a black carpet.

Even though it was one of the most recently built in Brighton - actually one of the few built during the Great War - that pub was also one of the most famous, as its crew consisted entirely of women. Women who took no crap from anyone.

So, the clientele of The Hunting Trap quickly learned that if they wanted to continue attending that place, then they needed to behave according to the rules installed. And, to the surprise of the british society, it worked. Thus, while The Hunting Trap became quite famous across the entire region, even attracting men from higher status who dared showing their faces in that dodgy part of the city to see what the fuss was all about, the clientele was composed of men who - above everything -, wanted nothing but to chill.

On the day that concerns us, two gentlemen stood out from the usual crowd. Sure, their fine clothes and silver watches glimpsed from behind their dark coats spoke in a glaring manner of their economic status but if anything, it was their behaviour that brought the spotlight onto them. The two gentlemen, both wearing a silver ornate ring with the same crest, were lounging on two wooden seats as they played cards. Two half-empty pints resting on the table before them, their laughter was boisterous and confident as they carried on their game, equally oblivious to the growing irritation in their losing playmates. Oblivious, or simply non-caring.

Of course, their humble playmates could have left the table but really, it wasn't every day that they were visited by important members such as the newcomers. On any other day, the idea of going back to their families even more broke than they had left them would fill them with shame but there was a thrill associated to the idea of maybe, just maybe, winning a game or two against such remarkable individuals, that they had to stay. They just had to. Thomas and Harry Winkleman were two members of East Sussex's elite society. Being heirs to one of the most important' financial enterprises in Britain, the two brothers had been raised under the idea that, as they were privileged, there was nothing nor anyone that could refuse them. Hence, they'd grown to have no respect for anyone or anything who they deemed inferior to their status. As such, the privilege installed on them, so recurrent in their education, was so grand that there was nothing clearer to them than the idea of their own importance.

Behind the counter, Margaret Gray studied the two newcomers with growing suspicion. She'd been hired by the pub' owners, known as the Huntresses, when she was thirteen and had nowhere to go. When the Huntresses found her, her mother had passed away and her father had never been in the picture to begin with. After a few years helping with little, harmless tasks far away from the bar, she only began to work behind the counter when she was old enough. Currently, the twenty-year-old girl ran the place when the owners weren't around.

"Margaret?" a voice asked quietly, so hesitant that Margaret almost didn't hear her above the surrounding chaos.

Margaret turned her head towards Harriet, one of their most recent hirings. The girl had tied her ginger, long hair into a messy ponytail, but it did little to avoid the heat of working such a tiring job. As she stood besides her boss, her cheeks were flushed bright red and her hands were subconsciously gripping the end of her dirty apron. Her green eyes, however, were hard and filled with annoyance.

As she took the latter in, Margaret straightened suspiciously. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm really sorry but...see the two wealthy lads by the other side of the room? They're making me too uncomfortable." Harriet's cheeks were almost as red as her hair but still, she straightened with the pride of a woman who knew the treatment she deserved. "Could you take that table?"

Margaret spared the distant men one last glance before smirking. She stood before her co-worker and rested her hands on her shoulders. "I'd be delighted, Harriet. You're in charge of the register while I'm gone."

As the blonde bartender strode between the different occupied tables, the crowd gradually grew silent, expectant. In a way, it was a surreal image, for the sea of men - regardless of sizes, postures or upbringings -, to make way for a woman half their height. What regrettable thing, to have the respect you deserved to be directly associated by your gender or size but in truth, Margaret Gray had long overcome both restrictions. Like people who knew the rules of The Hunting Trap, they also knew that Margaret Gray was a force to be reckoned with. She was the embodiment of every value the pub stood for and if she decided you weren't abiding by them, then you better be ready to face the consequences.

By the time the woman stood before the new men, even they couldn't ignore the shift in the environment. They raised their eyebrows as the petite woman stood before them, their eyes unashamedly travelling down her figure but Margaret was undeterred. She smiled charmingly and allowed her eyes to drift down, studying their expensive, spotless dark blue suits. Their jackets and hats, which were carefully rested across the empty table behind them, were the exact same tone of blue. Their hair was perfectly styled, cut short as was the fashion.

Margaret refrained from smirking openly as she allowed the uncomfortable silence to grow. They were the embodiment of the arrogant, obnoxious high society she had come to hate, which only increased her fun.

"Since this is your first time here, I'm aware that you may have been misinformed, even if our rules do align with the costumes of proper society." Margaret's voice was smooth, her gaze piercing. She watched how the amusement melted off the newcomers' expressions and knew she had hit a nerve. "In The Hunting Trap, we do not allow men to mess with our waitresses."

"Harriet was her name, wasn't it? My brother Harry and I were looking to have some fun. Nothing you should concern yourself with, sweetheart." The older-looking man replied. As his brother reached towards the table for a cigarette, the man retrieved a bunch of neatly folded quids from his trousers. His gaze never leaving Margaret's eyes, he offered the money to her with a sickly smirk. "So why don't you fetch the lovely Harriet for us and let us have our fun?"

"I don't think you've heard me, sir." Margaret replied, her voice icy. She eyed the money as if looking at something filthy before looking straight into the men's eyes with contempt. "This pub is protected and owned by The Huntresses. Here, women are left in peace. Abide by those rules, or I'll be forced to show you the exit."

"Don't you know who we are, sweetheart?" the younger man, Harry presumably, drawled as he stood from his seat. His brother followed his cue, and the two of them towered over Margaret with a smug smirk. "We are Thomas and Harry Winkleman, girl. Tell us what to do one more time and we will have you fired in a second."

Margaret laughed. "If you need to remind everyone of the power you own, is it really as limitless as you think?"

Harry frowned, his cheeks colouring. "Listen you-."

"No, you listen." The woman replied, her voice no longer humourless. She straightened, her eyes harshening with deep hatred as the two men took a threatening step in her direction. "I am Margaret Gray. This is my pub. You are now threatening me and the rules of my pub, which dictate that clients are expected to respect its staff. Belt up or I will throw your arses out the door before you are able to further waste my time. Have I been clear, sweetheart?"

"Look, you filthy bit-," Harry growled, his large hand lurching forward to grab Margaret by the collar of her shirt. The men around them rushed to their feet in order to aid their beloved bartender, the clamor they were making louder than ever. Behind them, Harriet gasped and rushed around the counter, heading towards the quarrel fearlessly.

However, before any of them could put an end to the fight, the front doors were thrown open with a bang, and a curtain of sunset light poured into the room, blinding them all momentarily.

Margaret used the distraction to pull away from that ghastly man. She raised a hand, trying to cover her narrowed eyes from the blinding light but immediately dropped it, for the newcomers showed themselves.

Two women entered the pub first, standing by each side of the open entrance, her backs straight as if saluting the ones to follow.

When they did follow, they did so as a group. Their uniform was still the same. White shirts, black tailored jackets, black knee-length skirts, silver ties. Most of them had styled their hair into stylish bobs, though some were sporting braids or had even chosen to pull up their tresses into fashionable buns.

The group of women stood by the doors for a moment, eyeing the scene before them with equally disapproving gazes. Then, as if following a silent cue, they stepped aside to make way for the one who was clearly their leader.

Though in the same attire as her companions, the tall, brown-skinned woman sported a silver circle across her forehead. Even with that clear sign of leadership, though, what made her stand out were her eyes. So secretive, so cunning, so filled with determination and pain. She stood just before her group and studied the scene in silence, ignoring the way everyone fell into utter silence in her presence. As her eyes fell on the men threatening Margaret, who were still inching towards her too close for comfort, she scowled wordlessly.

As the brothers stepped away from Margaret, the young woman turned her dark eyes towards the crowd. Her voice was velvety, yet regal, as if she was a Queen addressing her servants. "All drinks are on the house. Leave. Now."

As all men rose to their feet in a rush, their heads bowing politely as they bypassed the young stranger by the door, Margaret took the opportunity to study the woman who was clearly the leader of the Huntresses, and the very one who recruited her all those years before.

Admittedly, she had seen Zoë Nightshade a few times over the course of her years, but because she tended to leave the surveillance of the business to her trusted companions, the most she had gotten had been glimpses of the mysterious woman. Still, Zoë Nightshade was one remarkable woman, and one Margaret could not forget regardless of the time that passed so the memory of her had been decidedly clear in her mind.

It was with that certainty that Margaret could see that in the seven years since she saw Zoë for the first time, she hadn't seemed to have aged at all.

Once they were on their own, Zoë stepped further into the room. A seamless force, her companions inched around the room, slowly surrounding the two men who were quickly realizing the extent of the mistake they had made. Her gaze never leaving the two men, Zoë gestured to Margaret and Harriet to step away from them. Then, she interlocked her hands before her frame and stood like a Queen about to dictate a sentence. "Now, it seems a chat is due between us. I do not expect you to know who I am, for I do not care whether you are aware of my identity. What I do need to know, is what gave you the idea that you could come here and display such moronic behaviour."

