Hunt Monsters, Do Magic, and Fall in Love: a contemporary fantasy triptych

The Hunter & Her Girlfriend

Sweater Weather

2020

In her bedroom illuminated by the grey winter morning, Margot glowered at the fuzzy cartoon yeti on her ugly Christmas sweater.

We meet again… she grumbled at the snarling beast.

It wasn’t the yeti’s big teeth, sharp claws, and curled horns that made her cringe. The yeti was cute! It was the bright red knit and flouncing silver tinsel tufts that caused in her a visceral repulsion whenever she looked at the garment. But the sweater was a gift from her parents (mostly a gag gift, as they adored ugly Christmas sweaters and had a few themselves) and it had won her second place at a Christmas party a few years back.

Margot laid the sweater on the bed then peered at the open bedroom door, listening.

Emili was still downstairs, readying the house for their vacation. Unplugging the TV and computer, unplugging all the kitchen appliances save for the fridge, and even setting up timers so that lamps in the bedroom and kitchen turned on and off at specific times. All the mundane worries that Margot had never thought of until now.

As Emili busied herself downstairs, Margot closed the bedroom door.

It was now or never.

Inside the closet, curtained by dresses she never wore, was an old book bag. Inside, stashed at the bottom beneath random old textbooks no one would ever look for, was her dagger.

Aside from the dagger’s silvered steel blade, the weapon itself was nothing special. Not a priceless heirloom, and certainly not ancient. But Margot’s grandmother had gifted it to her on her seventeenth birthday, had it specially commissioned to mimic the shape and weight of the blade Margot most admired in her grandmother’s own collection.

‘To the beginning of something new, and terrible, and wonderful,’ her grandmother had said to Margot upon gifting the dagger.

How right she had been.

Though Margot had seen her fair share of skirmishes, she had yet to experience genuine danger, the kind her parents and grandparents and family friends whispered and warned about.

Every winter since her seventeenth birthday, Margot prepared for the biggest battle she could ever face. And every winter, she asked herself why she didn’t just move to Costa Rica, or Fiji, or the wilds of the Amazon. Anywhere that it didn’t snow.

Like her mother always said: Danger was everywhere. But winter? Winter brought out the worst the otherworld had to offer.

Despite the danger, Margot remained in New Jersey. She couldn’t leave her family anyway—couldn’t abandon her inherited duty. Plus, it would have been too difficult to give up soft pretzels and pork rolls.

While using her body to block the line of sight from the bedroom doorway, she removed the dagger’s leather sheath to inspect the weapon. The handle was a smooth, unadorned ebony, and fit perfectly in her grip. It wasn’t by any means a substantial weapon, but would be better than nothing in an emergency. Other, larger weapons were stashed elsewhere in her home, under floorboards and within false walls in various closets and cabinets.

The chisel-ground edge had been sharpened last spring. She typically trained and fought with swords, but daggers were more convenient for a road trip, and her parents had their own arsenal.

Margot wrapped the sheathed dagger in her Christmas sweater and zipped up her suitcase. Eyes closed, she took a deep breath, trying to shed the guilt that weighed upon her conscience.

Trying. Failing.

The bedroom door opened and Margot jumped, her black curls bouncing around her face when she looked across the room.

You ready? Emili asked.

She was wearing one of those cute Scandinavian sweaters, a line of patterned green moose stretching across her ample chest. It looked old, but it was much more festive than Margot’s plain black shirt.

Yeah, Margot said, smiling at her adorable girlfriend of eight whole months—a new record. I think so.

Emili wrapped her plush, wool-covered arms around Margot’s more angular body and gave her a warm kiss on her cheek. C’mon. I can’t wait to meet your folks.

Sip n’ Split

The drive from Trenton to Buena took an hour on a good day, and Margot knew the way by heart. But Emili, being from Oregon, had never seen the New Jersey Pinelands. And because she loved slower, scenic routes, she requested they drive south through the state forest rather than take the faster major highways that passed through populated areas.

The Pine Barrens, especially in the winter, weren’t much to look at. The US 206 was a typical, narrow state highway sparsely populated by houses, farms, gas stations, and frozen marshland. Under the blanket of snow lay sandy soil, and for much of the way, the road was flanked by mixed forest, not just evergreens.

