By the time I leave Mitchell Farms, I think Aimee Everett-Mitchell has finally warmed up to me a bit. Some folks still don’t want to believe the supernatural is real, even though it’s been public knowledge for the past two decades or so. I don’t know if Aimee doesn’t want to believe hellhounds exist or if she doesn’t want to believe she’s got them in her backyard, but it doesn’t really matter. She’s got them whether she believes in them or not, and she seems to have resigned herself to the fact that I want to help her deal with them.

After I leave the farm, I head over to the Little Creek Volunteer Fire Department, and not just because Aimee suggested I talk to them. The newest listing in Gig Hunter is out of the LCVFD, so I put in a bid before heading out of the Everett-Mitchells’ excessively long driveway, hoping they’ll accept by the time I arrive. The Tuskegee National Forest listing is still there, too. I wonder for a moment if I should lower my bid but decide against it. I know what I’m worth—and how much is left on my daddy’s chemo bills.

None of the firefighters at the LCVFD are the ones who worked to put out the fire at Mitchell Farms, but they tell me everything they know about it—and, as luck would have it, everything they know about the fire they finally extinguished out at Tuskegee National Forest the other day as well.

They report that both fires burned a bit hotter than other wildfires of the same size, fuel, and topography, and in both cases, that there was a distinct smell of sulfur in the air. I’ve already guessed as much, but it’s nice to have it confirmed. They already know what I’m after, and they want it gone as soon as I can manage.

And so, when I head out of the LCVFD parking lot, I don’t even check to see if the Tuskegee National Forest listing is still there. If I’m going to chase a hellhound all over East Central Alabama, I may as well follow all the leads where they take me, and now I’ve got an in with Tuskegee thanks to the LCVFD. Hopefully, I can charm them into accepting my bid once I’m over there.

When I pull into the lot at the Ranger Office, though, I don’t even have to go inside the office to see that I might be too late. Through the remnants of smoke still in the air, I can see three people standing right outside the office door, talking and looking like they’re about to set off somewhere. Two of them are in ranger uniforms, but one of them isn’t. No official Gig Hunter shirt or hat or anything, but not everyone shells out for the official merch.

They all turn toward me as I step out of the car, so I don’t bother beating around the bush.

“Hi there, folks. I’m Dr. Loyalty Stevens, supernatural ecologist, and I’m here about sightings of a possible hellhound in the area. One of my clients mentioned you may have some information that might help me locate and collect the hound.”

They’re all quiet for a moment, and the two rangers exchange A Look. The non-ranger, noticing my shirt as I round the front of my car, eyes me warily.

The non-ranger speaks up. “Are you here about the listing in Gig Hunter?”

I speak carefully just in case this person hasn’t yet swiped the gig out from under me. “I did see the listing this morning, yes, but as I already mentioned, another of my clients mentioned that the rangers out here might have some information that will help me in their case. If the rangers are still seeking an ecologist to help with their case, I’m happy to provide my services.” I turn towards the rangers and offer my hand for them to shake. “Dr. Loyalty Stevens,” I say again.

“Blake Ferguson,” says the ranger on the left. He’s a bit older than the rest of us, with a bit of salt-n-pepper in his full-but-not-bushy beard. His skin is tanned and a bit rough, like he’s never heard of sunscreen. “I’m head ranger for this shift.” He motions to the other ranger, who’s got skin even darker than mine and a brilliant smile with plump cheeks and sharp dimples. “This is Alex Thompson, they’re my partner for the shift.”

Alex sticks out their hand to shake, and then motions to their right. “And this is my friend, Chris Carroll.” Chris is tall and a bit gangly, with red hair and fair skin. His arms are covered in freckles, but his face has hardly any. Huh.

Chris sticks out his hand to shake mine as Alex continues the introduction. “Chris was just telling us how he also seems to be dealing with hellhounds this fine, sweaty morning.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize there was another hunter in the area.”

Chris shrugs one shoulder. “I was up in Atlanta until recently. Moved back… back to the area about a week ago, and just took my first local gig this morning.”

“Congratulations,” I say, and try to smile at him, but I’m worried it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but my poker face ain’t that great, and I’m not really sure this part of Alabama can accommodate two hunters—financially, that is. Before I can stop myself, I’m asking him, “Was it you that got the gig out at Hicks Chicken Farms?”

He nods grimly and just says, “Yeah.” His eyes lose focus and he goes quiet for a moment. I think about what kind of damage a hellhound can do at a chicken farm. All I had to deal with this morning was some burnt-up alfalfa hay. Wonder what he saw. “Yeah,” he says. “You get the Mitchell Farms gig?”

I nod. He was honest with me, so I ain’t about to lie to him. Right now, he looks about as uncomfortable as I feel. I know we both want this gig, and from the look on his face, I don’t think he’s got it just yet. Part of me wants to let him have it, but the part of me that’s going to be paying student loan and medical bills until I’m ninety wants to pack his ass up and send him back to Atlanta.

“Well, hell,” Alex says, and I worry they’re going to try to pit me and Chris in a bidding war against each other right here and now. I do some quick math in my head, trying to figure out what’s the absolute least I can take for this gig and still make all my payments on time this month. I sneak a look over at Chris, who’s got his eyes closed. I figure he’s doing the same thing.

“Here’s the thing,” Alex continues. “We don’t actually think we’ve got a hellhound.”

Shit, another supe-denier. I’m about to open my mouth to make my case when Alex interrupts me.

“We think we’ve got two.”