Harry gazed around him before glaring at Zoë, outraged at having been insulted so bluntly. "No person talks to us like that and lives to tell the tale. Now, you worthless wench, tell your servants to back off or I will."

"A bold choice, threatening me. A stupid one, of course, but a bold one. I will give you that." Zoë mused softly. She slowly walked around the two men, her voice dropping menacingly as she watched them like a predator watches its prey. The only sound besides her voice was the rhythmic thud of her heels as they resonated against the wooden floor. "You assume your money means something to us. You think money proves your power. You stand sure of the fact that your money gives you superiority over us, us who have had to survive so much you wouldn't be able to understand. It is laughable, in a way, the weakness you display in such a glaring manner. Still, you are examples of everything my sisters and I fight against. Obnoxious, privileged, chauvinist excuses of men. As Margaret told you, this sort of behaviour is not accepted here. I made that rule when we opened this bar and I haven't accepted any exceptions, regardless of the money offered. Please, do not imagine for a second that this case will go any differently."

"So, this is what you're going to do?" Thomas retaliated, smirking when Zoë finally stood before him. He took a step forward and towered over Zoë. "Scold us? Call our mommies maybe?"

"No," Zoë replied softly. She returned their gaze with confidence before she turned and gestured in Margaret's and Harriet's direction. "I'll have you apologize to my employees. Now, please."

Thomas sobered up at that. He inched even closer to Zoë, his obsidian eyes burning furiously as he clenched his fists. Around them, the women made a gesture to intervene but their leader raised a hand in restraint. Thomas ignored them and when he spoke, he was no longer amused. He was furious because at last, his male pride had been injured. "Do not mistake me for a man who listens to worthless women. You stand there and speak big words of a woman who has yet to know a worthy enemy that will teach you a lesson. Well, here I am and here is my lesson. You do not go against a Winkleman without facing the consequences and make no mistake. I will destroy everything you own, bitch."

"I am Zoë Nightshade, you fool," Zoë announced in return. She smirked as she noticed the reddened skin partly hidden by his collar. "You have no idea of how untouchable I am."

"Is that so?" Thomas replied before swinging his fist towards Zoë's face. Behind them, Margaret and Harriet gasped, as it seemed that Zoë had no chance of avoiding the attack. Then, they blinked and it was suddenly Zoë the one with the upper hand. In what seemed like the split of a second, Zoë had moved aside, grabbing Thomas's arm as he leaned forward, and twisted it into his back to restrain him. She then looked in her employee's direction with the naturality of a woman who was hardly surprised by anything. "Margaret, Harriet. Go to the back room, please."

"What, too much of a coward to let your girls see you for the violent whore you are?" Thomas laughed humorlessly as the two bartenders ran into hiding, accompanied by two of the women who had come in with Zoë. As they closed the door behind them, Zoë twisted his arm even further and Thomas gritted his teeth. "Do whatever you want with us. We Winkleman do not forget. We will hunt you down until revenge is ours."

"Do not mistake me for a woman you can hunt, boy. Your power will never be equal to my own," Zoë replied, her voice strangely laced with amusement. She forced Thomas onto the floor and, after making sure her sisters had the other man restrained, she turned towards her second-in-command. "Phoebe?"

Phoebe, who was leaning against the bar, left the pint she was nursing on the wooden surface. She spoke calmly, though the glint in her eyes spoke of how amused she was by the situation. "Yes, sister?"

Zoë forced Thomas to straighten, smirking when he grunted in response. "Tell me sister, for you manage to remain calm when I snap. Perhaps, now that I would have them punished, you would rather grant them mercy. Should we give these wonderful men a ride to the nearest police station? Or should we just send them off with nothing but a warning? Maybe a show of mercy will teach this family to raise their boys with some respect but then again, they seem to be particularly enchanted by the power their own privilege has given them."

"Respect for what? You?" Thomas intervened with a harsh laugh. He spit into the ground before sneering, "Do not make me laugh, love. You're undeserving of my respect."

"In that we can agree, Mr Winkleman. I am too superior to be worthy of the respect of a rat like you," Zoë snapped in return. She pushed Thomas's body harshly against the wooden boards until at last, his face was squeezed between the black carpet and her long palm. She then leaned forward until her thick lips were next to his ear, her black curls brushing against the side of his face. "And usually, I would not be this disturbed by your kind. However, you have managed to invalidate every ounce of mercy within me. And why would I spare you? You are the very personification of everything I loathe, after all."

Phoebe gracefully joined them, her head cocked as she knelt before Thomas. "I think these two are beyond saving, sister. Power has corrupted them, it seems."

Zoë nodded thoughtfully. "Corruption comes to us all one way or the other, it seems."

Phoebe eyed the silent Thomas before turning towards the restrained Harry who had been overcome with terror, if his wide eyes were anything to go by. "What are your orders, sister?"

Zoë kept her lips right besides Thomas' ear. "I know better than to think having the two of you nicked will teach you some respect. However, not unlike you, I have formed myself a reputation that discourages those willing to defy me. The difference is that I hold true power, not just the fickle power granted by money and blood. I will make sure this scandal is known throughout Brighton, and I truly hope it ruins the privileged image you've held so far. Maybe, you will remember this day then."

Having said her piece, Zoë straightened and nodded at Phoebe. "Take them to the station under the charges of public disruption. Make sure they know it's me the one who's sending them."

Then, she stood up and headed towards the back room, deaf to the chaos behind her as her sisters grabbed the two men and dragged them towards the front doors. She opened the doors to the backroom unceremoniously and regarded the two bartenders inexpressibly.

"I apologize for the scene, Ms. Nightshade," Margaret finally spoke shakily. Her usual tan skin was pale from the adrenaline and shock. "I usually manage to contain this sort of scene but-."

"This was not your fault, Margaret," Zoë cut her off gently. She eyed them again before sighing and gesturing for them to follow her. "Now, come. I believe there are some things I need to explain."

oOo

During the drive to a place only Zoë seemed to know of, the older woman asked Margaret and Harriet about their families, their prospects, and their responsibilities beyond their working life.

Just like Margaret, Harriet had no parents or siblings, her parents having died in a car accident when she was eighteen years ago. Now, at twenty years old, she had no one to support nor anyone who could support her, so she had taken a job at The Huntress Trap until she could save enough money to get proper housing and think of her future. Still, the world had continuously beaten her spirits. She had survived, yes, but her presence was small against a world that had not given her a moment of peace. It could be said that Harriet had steadily lost all faith in herself, as she had started to believe that she'd never be able to make her own dreams become true. Not even The Hunting Trap, a sisterhood defined by the safety it provided to all women working there, had managed to change that lack of faith.

After that the drive was quiet. Zoë kept her gaze forward, seemingly having found everything she needed to know about the women beside her. And they were on their own, as the women who hadn't left with the Winkleman brothers had been left behind to clean the mess caused by the quarrel. At last, Margaret' gaze couldn't help but drift towards the enchanting woman beside her as she had the first chance to study her ever since they first met one another.

Zoë's skin was of a rich brown, smooth except for the shadows of the scars that ran across her forearms and neck, all of them long ago healed. As she drove, she kept her gaze on the road but her posture was calm, even relaxed. Her long, black hair was braided and fell down the right side of her neck. Her left arm was draped across the seat, her long fingers almost grazing Margaret's shoulder. Still, there was something about the way she kept herself that told Margaret of how careful the woman was, guarded even. As if, no matter how peaceful she might be, she would always be watching her back.

It was only when they left Brighton that Margaret realized she had no idea where they were going. She exchanged a glance with Harriet, who sat behind her, before turning with concern towards Zoë. "Ms. Nightshade, where are we going?"

"After today's events, I'd say you two have earned the right to call me Zoë, Margaret." Zoë's voice was as calm as ever, only heightened to make herself heard over the wind roaring past their open vehicle. "We're going to our headquarters. It's time I show you who the owners of The Huntress Trap are."

Margaret and Harriet exchanged a nervous glance but refrained from commenting and, after a few minutes, they reached a seemingly abandoned warehouse near the docks. The three women climbed off the car and Margaret and Harriet looked on with trepidation as Zoë grabbed a key from her coat's pocket and crossed the uneven cobblestones towards a beaten wooden door beside a big, metal' roll door.

"Once our activities began to gain recognition," Zoë explained as she twirled the key into the rusty keyhole, "we were in need of both a place in which we could develop them in peace, and a source of money that would allow us to continue them without restrictions. This warehouse had been abandoned for decades when we found it, and they've been our headquarters ever since. The Hunting Trap was founded during a time few would have been able to compete with us, and it's given us the income necessary to continue with our duties."

"What are you, some kind of gangsters?" Margaret asked hesitatingly.

The door made a creaky sound as Zoë opened it, but she ignored it as she turned to smile at the two bartenders. "No. We're the Huntress of Artemis. Follow me."

"Artemis? As in the Goddess of hunting?" Harriet asked in turn, rushing to catch up with Zoë. Her skin, usually adorned with golden freckles, reddened when Margaret turned towards her with a bewildered frown. "What? I like greek mythology."

