The Hunt Read Free Page A

for the tenth time in a row. He’d dusted her off and said, You know what stubborn means? Cora,eight at the time, had shaken her head, and he’d explained, The definition of stubborn is to know what the right thing to do is, but not to do it anyway just to prove a point. And right now, you should really just give up.
    She clenched her jaw and looked away from the platform. “Okay. But this doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to anything.”
    He didn’t answer. Silently, he led her through the marketplace, then down into roughly hewn hallways that cut through the asteroid core itself. These dank places made up the Kindred’s private world: menageries, brothels, gambling halls—places where the Kindred could safely uncloak and seek the emotional thrills they craved. A row of doorways was dug into the rock, and in front of each doorway was a podium staffed by a young Kindred male or female.
    â€œHosts,” Cassian explained. “To greet their guests. Each door leads to a different menagerie. You’re going to the Hunt.”
    Cora held up the old-fashioned golden dress. “So what is that, some kind of Prohibition nightclub?”
    â€œNot exactly.”
    He said nothing more as they passed the first few doors. One host wore a leopard-print caveman’s toga. One hostess looked like a Viking maiden. Another was dressed in a baseball uniform.
    â€œThe menageries have only recently opened for this rotation, so it is a relatively quiet time. There will not be many guests yet. They operate on a roughly terrestrial schedule of day and night, for the comfort of the humans who live here.”
    Cora let out a smirk. Comfort. “How many human days make up a rotation?”
    â€œThe exact conversion rate requires complex algorithms,as it changes based on a variety of astrophysical factors. Humans are incapable of this level of mathematics, but suffice it to say one rotation is equal to anywhere between one and two weeks.” He stopped at the sixth door. The hostess here wore what looked to be a safari uniform: khaki blouse with the shoulders cut out, thick leather belt, hunter-green skirt, with a pith helmet perched on her perfectly combed hair. Like all the hostesses, she wore glasses with eyes painted on the front, though Cora knew that behind them her eyes were uncloaked and almost as clear as a human’s.
    The hostess smiled stiffly at Cassian. “Welcome back, Warden.”
    Welcome back ? Cora had never imagined him playing dress-up in some club.
    He inclined his head. “Issander.”
    The hostess opened the door for them. Heat coated Cora’s skin like a thick lotion. The air was muggy, as warm as the light that cast long shadows throughout the room. The calls of tropical birds reached her ears first, then other sounds: the roar of a far-off truck, low chatter and clinking of glasses, soft instrumental music.
    â€œBe cautious.” Cassian nodded back toward the door. “The Council has watchers posted through the station whose job is to report back any unusual activity. Improper relations between Kindred and humans, humans disobeying the rules, that sort of thing. Their identities are kept hidden. I do not know if Issander is a watcher, but she is not sympathetic to our cause.”
    â€œWon’t that be a problem?”
    â€œI have a plan for that.”
    â€œSure you do. You have a plan for everything.” Overhead, wooden beams rose thirty feet to form a thatched roof thatsupported hanging lanterns. The lodge was open and airy, filled with teak furniture draped in exotic fabrics, with amazingly realistic statues of giraffes and zebras. Along one wall, two human boys shook cocktails behind a bar. Across from the bar, billowing floor-length curtains flanked French doors leading to a wide veranda where a savanna glowed beneath a setting sun. Cora stopped, stunned. For a second it all felt too real. When she had been a little girl, she’d