“Sir?”

I blink out of a haze. “What?”

“Cash or credit?”

I pay with cash.

A blurry ride later and I’m home. I’ve paid off the cab with more cash.

I don’t know what I’m feeling, I don’t know what I’m _doing_. I was only told where to go and what to buy. I was not prepared to return to Jon.

The slam of brand new bleach on the work bench nearly startles Jon into the stratosphere. He jumps up immediately with safety goggles plastered to his forehead. He’s downright crazy. He breaks into this wide smile. “It’s perfect.”

“You think?”

“A gallon, at that. You’re generous.”

“It’s my money.”

“I’ll pay you back.” He swoops it up with a shake. Cracks open the cap, gives it a solid whiff.

“Stop.”

“Just making sure it’s good.”

I watch him flutter across the garage, picking up rags, flipping tools in the air like coins. He’s thinking —far too much than I am. How can he be _thinking_.

“I can’t believe we killed it…” I say aloud. I sink into an empty stool. “Shit, Jon, I can’t believe we killed it with a _gun_.”

Jon shrugs. “It lunged at us. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Scare it?? I don’t know!”

I still see the eyes in front of me, glowing yellow like a house cat in the dark, stalking and circling us round and round. A moment of uncertain quiet, and then a snarl when it lunged forward right at me and —_blam—_ collapsed sideways.

“Did you save the bullet?”

Jon’s back at the desk, hunched under a flood of lights. “‘Course. I’m gonna turn it into a lucky necklace. Sterling silver.”

“You’re crazy.”

“You almost died, dude.” Jon’s leg bounces off and on. He grimaces a little, under all his bravado. “Might as well keep a cool prize, y’know?”

I try to muscle some strength like he has instead of watching. If we’re gonna finish this, we should probably work as a team. He’s so focused, though. Oily black feathers are already covering the surface of the garage. The stench of bleach and something else hits my nostrils like a brick.

“Is it,” I gag, “still _alive_? God, that reeks.”

“Supernatural shit smells like sulfur. Can’t get around it.”

“You said salt would keep it off of us completely.”

“Salt, demon circles, bible verses in latin. It’s all a big gamble. Beats me why this bad boy jumped the line.” Jon laughs. “Bold fucker.”

Yeah, a wendigo lying prone on our garage table was nothing more than _bold_. No, not that it nearly ripped us both to shreds to suck the marrow out of our goddamn bones.

Jon eyed me, sinewy demonic tissue dangling in his tweezers. “Listen, man. Relax. Give it a day, and the shock of your first hunt will be the exact fuel you’ll need to do it again.”

I suppose I never realized _how_ new I was to all of this.

But a dead wendigo was a good one. Maybe one day I’d be the guy to fire the bullet.

An hour or two later, and Jon had done his best to preserve all the insides. Maw slack jawed and open, teeth bared but no longer out to kill. Long feathery limbs limp and lifeless. It looked almost pathetically like any other animal.

“There.” Jon wiped his hands. He smelled like muck, but so did I. “Ready to go.”

Bleached and preserved, this monster was nearly ready to ship off to our buyer.

“Wait, one more thing,” I stepped forward. The yellow eyes looked straight through me as I peered down on it from above. I yanked out a molar, still sharp as a canine, and it fell out so easily. “They won’t know it’s missing.”

Jon looked at me puzzled.

“A prize, right?” I held it up, then tucked it in my pocket. “For my first hunt? Might make it into a bracelet.”

“Hah!!” Jon beamed. “You’re learning well.” Patted me on the back as we set to boxing up our kill. I’m almost sad to see it go.