"Exactly her, Harriet," Zoë replied carelessly as she led them through the poorly lit corridor. She opened another door, this time a metal one, and moved to the side in order to allow the girls to enter what resembled an empty study. "I am Zoë Nightshade, daughter of Atlas and lieutenant of the Hunt."

Margaret's eyes widened as she remembered the strange feeling she'd been overcome with when she had first seen Zoë earlier that day "When I first saw you today, it seemed as if you hadn't aged a day since you recruited me. This has to be a joke, how can it be possible? What are you?"

"When a woman enters the hunt, she's also granted immortality. It is our mistress, Artemis herself, the one who takes their oath and gives them the gift of eternal youth. I was born in the ancient world, almost two thousand years ago." Zoë replied, her voice soothing as she noticed how her companions began to grow more and more alarmed. In that poorly lit study, also known as the perfect setting for a horror plot, Zoë rested her hands on either girl's shoulders and smiled calmingly. "Now, I know this is hard to believe but I ask that you let me show you what we do here before you form your opinions on it. This is our home, and it can be yours too if you guys are willing to give it a try. Will you give me the chance to explain?"

Margaret and Harriet exchanged a unnerved look before nodding slowly. As Zoë turned and opened yet another wooden door, the two girls gulped and prepared themselves for the sight behind those doors.

After a few seconds, Zoë had opened the door and they had walked through it.

What they found was nothing they could have been expecting.

Countless beds were lined up against either side of the long room, most of them occupied by women. Some of them were obviously injured, while others seemed to be struck by anguish or merely exhaustion. Kids ran around the place, going from the places their mothers were being cared after to the playrooms strategically placed along the room. Long tables had been placed next to another door by the wall to their right, which presumably led to the kitchens if the smell was anything to go by. By the roll-up doors to their left, a metal staircase rolled in itself and into the second floor, from which they could glimpse a wooden, sturdy closed door.

The room itself had once upon a time been a deposit, but it had since been remodeled with white and silver tones, and fireplaces had been constructed strategically throughout the room, so its heat counteracted greatly against the parky air typical of Brighton.

"Ever since I became the leader of the Huntresses, my objective has been to protect the women unable to protect themselves," Zoë explained as she began to walk past the different cots and groups of people talking, laughing, or discussing something with interest. Behind her, Margaret and Harriet walked in an awed daze. "Every member of our sisterhood has been assaulted, beaten, or sold. They have all needed to run away from men, and the Hunt became their escape route. I want our Sisterhood to be more than that. I want us to be an active force of change, able to help our gender even if we do not gain members as a result."

"They are all so young." Margaret breathed with awe, her gaze wild as it tried to take everything at once. Around them, the girls wearing the same outfit as Zoë nodded respectfully at their leader and gazed at the newcomers with interest.

"Age is relative, Margaret," Zoë chuckled without looking at them. "But yes, we all seem quite young. As you both know quite well, the world tends to remind us quite early that our gender has a role attached to it, with very specific responsibilities. I suppose I do not have to explain them to you, unfortunately."

"How long have you kept this shelter?" Harriet asked in turn, her thin lips turned into a grim line as she processed Zoë's words. Her gaze was more focused than Margaret's, focused on the women around her for, despite the stress and anguish their experiences had caused, there was also a relief seen in their postures and in the way they allowed their children to run around. She had seldom seen that relief in her daily life, and it astounded her.

"The kind of aid we offer mortal women has varied as society itself has changed," Zoë replied. As they reached the front of the deposit, she directed herself towards the metallic stairs. As she began to climb the flimsy steps, the noise seemed to drown all conversations around them. "A few decades ago, after the French Revolution, we realized not all women were interested in joining us. Of course, our goal has always been in helping, not in adding to our forces. It was with that acknowledgement that we began to set up shelters across the continent. Nowadays, this is our largest one, but our operations are still functioning across the entire European continent."

"What kind of operations?" Margaret asked. She and Harriet did not even have to exchange a glance to know they believed Zoë. Whether it was due to her serious personality or the determination displayed in the help her sisters and herself had offered, that they did not know, but they knew they trusted the huntress, and that was all that mattered. Even if said huntress was an immortal follower of a Greek goddess.

Zoë reached the top of the stairs and moved aside so her two companions could step into the landing as well. "We help women going through poor economic conditions or domestic violence insert themselves into a healthier, improved part of society. Mostly, we manage to get them respectable jobs, we function as a free medical' center, and we offer aid to abandoned or orphan children before putting them in contact with the authorities in charge."

"So you do all of this, without any sort of retribution," Margaret stated with a snort. She shook her head slightly as her gaze drifted below, towards the crowd. "As much as it impresses me, I find that hard to believe. There has to be something in it for you."

Zoë had moved to open the wooden door before them but, as she heard Margaret's words, she paused and turned towards the younger woman with an amused glint in her eyes. "I have seen the world change priorities time and time again. I have seen religions be born, and religions crumble into dust. All along, what hasn't changed is the difference of opportunities between those who have too much, and those who have too little. What hasn't changed is the inequality in the division of power. Doing our part to equal the scales, as small as our efforts might be, that's all the retribution we need. Now, please, follow me."

Without waiting for an answer, Zoë opened the door and crossed the doorway. The room had also been refurbished, and it seemed holding meetings was its purpose. A long, wooden table stood by the middle of the room, surrounded by a dozen cushioned, black chairs. The walls had been painted silver, while the floor was covered with pearl tiles. A small, dirty window occupied the wall behind the head of the table, through which they could glimpse the docks. No papers or documents had been left on the table, but a glass cup rested near the head of the table, drops of a caramel liquid remaining by its bottom.

It took the mortals a moment to realize the room was occupied. Margaret closed the door behind them before she and Harriet eyed the Hunters gathered with slight dread.

Yes, they knew these women were good people, but they were still thoroughly intimidating. Excuse them for being unnerved.

"Girls, sit," Zoë ordered Margaret and Harriet. She strolled towards the head of the table and rested her hands on its edge as she glanced at her sisters expectantly. "Well, sisters? What have we discovered about the two classy men who walked into our pub?"

At her right, Phoebe was lounging as she glanced at the almost empty glass with longing. Still, a shadow crossed her features as she replied. "Thomas and Harry Winkleman did not lie, they were part of one of the most influential families in Brighton. Their father owns one of the largest financial companies in the country."

Zoë, who had turned towards the sight behind her, faltered and faced her sister with dread. "What do you mean? 'Were'? What happened to them?"

"After you left, the two of them took out their guns and tried to shoot," Phoebe explained. She rolled her eyes with exasperation, though her posture stiffened as her leader sunk into her chair and covered her eyes wearily.

"Killed in self-defense, then. However, there were dozens of you, against two of them. How could you have failed to stop them?" Zoë demanded, her voice harsh as her eyes fell on her embarrassed sisters.

"They took their guns in the middle of the street, endangering the innocent passersby," Phoebe retorted hotly. "What were we supposed to do? Let them kill innocent people?"

"No, but you should have searched for any weapons before leaving the pub! We have lived in peace with the authorities for decades, decades in which they haven't bothered us while we carried on with our activities. We work under their radar and in return, they allow us to work in peace. Now, our entire operation is endangered!" Zoë yelled. She shot an exasperated look in Phoebe's direction before turning to her left. She straightened in her seat, but her right hand clenched into a tensioned fist. "Kamilla, what's our best approach now?"

"The family has already been warned and, though it is known to the public that the crime was committed in self-defense, they're still out for blood," Kamilla reported immediately. The lead strategist of the hunters had not changed much in the years since we last heard of her and not because of her immortality. She had a sort of ethereal features, the sort that seemed ageless, and assured her of her belonging regardless of the era she found herself in. As she sat around that table, she seemed confident of the spot she had been granted but more than that, she seemed well aware of who had granted it. As she leaned forward in Zoë's direction, it was clear her allegiance to her was unwavering. "The police has also been alerted, and they're organizing a crew to hunt us down as we speak."

"I thought the police were on our side," Katerina intervened with a frown. Her tan skin and dirty blonde hair, so fit for the warm climate of her birthplace, seemed uncharacteristic for a place as damp and cold as Brighton. "At least in Brighton."

"As much as Zoë insisted otherwise," Phoebe replied tightly. Her eyes avoided the Lieutenant as she turned towards her. "The police are loyal to the best bidder. We cannot compete with wealthy families...at least on that front."

"Perhaps. It doesn't matter, for we win in every aspect that matters. They are free to try if they want to hunt us, of course, but they will fail. All the others have," Zoë quipped arrogantly, her fists still clenched. She then nodded at Kamilla. "Have you managed to find out anything about the new Head of the Police Department? I know Chief Topher had been planning to retire and was replaced a few weeks ago."

"Chief Sanders served in France during the Great War," Kamilla replied. She relaxed in her seat, perhaps because of the feeling of success at being able to help her leader. "He's now in his late fifties, and has come to have little regard for justice. He doesn't hesitate before accepting bribery from several influential families in the area."

Phoebe nodded absently. "Good for the Winkleman Family, I suppose."

