Free The Killing Season by Meg Collett Page B

started calling it wolf’s bane. Over the course of time, storytellers worked bane into their little horror stories just like they do with everything else. Our bane doesn’t turn anyone into a werewolf. It just helps us kill more monsters.”
    Eventually the row we walked down came to the middle of the room, where large workbenches took up most of the space. Tools and vials lined the wooden shelves. Potting soil coated the tables and stools, spilling onto the tiled floor. Right as we arrived, the sprinkler system turned on and started watering the flowers, sending a fine mist throughout the air.
    “Seems like a lot of effort to go through just to keep the costs of ammo down,” Ollie said. She took a seat on a nearby stool and stretched out her mile-long legs.
    “By now, the system is pretty self-sustaining. Primary costs come from keeping the mature plants swapped out and the irrigation lines from rusting. The bullet-proof glass used to build this place was just a precaution, but it was pretty expensive. Still, it’s cheaper than bullets. Look at that, hunter. Science keeping the killers alive.”
    Ollie snorted. “Right.”
    To change the subject and keep Ollie from saying anything too sarcastic, I asked, “How does the bane tie into what you’re studying up here?”
    Nyny let out a bark of laughter before she sat down at a workbench and pulled on a pair of safety glasses. “It doesn’t. I’m just the only one around who can keep up with the plants. Gardener by day, mad scientist by night.” She waggled her finely arched, ashy-blonde eyebrows at me.
    I took a seat next to her and watched as she pulled the flower’s roots apart, her fingers moving deftly inside the bulky gloves. “So what are you studying up here then?”
    “Besides trying to watch ’swangs screw?”
    I blushed again. Across from me, Ollie scowled at Nyny’s back. “Yeah. Besides, um, that.”
    “I’m working on proving a theory I uncovered last season.” She cut me a sideways look and grinned. “I think I can prove aswangs are matriarchal by nature.”
    Ollie and I leaned forward a little more on our stools. “What do you mean?” I asked.
    “As in, their packs are actually governed by one head matriarch. I also think the mating rituals happening up here are dictated by the females.” Nyny set down her tools and spun around in her seat to look at Ollie and me. “Like, the females claim their own mates. Not the other way around.”
    Ollie’s mouth popped open. “Are you serious?”
    Nyny smirked, clearly pleased she’d impressed her. “During the past few years, I’ve noticed male ’swangs exhibit certain scarring patterns across their bodies that mar their hide or face. Some are even missing eyes or ears. I started keeping a database of each aswang I see on my camera feeds so I can later identify them when they come back to the area in subsequent years, but last year I noticed I wasn’t documenting any females with old or new wounds.” She paused, her voice dipping into a conspiratorial tone. “A similar scarring phenomenon happens with female great white sharks during their mating season—another mating ritual which also hasn’t been previously documented.”
    “Are the males just fighting?” Ollie asked before I could.
    Nyny grinned wider and shook her head. “That’s the thing. There’s something very specific about the scarring on the males’ bodies. Something I didn’t notice until I had a few years of data on the same ’swangs to compare.”
    “What?” I sounded breathless. I felt breathless. I was hearing first-hand research on the ’swangs that no one else knew.
    “Every male has their own unique set of scars. Unique to that individual. They get fresh wounds after each season, while the females typically leave the area unmarked.”
    “But—”
    “I know what you’re going to say,” Nyny said, interrupting Ollie’s argument. “But the scars aren’t unique because they are random. They’re