Margot hadn’t mentioned it to Emili, but rural highways like the 206 also meant varied threats, least among them deer.

Oh, if only it were that simple…

On the outskirts of the township of Tabernacle, with only a half an hour to go until their destination, Margot’s bladder said absolutely not to waiting, so she pulled into the Sip n’ Split parking lot.

I’ll be quick, she said, unbuckling.

"Well I’m going to get myself a terrible truck-stop coffee," Emili announced.

Your funeral.

Emili shot finger guns with an exaggerated wink.

Emili bounced on her toes, attempting to warm herself as she waited in line at the outdoor coffee stand. Her black leather jacket was usually fine for warmth when worn over a sweater, but today the wind was unforgiving and blew her light-brown hair in and out of her frozen face.

Run Rudolph Run played on the radio behind the counter. Emili actually hated this song—most Christmas songs, in fact—but the tune was so ingrained in her brain that she didn’t even realize she was humming along until it was her turn to order.

No, Emili didn’t care about Christmas or Hanukkah or any other holiday, save for New Year’s Eve and Halloween because they were fun. But she did enjoy the idea of a holiday centered around being with family, which was exactly how Margot and her family celebrated Christmas—areligiously.

As Emili paid for her drink and waited for it to brew, a snowflake twinkled down. Another. More. She squinted up at clear, bright blue from behind her sunglasses. Odd that the other patrons in line didn’t seem to notice or care that flurries were falling from a cloudless sky.

Peppermint mocha in hand, she made her way to the car. A gust of wind slapped at her black leather jacket, and ahead of her, a tiny snow twister swirled between two parking lines. As she walked past it, a tendril of snowflakes seemed to reach out to her, and an icy wisp grazed her neck and tugged her hair.

Then came the whisper on the wind: "Emmmiiillliii…"

Her grip on the coffee cup faltered and it fell, the contents splatting across the asphalt. She ran the rest of the way to the car, slammed the door closed, and quickly buckled her belt.

I thought you wanted coffee, Margot said.

I… Emili locked her gaze onto the dashboard, onto the void behind a slatted air vent. Changed my mind. I don’t think I should have any.

Oookay… Margot started the car.

As Christmas music jingled from the car’s satellite radio, Emili said with a laugh, I think I’m nervous. I was hearing things, seeing things at the rest stop.

Seeing things?

Emili waved it off. It’s just nerves.

Margot smiled. You don’t need to worry. My parents will love you.

As Margot pulled onto the highway, Let It Snow transitioned to The Chanukah Song.

Why aren’t there more Hanukkah songs? Emili asked. I actually do like Adam Sandler’s song, but can’t there just be more?

What would you want them to be about?

Anything but dreidels? I don’t know. I just feel outnumbered. And why are they even playing it? Hanukkah was weeks ago.

Smells like pandering.

Emili lightly booped Margot’s nose, and then they sang along to the live recording, each of them having long since memorized the lyrics of the annually overplayed song.

As the song transitioned to Feliz Navidad, the sky clouded over, and it began to snow.

Again? Emili took off her sunglasses. It’s supposed to be sunny all week.

A chill ran through Margot.

It flurried at the rest stop, Emili said. Was weird. No clouds. And I saw a snow devil.

Snow devil!? Margot hadn’t meant for the question to come out a shriek, but, really, how else was she supposed to react?

You know, like a dust devil. But with snowflakes.

Emili’s explanation did nothing to calm Margot’s nerves.

The blizzard quickly worsened, and the highway’s sudden whiteout demanded Margot’s attention. She turned on her fog lights but, failing to see where she was driving, decided to pull over.

What the hell? Emili said, looking at her phone. There’s nothing on the radar. Not one cloud.

In front of the car, a shadowy figure emerged, cloaked in swirling snow. The shadow crept closer, and the steering wheel squeaked under Margot’s grip.

Emili, she said, I need to tell you—

What is that? Emili sat forward, peering beyond the windshield.

Margot eyed Emili. You can see it?

The shadow, a condensed swirl of snowflakes, grew brighter by the second.

It’s the snow devil again, Emili said.

So…this was it. The moment Margot had been warned about. The moment she had prepared for since she came of age nearly a decade ago. And she had never warned Emili.

She should have come clean that time when she came home with