Zoë didn't bother turning towards her second-in-command as she rolled her eyes. "Katerina, you're our fastest huntress. I need you to go to the Police Department and deliver a message to Chief Sanders. I want him to know that I'll be waiting for him in Newhaven at the tea shop nearest to the train station. Tell him it's time for him and I to get to acquaintance one another."

Phoebe frowned. "I hope you're at least planning to have a second with you."

Zoë stared at her for the longest time, in which the two oldest in the Hunt were just having a silent conversation, the others looking on expectantly. Then, the Lieutenant turned towards the rest of her sisters again. "Just the two of us, and I hope he is aware that I will know if he does not comply. Katerina, make sure you are not seen."

At once, all of her sisters were joining in the conversation.

"That is ridiculous-." Katerina began.

"Zoë, I'm sorry but what about us? How can you expect us to stay behind?" Kamilla cut her off inadvertently. "We cannot stay behind and let our leader endanger herself!"

"This has to be the worst decision you've ever made," Phoebe quipped, shrugging when Zoë glared at her. "What? I'm sorry but it's true."

"It will never work."

All the hunters jumped in their seats, having forgotten they were not on their own. Then, they turned towards the two newcomers, who had been until then sitting by the opposite edge of the table in awkward silence. As she felt all eyes on them, Margaret flustered. Still, she kept her gaze on Zoë with a confidence she did not think she possessed at that moment. "Most coppers value money, that is the only source of power they know. And Sanders, I know him. Any ounce of mercy he might have had, he left it back in France."

"We have dealt with merciless men before," Phoebe retorted despite herself. "They've never meant a threat for us."

"He is different." Margaret shook her head. She took a deep breath, doubting whether she should continue but at last, she knew they would never understand unless she was as clear as possible. "And, by the sound of it, you've managed to be successful so far because you've avoided dealing with this sort of power. A group of powerful women can do anything they set their minds to, I agree with that completely but...this is different. An enemy is an enemy, but its power changes when the enemy is an entire system."

"We've outlived some of those too before," Kamilla intervened this time, though she seemed more intrigued than defensive.

Margaret nodded in agreement. "I understand that but this system is more settled into people's lives than the previous ones. While you stay in hiding, you're at an advantage. You carry on with your activities even if they bother him, but you don't give him any leverage on you. Now, if you make him become aware of your power and resources in England, if you make him aware of the fact that you're going after the families who support his own privileged lifestyle, and you'll find yourselves with much more inconveniences than what you bargained for."

As Margaret finished talking, Kamilla and Katerina turned towards Zoë, awaiting her decision. After a second, Phoebe followed their lead and raised an eyebrow in interest. "She has a point, sister."

Zoë's gaze never left Margaret but the younger girl could see she wasn't really looking at her. Being a clever woman herself, she could see that impressive woman was running thousands of thoughts through her head, trying to come up with the right decision for her and, most importantly, for her sisters. When she finally voiced her decision, she did so slowly, her focus still in her schemes. "It is something to take into account for the future. For now, we will carry on with the original plan. The Honourable Chief Sanders doesn't know us. Unless we want to lose the power we've had so far over the police of Brighton, then we need him to understand just how serious we Huntresses are."

Phoebe hesitated. "Perhaps but we would still become more public than before. There is a risk associated with that that we cannot just ignore."

Katerina nodded her agreement. "And while we've lived in this world for thousands of years, we aren't like them. If the system is different than the previous ones in the ways that matter, perhaps there is an integral part of their behaviours that we cannot comprehend."

"But if we don't admit our relationship to the crime committed, then they will go after some unsuspecting witness," Kamilla argued. "The Winkleman Family will want someone to blame above everything else. In that way, they haven't changed. And that threat is much more immediate than any other."

The three hunters turned again towards their leader, knowing that after much discussion, all they had to await now was for her sentence. As she felt their gazes on her, Zoë looked up with discontent determination.

"If they have changed, if there are things we do not understand just yet, then we will look into them in the future. But some things, some main aspects of their behaviour, have not changed. They are still after power. All of them. Power is still a major currency, after all." Her voice was gentle, and it left no room for discussion. "And of that, we have plenty. At the very least, there is a man we need to know. After that, we can decide whether we will make him our enemy."

"If he gets to you before you see him coming," Margaret warned. "Countless people will suffer. Maybe more than the ones that would pay the price of a crime they have not committed."

"I have lived to see nations rise and fall. Regardless of how changed the world is, that still counts for something." Zoë smirked as her hand unconsciously grazed the silver circle around her forehead. "A mere mortal would never be able to get to me. And the innocent? They do not have just me. They have an entire army at their service."

Phoebe snorted at that, her eyes glinting with cheeky amusement. "You do have a silver tongue, sister."

Katerina rose, already heading for the window in order to make a smooth exit and carry on her tasks as swiftly as possible. "Meeting adjourned?"

Zoë bowed her head. "We have a lot to do, sisters."

oOo

That day, Joseph Sanders had entered his office to find a note stuck to the wall behind his desk by a silver arrow.

According to it, he was to meet the leader of the Huntresses the following Tuesday at 10 am.

And so, Joseph Sanders had walked into the tea shop nearest to the train station in Newhaven exactly at 10 AM in that dreary, Tuesday morning.

Having served in the army during the Great War, he had become an impatient man, and an extremely punctual on top of that. When it came to the matters he found relevant to his job, he dealt with them in a diligent manner regardless of the effort he had to undertake. And, while meeting a woman was usually a circumstance completely irrelevant in relation to his job, this woman seemed to be in charge of the organization that had murdered two of Britain's most prominent young businessmen. More than that, she seemed to be the leader of an active organization that had gone undetected and undeterred by any of his predecessors.

After considering those facts, it took no time for Sanders to take the note hung on his wall with the seriousness it required.

So, when he looked around and took in the vacant tea shop, Sanders wanted to break something.

Not only was he supposed to treat a woman as a worthy threat but also, he was expected to wait for her.

What had the world come to?

Slowly, Sanders approached the empty bar, his eyes quickly diverting through the establishment as he located the exits in case of need. He refused to believe a woman could mean any sort of threat for him, but his wariness was something that had only been heightened while he fought in France. It would make him feel exposed, even virtually naked, walking into a strange place with no plan b.

The lavishness of the tea shop didn't fail to make itself noticed as he took in the establishment, though. Though he supposed the place was visited by female workers of the nearby fabrics and by the train' passengers in need of a quick refreshment before carrying on with their life, there was an elegance to the shop that couldn't be denied. Built mostly with cedar, the walls had been tapestried with green velvet, while silver details could be glimpsed across the corners of the panels.

Sanders frowned, his hand slowly going for the gun hanging from the strap around his waist. That shop was the newest built in Newhaven, so it was still fairly popular amongst all non-drinkers. It was a week-day, which meant a lot of workers were meant to be going on with their daily lives. More than that, the train schedule was normal according to what he had been informed.

It made no sense for it to be empty.

Sanders finally took off his hat as he reached the wooden counter. He held it in his hands for a brief moment before quietly resting it on the wooden surface. As he brushed a hand through his bald scalp, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter in a poor attempt of getting a peek past the slightly opened door that led to the back room. With impatience, he leaned back again and reached into the vest pocket of his dark grey suit. Retrieving the clock he was keeping there, he glimpsed at it and cursed.

10:02.

Sanders pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes.

The only thing that relieved him, as small as it was in comparison to the greatness of his shame, was that he was on his own. Refusing to believe he would need a team with him, he had gone and faced this unknown woman alone. Now, he had been fooled but well, at the very least, there were no witnesses to share the story.

"I see you found the place. Good job on that, Chief."

Sanders turned sharply at that. Across the empty room, a young woman seemed to have materialized out of thin air. She was clad in the same suit described to him by the witnesses of the Winkleman's murder, but she was wearing black pants instead of a skirt. Lowering her gaze once she caught Sanders' attention, the young woman crossed her legs in a relaxing manner before reaching for the steaming cup of tea on the table beside her.

Sanders was rendered into silence, as much as it pained him to admit, but the confidence of the woman before him was one he wasn't used to. Her hair, longer than it was fashionable, fell down her back in wavy, dark tresses. Her eyes were cunning, searching. Her forearms were carefully covered by the long sleeves of her white shirt but Sanders could see a few, lighter scars amidst her dark skin. Behind her, her black, wool coat and hat rested on another table, along with a small purse.

"Zoë Nightshade," Sanders finally mused. Leaving his hat on the counter, he walked towards the table she was occupying and sat in front of her. Without looking at her, he reached forward and poured herself some tea. "I thought you meant for us to be in the public for a reason."

"What makes you think we are not?"

Sanders raised his eyebrows and gestured around him vaguely. "Unless there is something I'm not seeing, I think the answer is rather obvious."

Zoë looked at him for the first time before gesturing towards the window to her right. "I reserved the establishment so we could speak freely. That does not mean we are on our own."

Sanders glanced at the crowd passing by the window, sometimes stopping to look into the establishment with curiosity. Then, he scowled. "What made you think there was a need for witnesses?"

Zoë laughed as she swirled her spoon around her tea. "I realize I seem young, Chief Sanders, but you must realize this is not my first time dealing with coppers."

Sanders reached for the cream. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you are suggesting we are not reliable."

Zoë took another sip before shaking her head. "I apologize if I wasn't clear. That was exactly what I'm suggesting. And, before you pretend to be offended, Chief Sanders, I must remind you that I'm no gullible woman. There is no need for false pretenses during this meeting."

Sanders leaned back on his seat and cocked his head with interest. His gray eyes studied the woman before him with scrutiny. "Well, if we are free to be blunt here, then I will admit I thought you were planning on setting a trap against me and my team when I saw the place was empty."

"You and what team?"

"Stick to the point, will you Ms.Nightshade?"

Zoë shook her head as she laughed quietly. "No, Chief. You don't know me yet, but I can assure you I have no need of a war between yours and mine. Besides, this is an introductory meeting. It would be against my principles as an honourable woman to go behind your back."

"Forgive me but I was not aware that murderers have honour." Sanders was calm as he spoke. Ignoring her piercing gaze, Sanders turned towards the empty bar, from where he could glimpse colourful treats spread in silver platters within the crystal shelves. "If we are to discuss business, I must say I'm disappointed at the lack of staff. I work more efficiently when...encouraged enough."

As he uttered the final words, he turned to appraise Zoë. In turn, Zoë regarded the man before her silently, her features schooled into polite indifference. Then, she pushed her chair back before standing up and marching towards the counter. She jumped over it gracefully and took one of the displays filled with a variety of pastries. Finally, Zoë marched back towards the table and towered over Sanders. "Take your pick."

Sanders looked up at Zoë with surprise before shaking his head and chuckling lowly as he grabbed the first one he could get his hands on. "I must admit that when I first heard I was supposed to deal with a gang composed of women, I was not impressed. However, it seems I just might have underestimated you. You have a steel demeanour I have yet to encounter amongst other criminals."

"I understand that coppers tend to label people who go against their agenda as criminals but I can promise you that's not what we are. I am not the leader of a gang, Chief Sanders. I'm merely a woman with influence." Zoë took her seat once again and poured herself some more tea. Then, she nodded at the policeman almost innocently. "Just like the families who have bought you into submission."

Sanders faltered at that, his features dropping from polite amusement to barely hidden rage. His skin, so frighteningly pale before, was now reddened, blotches of red splattered down his neck. "Whatever influence you possess, it does not matter. I shall not accept such outrageous accusations, and from a woman of all people! Let's get straight to the point, Ms. Nightshade. I know for a fact it was your gang, this Huntresses I hear so much about, the ones responsible for the murder of the Winkleman Brothers. If you want to dream of any possible agreement between my force and your gang, you will surrender those responsible for it."

Zoë studied the small man before her, her gaze carefully shielded as she looked him up and down. "My sisterhood is not to be threatened by you, Chief Sanders. You would be wise to remember that."

Sanders' pale lips curved into a sneer. "Only a criminal would think the idea of justice means a threat to their agenda."

Zoë straightened, for the first time allowing anger to shine in her obscure eyes. Her posture was still relaxed, almost lounging in her seat, but her hand clenched tightly below the table. "You speak of justice as if it was an absolutely pure idea, as if your force was the embodiment of it. You speak of justice as if the force behind it - the police, theoretically - could not be corrupted. You speak of having my sisters pay for the crime they committed in self defence. Tell me, these innocent men you seek to avenge so desperately, were they just as well? Haven't they endangered countless innocents, all of them lives that do not matter to you or your own because they aren't rich enough to buy your concern?"

When the man before her only reddened further, Zoë scowled indignantly. "Are these the coppers I'm supposed to trust with my sisters' lives? Are the coppers only interested in defending those who can afford them? Tell me, honourable Chief Sanders. Am I supposed to surrender my sisters to the justice of a corrupt man?"

"You speak of justice as if it depended on mortal men. Justice is a holy system, above the power of any man. Or woman."

"I told you before. I'm no gullible woman. You do not need to attempt to gaslight me. I will not fall for it."

Sanders snorted, his shoulders dropping as Zoë only met him with challenge. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged a shoulder as he gestured vaguely with his right hand. "Enlighten me, then. You refuse to surrender to our justice. You refuse to be clear about your intentions. You clearly do not mean to aid my force. Why have you summoned me here?"

"Despite my many differences with you and your own, I have always managed to reach peace with you. You allow us to conduct our activities in peace and in return, we do not brew chaos. With the change in leadership amongst the police officers, I do not want this situation to cease."

"I suppose you have a few terms in mind."

"What makes you think that?"

"The fact that it would be absurd for us to meet otherwise."

Zoë smirked at that.

"Not absurd. Not urgent, I would say." When Sanders didn't reply, Zoë leaned forward in her seat. "I want my sisters to be pardoned. Their crime was nothing but an act of self-defense and I want it acknowledged by you as such. The Winkleman brothers were the ones to threaten innocent bystanders with guns. I want that information to be public."

Sanders nodded with impatience. "I assumed those were part of your terms. Anything else for me to consider?"

Zoë didn't hesitate. "While you stand as Chief of Police in Brighton, I want your promise that the women charged receive a fair trial. Your contempt of my sex has not escaped my attention, Chief Sanders. I will not stand any questionable behaviour against women. Not even from the Chief of Police."

Sanders' laugh was booming, deafening after being surrounded by silence for so long.

Zoë remained motionless as it carried on, not even blinking. At last, the man quietened again, his lips still teasing a smile. "Well, that's just ridiculous. It is a pity, Ms.Nightshade, for I was beginning to take you seriously."

"The world is changing, Chief Sanders. Believe me, I know more about it than you could ever imagine. You need to decide. Either move forward with the world, or be left behind. Forgotten."

Sanders' gaze dropped in a menacing manner. "Careful, now. That sounds like a threat."

Zoë Nightshade, as regal as she was, found it in herself to roll her eyes. "I'm aware small men think everything revolves around threats. It isn't one, Chief Sanders. It is a fact. As simply as that."

Sanders eyed the young girl sitting before her with disbelief. He knew better than to still think the woman before him was joking. He had seen that kind of determination before, usually in the eyes of his leaders back in France. More than that, he had studied her, and had quickly come to realize that Ms. Nightshade was no ordinary person. If it wasn't for the absurdity of the thought, Sanders could even doubt she was human.

Zoë returned his stare calmly, her eyes undeterred by the man others deemed as intimidating. He might have the advantage of being part of a society she would never completely understand but that wasn't enough to unnerve her. She was free, in a way the small man before her could never be. He would always be tied to the needs of those more powerful than him, because his job was directly interlinked with them. In a way, that made her more powerful than him as well. And that filled her with calm confidence.

Sanders finally snorted disbelievingly. "Do you actually think you can go against the agenda of Britain's high society? Do you actually think your childish morals and foolish sense of pride can hope to go against the resources of the powerful? Do you actually think they would allow it?"

Zoë didn't even flinch. "It is okay if you cannot dream of a more equal world, Chief Sanders. There are those who still can."

Sanders blanched, suddenly overcome with fear. He thought of the other prominent families in Brighton alone. The Waheys and their Empire of lumber. The Fairchilds and their chain of shops around the entire country. The Spencers and their trading company. Between them, they had enough money to buy a small country, let alone stop a mere woman and her bunch of misfits. Zoë Nightshade had to be maddened, there was no other explanation. "They will never approve of it. Even if you and I form an agreement, they still have more than enough resources to stop you."

Zoë smiled serenely, almost as if she had been expecting such an answer. "At last, I see what is in your heart. Fear. After France, I would imagine a soldier would not cower under the power of those financially strong. If I had expected otherwise, I would have been disappointed."

Sanders leaned forward at that, banging his fist on the table with strength that would have shocked anyone but the very woman sitting there. Deep inside, he was starting to see he needed to be afraid of the leader of the Huntresses and it unnerved him more than anything. Not fear of a woman, never of a woman.

His voice came out like a raspy whisper, too enraged to think straight. "This is a dangerous game you're playing, girl. People with all kinds of influences will turn against you."

"They can try, of course. They will fail, though. All others have."

Sanders scowled. "You need to surrender yourself and your sisters to us. It will only get worse if you don't."

"That almost sounds like a threat, Chief Sanders."

"Believe what you will, girl."

Zoë cocked her head arrogantly. "You make a great mistake by underestimating us, sir. I'll make sure you see that for yourself before too long."

"And you make a mistake by underestimating them, girl."

"Am I?"

Sanders banged his fist against the table again. The redness that had began spreading down his neck had now spread completely. Small beads of sweat could be seen on his temples and rolling down his neck and into his collar. "They will attack you, in more numbers than the ones you're ready to face."

"They will attack, yes, and we will defend ourselves, in numbers far greater than those you imagine. Then, we will retaliate," Zoë whispered, her eyes filtering around the room as she cleaned her hands with a napkin. Then, she stood up and grabbed her coat and hat. She had heard enough.

Before the shocked policeman could retaliate, the regal huntress turned towards him. "Please, make sure you pay the staff for the food and the tea you've consumed. I'm sure you can spare some of the money given to you by those you fear. Good day, Chief."

She exited the shop without looking back, stalking down the street before Sanders could follow her. It was only when she made a sudden swerve towards a vacant alleway that she slowed her step. At last, they stopped when she was halfway down the narrowed corridor. Unmoved by the intense stench coming from the garbage bins beside her, she neared them. "I thought I was to come alone."

The voice that replied came from above her. "You said no sisters of yours were allowed to come. You didn't say anything about those still deciding whether to join you."

Zoë looked up, throwing Margaret an unimpressed glance. "I thought it was implied."

Margaret was perched on a filthy balcony a few feet above the ground. She smirked. "You thought wrong, all due respect."

Zoë rolled her eyes before walking back towards the entrance of the alleway. "We need to go back. There are plans to be made."

"Did it work?" Margaret managed to ask with a grunt as she began the climb down.

Zoë shrugged. She stopped walking as Margaret joined her. "Yes. And no."

Margaret gasped for air as she dropped her hands to her knees. She looked up at Zoë with narrowed eyes. "Care to explain?"

Zoë studied the group of houses across the street. There seemed to be no spies waiting for her. Still, she couldn't be careful enough. With a gesture, she nodded at Margaret to follow her as they went back towards the end of the alley. As they reached the brick wall that stood between them and a secluded street that would lead them straight to their car, Zoë reached for her purse. Magically, she pulled her quiver and a coiled length of rope.

"Wow," Margaret breathed as she stared at the rope.

Ignoring her, Zoë gracefully climbed towards the balcony Margaret had been waiting for her on. She tied one end of the rope to her arrow and the other to one of the cement beams of the balcony. Then, she aimed at the nearest building behind the wall. "I needed to see for myself who this new Chief of Police was. That's why I went. Sanders is weak, dependent on those who pay his wages. That makes him dangerous, but not invincible."

"But they are still after us," Margaret protested, widening her eyes as she realized what she'd said. "Sorry, I didn't mean-."

"I know exactly what you meant. And yes, they are still after us. It turns out we will need a plan B, just like you suggested." Zoë shot in a swift manner, looking down at Margaret as the rope hung beside her, tense as a wire. "Are you coming?"

oOo

It'd be a lie to say Sanders had been intimidated by the words of the leader of the Hunters.

Or at least, it would be only after Sanders managed to convince himself Zoë Nightshade was full of mischief and treachery. Of course, that spoke of her superior intelligence but it didn't worry him. It hadn't been the first time he'd encountered an intelligent woman, after all. And, while intelligent, that didn't make her undefeatable.

Still, Zoë's words had sunk within him, shadowing his every thought, tainting the little calm he managed to achieve late at dusk when all work was done and he was free from his duties until the next day. It begs to say that during the day it was easy to deflect those thoughts. He was a busy man, after all. It was when he laid down in bed, his eyes closed, that trouble came. It was just before he drifted into the land of dreams that her words came back and there was nothing he could do to avoid them.

If Sanders could point out anything positive out of his time in France, that would be his new-found impatience for games. Sanders had seen what war makes to a person, after all, and he had experienced it for himself. The constant dread, the constant threat breathing down his neck in a warning that never seemed to materialize until it was too late had made Sanders a vicious, desperate man. Desperate to live his life free from games, smooth words or pending wonderings.

While he still deemed a woman as too weak and inferior to play the game of power, he still had studied his opponent enough to know she wouldn't be undeterred by anything he had the power to do. She would attack, and she would do so in a manner that hurt him the most.

Now, the question was how. Taking into account his many responsibilities, burdens, and fears, Sanders wondered which of them had become the target of Zoë Nightshade.

Just like that, he felt he had become the subject of a game. A game that left him completely powerless as he knew nothing of its rules, its players or its length.

When, and where, would it end?

It was that wondering, that feeling in his gut, that threat breathing down his neck that tortured him just a little bit more as the days passed, while also filling him with violent anger and the determination to solve this once and for all.

The move he had been dreading was made a week and a half after Sanders' meeting with the Huntresses.

The station sent him a telegram while he was still at home, getting ready for the day's work. He cursed as he read the message before throwing the telegram into the fire and snatching his coat and hat from the coat rack by the door. He left his breakfast untouched on his table and rushed out of his house and into the damp morning. It was with a heavy heart that he drove hastily towards Winkleman Insurance Company.

He was received by two of his officers, who had been taking the testimony of the employees. They led him downstairs, towards the underground level which also served as the high security' chamber. There, the titanium vault in which the family's riches were kept awaited for his inspection.

A very angry Mr. Winkleman received him with a piece of smooth, yellowish parchment. Sanders took it with hesitant fingers and put on his glasses. Then, he opened the folded paper and narrowed his eyes at the elegant scribble.

Whether by our words or our actions, you will listen to us. - T.H.

Sanders looked up and dared a glance in the direction of the opened vault.

Completely empty.

Withholding a sigh, he turned towards one of his officers.

"Put me in contact with Zoë Nightshade."

oOo

"I wished I could have seen their faces when they noticed the empty vault," Phoebe laughed as she sank on her seat. She swiveled in her chair, the walls of their headquarters' meeting room spinning out of control around her. After a few twirls, she sunk her feet on the floor before taking a deep gulp of the whisky bottle she was carrying. Then, she passed it blindly to Kamilla, who sat beside her, and smiled at Zoë. "Tell me what Sanders said to you."

"I have told you countless times already, sister."

"You are no fun."

"I'm appalled at your accusation." Zoë deadpanned. Still, she couldn't help the smile as Phoebe snorted, already reaching for the bottle again. "And easy with that. Immortality will not prevent you from getting plastered, as you well know."

Phoebe cursed at her in ancient greek before pouting when Kamilla snatched the bottle out of her hands. "You would think it would. Immortality should have been the answer to all of our mortal, weak physical needs."

"When you wake up with the mother of hangovers tomorrow," Kamilla intervened, pausing to take another swig. Then, she passed it across the table to Katerina before Phoebe could reach for it. "You remember that."

"Hilarious," Phoebe stated drily, rolling her eyes when Katerina and Kamilla cackled gleefully. With a begging glance, she turned towards Zoë. "Sister, today we celebrate. Tell us what that small man said!"

Zoë couldn't help the smirk that graced her lips. Despite being their fearless, cool leader, Zoë had to admit that victory felt sweeter than most in their record. After what had been weeks of tense meetings and almost obsessive preparations, Zoë had felt ready to carry on their operation. With the help of both Margaret and Harriet, who actually belonged to that period, the Huntresses had managed to sneak into the vault without raising any alarms. It was only the next morning that the Winkleman had realized what had happened and, by then, the Huntresses were once again in hiding.

The rest of the deal had been easy. Zoë had dealt with Chief Sanders, and had found the man much less arrogant than before, even if he was just as small. And, just like that, it was over.

For the moment, at least.

Maybe they would wake up the next morning to find that war had been declared on them. Maybe they would celebrate all night, lower their guards and say loose for once. Maybe they would wake up messed up and exhausted to find the struggle had only begun.

It didn't matter.

After years, decades, centuries, in which all they had done was fight for their rights, for an equal place in a world that belonged to all, they needed to savour that victory. They needed to feel the satisfaction and know that, even if they gained nothing out of their work it was still worth it, for they were making change.

"After a long, hearted conversation with Chief Sanders, we've come to a fair agreement. Our interests are now top priority for the Police Department of Brighton. As for the Winkleman's money, we are holding onto it for a week. Provided we see progress made when it comes to the needs of vulnerable women and children, we will give it back untouched."

Kamilla nodded approvingly before a sudden thought made her shrug. "He could still go against his word, though."

Katerina frowned. "What do you mean?"

Kamilla smiled in thanks as the bottle was once again given to her. "After we give the money. They could decide they are not willing to keep peace between us and go behind our back...and we would no longer have any leverage."

Zoë sunk into the leather of her chair with a sigh. "We will have to keep a close eye on our new allies, of course, but Chief Sanders doesn't strike me as a man who would betray those who outpower him. Besides, it would be very easy to gain leverage over our opponents...should we need to."

"What about Margaret and Harriet?" Phoebe suddenly changed the subject. Just then, faint music reached them from the ground floor. Her gaze turned longing but she still managed to shake her head and regain her train of thought. With a furrowed brow, she at last turned towards Zoë. "Are they joining the Hunt?"

Zoë shrugged. She snatched the bottle before it could reach Phoebe and downed the last of its contents. Then, she smiled cheekily at a pouting Phoebe. "I don't know, sister. I do hope they decide to join us, though. There are some aspects we need to consider, now that we seem to be no longer at immediate risk."

Katerina was drumming her fingers against the table in time with the music reaching them from downstairs. Still, she spoke with the gravity the conversation required. "I understand your concerns, Zoë, and I share them but...what can we do? We are used to fighting every odd presented in our way but with the passage of time, what can we do other than resign ourselves to it?"

Zoë left the empty bottle on the table, making it spin before leaning back again. "We four are the oldest in the Hunt, so we know how things have developed. I'm a firm believer that we need to keep our memory fresh if we are to avoid previous mistakes. With us, and all the sisters that have joined, I think that has been accomplished. But when you come to realize, we have lost too many of our sisters. Whether in battle or by their own decisions, our numbers have depleted and we have not bothered to do something about it. Meanwhile, the world has changed, in ways directly related to the behaviours of the new generations. We have stayed the same, and that is unacceptable."

"And you think that would improve if we took new members?" Phoebe asked.

Zoë nodded. "We have not taken new members since before the French Revolution. We have become an elite, instead of an option for women in need of a safe place. I think none of this is a coincidence."

Katerina sighed, her gaze on the bottle by the center of the long table. "It's sort of sad. That we are the four oldest in the Hunt."

In front of her, Kamilla nodded sympathetically. They still remembered Katerina's twin, Sophia. They still remembered Maya. They still remembered every sister that had left for Elysium. "We are the only ones remaining from the Ancient Greece' Era. It is daunting that we have survived so many years."

Phoebe nodded in agreement, her head down in thought. After a moment, she raised a hand as if she was ready to toast. "Here's to a thousand more years with my sisters."

Zoë smiled softly as she mimicked her gesture. "And to as many adventures."

Kamilla followed their lead while Katerina shook her head. "This is ridiculous, we are doing an imaginary toast. We need an actual drink."

As the group laughed, a sudden burst of silver light filled the room, blinding them momentarily.

"I've heard of your recent victory, girls. You deserve to celebrate as grand as you desire."

At once, the four girls stood from the chairs and bowed their heads to their Mistress, who had materialized herself into the room.

"Thank you, My Lady." Zoë was the first to straighten. She nodded respectfully at Artemis before leaving her seat and offering it to her. "We feel as if we are making an actual difference and it fills us with satisfaction that we are being heard."

Artemis nodded her agreement as she made it around the table towards the seat Zoë had offered. Her silver hunting dress contrasted dramatically against the dark tones of the meeting room, yet it only served to enhance the goddess' beauty. As it was her usual, her auburn hair had been braided and it fell down her back next to the leather quiver that hung across her back. Her forehead sported a golden circle with a medallion shaped like a crescent moon resting on her forehead. "I hope these mortals will respect the Sisterhood from now on, Zoë. The gods do not interfere in this sort of matters, I'm afraid, but that doesn't mean I can't pull some strings if my girls are threatened again."

Zoë nodded her appreciation, her lips sporting a small smirk. "That's good to know, Lady Artemis."

Ever since their victory against Orion and the beginning of their alliance with the Amazons, Artemis had worked in closer contact with her surrogate daughters, therefore becoming one of the most sensible deities when it came to mortals' welfare. There were still monsters to be hunted down, for sure, and while Artemis still found pleasure in hunting them with her hunters, she had come to enjoy becoming involved in her girls' daily activities, often bringing them new girls or tipping them off about new female demigods in need of assistance.

Zoë walked down the right side of the table and dragged the chair next to Katerina away from the table in order to sit down. She shook her head when both Phoebe and Katerina offered her chairs and set her eyes on Artemis. "Tell me, my lady. Is there anything you need our assistance in?"

"Actually, there is." Artemis leaned back on her chair and set her bow on her lap before sighing. "I am afraid I have some unsettling news, girls."

Phoebe exchanged a weary look with Zoë. "What is it?"

"I came straight from a meeting at Olympus," Artemis replied bluntly. That was the perk of having Artemis as their Mistress; she would never sugarcoat things in a futile attempt to spare anyone's feelings. It meant that, while they never avoided the hardship of a particular situation, they did manage to avoid wasting time.

Still, the situation at hand seemed different, graver. Her feelings were carefully concealed but after thousands of years working together, Zoë could see through any wall or barrier her mistress tried to place. And then, as the goddess tried to explain herself, Zoë could feel her anger, frustration and anxiety almost as if she was feeling it herself.

For some reason, it told her everything was about to change.

Then, her lady continued talking.

"As you know, us gods like to relocate everything we've dragged with us from the Ancient Age as the center of the world shifts. In a way, we shift as the world does. Since the Industrial Revolution, the center has been in Great Britain, so here's where we've been. Now, we can feel the tides of the world changing yet again. A new territory is arising, more powerful than England or any of the places we've been before. We'll be moving there soon."

Zoë stiffened but forced herself to pull herself through her shock as she noticed her sisters freezing around her. "Where to, My Lady?"

Artemis looked at Zoë with weary eyes. "We're moving to America, Zoë. Before too long, we'll have to relocate in the United States."

"America?" Kamilla was aghast. "The new continent? We've never crossed the ocean! We don't know that territory! How are we going to get there? If Lord Poseidon decides to strike us down while we cross the ocean, we're not going to have much chance of surviving, even those capable of swimming!"

"I have already reached an agreement with Poseidon," Artemis replied calmly. Still, Zoë didn't fail to see how the goddess clenched her bow even more tightly. "In exchange of hunting down any monsters in the New World willing to threaten his rule in the seas, he'll grant us protection during our journey across the Atlantic Ocean."

"But our sisters," Katerina whispered. She turned towards Zoë with a burdened expression. "They have become attached to this place. We cannot move them across the world without their permission."

"Katerina is right, Zoë," Phoebe agreed. All signs of her inebriated glee seemed to have evaporated. She turned to look at Zoë with a grim expression. "Once we leave, we won't be able to come back. We've been able to visit all the other places we've been before - France, Rome, Greece -, because there was no big ocean separating us. Once we leave, it will be too dangerous to cross the ocean again."

Zoë nodded at that, her lips pursed as she lightly tapped her fingers against the wooden table before her in a thoughtful manner. She thought of everyone they had met and lost on the continent.

Sophia, Maya, Kallisto.

And so many others, a list too long for her to go over.

She thought of the allies they had made and lost in battle or due to old age. Hippolyta and all the other Amazons that came after her.

How could they depart from their history so easily?

How were they expected to leave everything they knew without hesitation?

After a few moments, she looked up at Artemis. "How long do we have, my lady?"

"It's hard to say, Zoë," Artemis replied with sympathetic eyes. "The Fates seem to be expecting another major event in the world that will consolidate America's power. They did not want to offer us gods more details, not even when Zeus pressed on."

Zoë nodded, unconsciously biting her lips. "What about my girls, then? Am I free to offer them a choice?"

Artemis smiled at that. "We have discussed this before. When it comes to your sisters, you can offer them anything you see fit. You're their lieutenant, after all."

Zoë took a deep breath before rising from her chair and straightening. "I know what to do, then. Will you lead us downstairs, my lady?"

For all response, Artemis raised from her chair as well, followed by the other hunters, and made her way gracefully towards the door. "Follow me, girls."

Margaret and Harriet had been chatting with interest with some of the hunters when the doors to the meeting room opened, and Lady Artemis herself exited them, followed by the highest ranking hunters.

Margaret and Harriet hurried over to the front of the gathered crowd, not needing to ask who was this beautiful woman in silver as they noticed the hunters kneeling down out of respect for their lady. The two mortals looked at each other with wonderment before following the women's lead.

As Artemis stood in the middle of the makeshift circle with Zoë, the other three joining the crowd, Margaret and Harriet could only stare at the goddess before them, in awe of how normal, yet how clearly supernatural she was. With her hunting dress, her leather vest, her feet clad in sandals and her tight braid falling down her back, Artemis was exactly like statues and pictures described her, yet nothing like it. In a way, to them Artemis was the creature with the most life they had ever encountered. Her aura shone bright, even brighter than Zoë's or Phoebe's.

"Good evening, girls," Artemis greeted with a genuine small smile as her hunters rose to their feet. "I hope you're having a wonderful celebration for your most recent victory."

Artemis' last words were lost in the chorus of loud cheers coming from the hunters gathered, who clinked their bottles filled with all kinds of alcohol with a smirk or laughed as they pushed each other playfully. Behind Artemis, Zoë shook her head with amusement and fond exasperation.

"Now, I've come here to deliver some news," Artemis continued once the chaos died down. She then turned and nodded at Zoë. "I will let your lieutenant share them with you, as there is a decision you will all need to make before too long."

Zoë nodded at Artemis with respect before turning towards her sisters. She took a few steps forward in an authoritative manner, and before too long she found herself in the perfect middle of the makeshift circle.

Margaret glanced around her, noticing how all of the women standing besides her and Harriet waited expectantly for what their beloved leader would say. The two of them had heard many good things about the woman in charge of that sisterhood. Tales of her history, her pain, and how she had used her family's and friend's betrayal to make a new future for herself, a future in which no woman had to go through what she had been through.

To live for thousands of years, watching the world rise and fall time after time, that prospect and the idea of an endless life only meant torture for Harriet and Margaret. Watching everyone they knew die, befriending people from all over the world while knowing that sooner or later they would pass away while they stayed as unchanging as ever...they couldn't imagine the amount of pain implied, a pain some of the women around them had actually gone through.

To live for the rest of the world's days, that meant accepting how fickle humans' life actually was. Accepting it and not being able to do anything about it.

Still, Margaret and Harriet didn't have anything waiting for them in their mortals' lives. They knew their life had been following a dead end path for years already. The world revolved around connections, money and power. Having none of the three, it seemed as if the two had been waiting for an opportunity to fall on their lap. Something, anything that would make their lives about something more than mere survival.

The opportunity had finally been granted onto them.

The invitation to join the Hunt had been given.

All left to do was listen to the Sisterhood's leader.

"My sisters. I come to you with important news," Zoë declared. She slowly turned around in her spot as she spoke, making sure she locked eyes with all of her sisters. "The decision Lady Artemis refers to is one we hunters have taken every time the world has shifted and the power has turned to some country or the other."

"Are we leaving England, Zoë?" asked one of the hunters who stood near the two mortal girls.

Zoë turned towards them and locked eyes with Margaret and Harriet for a moment before nodding at the hunter. "Aye, Beau. We do not know exactly where, but it is clear England isn't going to be the center of the world for much longer. Before too long, we'll move to the United States."

"The United States?" echoed yet another of the hunters. "How are we supposed to continue our work here if we cross the ocean? How will we be able to even make it back here?"

"That's the thing. Once we leave, our numbers will be needed in America. We won't come back." Zoë replied, rolling her eyes when whispered concerns and comments echoed around her. She walked towards the hunter who had asked that question and placed her hands on her shoulders. "Nina, do you think I'd actually force you to move? Do you think I could do that to my sisters?"

When Nina shook her head silently, Zoë turned towards the others, her arms raised as if asking any of the others to voice their doubts. "Regardless of when you joined the Hunt, I stand beside each and every single one of you equally. We're sisters in every matter of the word. We've lived, laughed, mourned and battled together and for me, there is no family but this one. My loyalty, my love and my faith stands with you, as it has ever since I joined this Sisterhood. I have been your lieutenant for two thousand years and, while everything else might have changed, what hasn't changed is my family. My family lies in each and every single one of you."

Zoë then paused, shooting a glance at every hunter around her to make sure her words had sunk in. As she confirmed for herself that all raising claims and doubts had been eased for the moment, Zoë nodded to herself and carried on, "I never had a home, not until I joined this crew. As such, I'm used to moving around and, knowing that our job will be waiting for us no matter where we go, my troubles are eased, for I know we'll be of help regardless of where we move."

The lieutenant paused as she glanced at Artemis, straightening when the goddess nodded her approval. After a pause, she turned back to her sisters. "That being said, it was the gods that made this decision. There are Gods and there is the Hunt. We've stood much closer to civilization than them since the beginning, so it only makes sense for us to decide our future with a different criteria."

Phoebe took a step forward, looking at Zoë as if she'd grown a third head. "What are you talking about?"

Zoë smirked. "What I mean is that I give you a choice. You may stay here, still as part of the Hunt and still focused on the same agenda, or you can follow me into the new continent. Of course, demigods won't have a choice but to come with us, as your scent will only heighten when no longer in a territory under the influence of the Gods, and therefore putting yourselves at risk of being attacked by monsters. Apart from that, those who decide to leave, we will recreate our work in the United States, establishing our network of operations from scratch. Those who decide to stay, you will see a different facade of our sisterhood for you won't be able to remain immortal. That being said, it is an opportunity for our Sisterhood to reach others for - immortality accounted or not-, our cause is bigger than any religion or measure of time. It is an opportunity to welcome generation after generation, forever transferring our beliefs to the women continuing our fight."

The room was enveloped in a heavy silence, as the hunters thought of the words her leader had spoken, and it's heavy implications.

For the first time, hunters would be separated but, most importantly, they would be free to choose their heart's desire. They owed that choice, that freedom, to no one but their leader. Zoë had seen more sisters rise and fall than any other. She'd led them into victory and defeat, she had cried and laughed with them and she'd made it her life's purpose to protect them regardless of the circumstances.

The decision she had now reached was so kind, so selfless, that her sisters couldn't help but wipe their eyes off any tears and swallow down the emotion they felt rising up their throats. After all, Zoë had granted them the freedom of making a choice. Not only did they owe her their lives. Now, they also owed her their future.

Meanwhile, Margaret and Harriet looked at each other, both of them smiling slightly as they saw the decision made in each other's eyes. Then, Margaret took an hesitant step forward and addressed Zoë. "I apologize for interrupting, lieutenant, but you offered us a spot in your sisterhood. Has that changed with this new turn of events?"

Zoë turned towards them and regarded them silently before nodding to herself and advancing towards the mortal duo. "Yes, it has changed, Margaret. Should you agree to become members of the Hunt, you'll stay here."

"What?" Harriet asked in disbelief. She stood beside Margaret and frowned at Zoë, her anger making her forget everything about her usual shy demeanour. "You've given a grand speech about giving us the freedom of choice, yet you make the choice for Margaret and I?"

"You two have taught me quite a lot about the current society, my dear Harriet," Zoë explained with a chuckle. She stood a few feet before the duo and crossed her arms in front of her chest with a sufficient smile. "Chief Sanders made me realize there's quite a lot I don't know about how the mortals think or what drives them. I've become aware of the fact that polite discussions or smooth words are no longer sufficient, while physical battle is now also mostly unacceptable. I take this knowledge with me with the hopes to find it use in the United States but here, in England, the sisters who stay will need leaders who know how the modern world works. That's the two of you."

"What?" Margaret could only whisper after minutes of shocked silence. Meanwhile, Harriet had gone even paler than usual, the impression caused by Zoë's words causing her to freeze completely.

Zoë's expression was clearly amused. "I apologize if I seem to be marking your fates, but I need to protect the wellbeing of the sisters I leave behind. Accept our invitation, and lead your sisters into victory."

Harriet and Margaret did not have to think twice.

"I accept," they said in unison.

Zoë nodded with a triumphant grin and backed away towards Artemis as the hunters around them screamed or hit their weapons against the floor in approval. After a few moments of complete chaos, Artemis raised her hands in a calming manner.

"Harriet and Margaret, newest members of the Hunters of Artemis," the goddess said as she marched towards the two mortals. "Kneel and repeat after me."

oOo

October 20th, 1947.

Sun fell down the Port of London, lightening the waves with a bright shimmer. People from all classes busied themselves, walking up and down the immigration station and docks with heavy suitcases, their suits, jackets and hats wrinkled from the wind and sea water that sprinkled onto them as they made their way towards their respective ships. Kids ran between the different groups of people, playing amongst themselves or exploring the unfamiliar place, too impatient to wait for their slower families.

Slightly apart from the busy crowd, two women stood, the two of them looking towards the ship before them. The pearl white' transport was perfectly kept, speaking of the ship's recent building. People were already filling it, entire families of all sorts and numbers climbing onto the dock to study the sights around them with fascination, or leaning across the banister to say goodbye to the people waving at them enthusiastically from the docks.

"Do you think we'll be okay without them?" the shortest one, her hair of a fiery ginger, spoke in a calm tone, her eyes always on the ship.

"She taught us everything we need to know," the taller one, that one with long, dirty blonde hair falling down her shoulders, replied before shrugging her shoulders. "There's a reason she believes in us to carry on her work here. Besides, the others have agreed to our leadership. It'll be fine."

Her companion sighed with acceptance. "Fine but Margaret, if I have to ask you to control your temper one more time, it's me the one who's going to lose it."

Margaret rolled her eyes. "Will you chill already, Harriet? I'm the one with the hot temper and you're the calm one. It's always been like that and I don't see why you pretend to change it now."

Harriet sighed again and adjusted her hat to cover the silver circle around her forehead. "May the gods help us."

Above the ship, Zoë felt uncomfortable about not wearing even one silver article of clothing for the first time in decades. Still, knowing it was for the best in order to pass unnoticed by the other passengers, she left her sisters by the banister next to the docks, and walked to the other side of the deck, this one much emptier, all the while breathing deeply in an attempt to calm down.

"Are you alright?" Phoebe asked as Zoë stood beside her.

Zoë looked at the horizon before her and sighed. "I can't help but wonder what will happen to us. What will happen to those we leave behind, and those coming with us. This journey feels sort of final, for some reason."

"Oh, cut that out," Phoebe snapped impatiently before turning towards her best friend. "Look, no matter what happens next, we will face it together, just like we have faced the past thousands of years. Really, are you about to start worrying about us now? After everything we've conquered?"

Zoë couldn't help but smile at that. "I'm being silly, aren't I?"

"You think?" Phoebe scoffed before placing a hand on Zoë's shoulder. "Look, we will be in touch with Margaret and Harriet and we'll get to setting up our activities in New York as soon as we arrive. We have a plan and now we just have to follow it through, alright?"

Zoë nodded with a slight smirk. "Bring it on, America."

"That's the spirit, sister!" Phoebe laughed as she wrapped an arm around her sister's shoulder.

And, as the ship eventually sailed away from the old continent and towards the new one, neither sister turned back to look at the place they once called home.