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In the dead woods flanking what was once called Interstate 29, she killed a feral cat that was feeding on a days-old human corpse. She yanked the arrow out of the cat and bagged it, then continued north.
An hour from sundown, she came across a sagging shed. She scouted it carefully, but the ground cover was undisturbed, the woods silent, so she cautiously entered. The single room was gray in the fading light, and empty. The windows were broken out, but the walls were standing.
She salted the doors and windows, then made a miniscule, careful fire in her skillet, and cooked the cat. She drained the grease for balm. The meat was delicious, and she laid strips of it out to dry, to wrap up and take in the morning.
When she was done, she unrolled her small sleeping mat and laid down, pulling her layers of clothing about her. She fished the phone out of her pocket and turned it on, The battery was halfway down, so she hooked it up to the little portable charger.
She flipped through the pictures first, then moved on to the music. The songs were all antiques, mostly loud, pounding, vibrant music that belonged to the World That Was, but some of them were better suited to her temperament. She put on Bob Dylan and went to sleep.
The land became crumbling and difficult the next day, so by noon she returned to the road. It was a vast and flat and barren place, and her eyes spotted no movement, no predator or prey. She walked.
At an underpass, a blind woman was struggling with an overturned shopping cart. “Who’s there?” the woman yelled. “Are you there? Please, don’t hurt me.”
She lingered under the shadow of the underpass and watched the woman silently while she scrabbled in the dirt. Beyond the shade, the world was glaringly bright, even through her sunglasses. The air was dead and silent.
“I won’t hurt you,” she said, and came out of the shadows. “Do you need help?”
“The wheel came off,” the blind woman said. “I can’t find it.”
She took one more step out from the underpass, noting an overturned car, the collapsed remains of an immense road sign.
“Please,” the woman said.
“Please, what?” she asked. “Submit quietly to the highwaymen?”
The road sign fell over with an enormous bang, revealing three men. Two more emerged from behind the car. “Well, well, what have we here?” drawled one of the men, coming to the middle of the road. The others flanked him. “What gave us away?”
“Your smell,” she said flatly.
The man laughed. “That can’t bode well for my personal hygiene,” he said, then nodded at her. “Take off the pack and put it on the ground. Then back away.”
She shook her head at him. “No.”
The man looked at her in astonishment. “Please,” the blind woman whispered at her. “Honey, just do what they say.”
The man shook his head and laughed. “You hear that?” he asked his companions, turning his head to look at them. “She said no!”
Her throwing knife caught him in the neck. The other men stood in shock for one long moment, which she used to slide the machete smoothly from across her back.
She made short work of them. One of them had a shotgun, but as she suspected, it wasn’t loaded. She carefully went through the bodies when she was finished and scavenged what she thought would be of use. She left the blind woman’s things alone, and walked away while the woman wailed.
She got off the road as soon as she could, keeping it to her right as she continued north.
* * *
It was summer solstice, which meant north. The winter solstice meeting place was in an abandoned church in an abandoned town in what had once been called Georgia, but for summer, it was north, and that meant home.
She spent two hours surveying the house and yard from a higher vantage point before she was satisfied that it was empty. Sun and wind had wiped away all color from the house, and the vehicles around it were rusting hulks. Part of the roof had caved in to the second story, but as she came in, rifle up, she was pleased to see that the first story was still sound.
She checked each room, then salted the doors and windows. There was a bucket of rock salt in the living room, and she used this, sparingly, and then refilled the salt container in her pack. She dumped the pack on the couch and checked the kitchen for messages. Old markings on the wall were smeared over, but there were no new ones.
She checked the faucet, out of habit, but the well here had run dry years before. She would check the yard, later, for any rainwater that may have gathered and not yet evaporated.
She fished a piece of wood out of the fireplace and wrapped the end with a torn piece of dishtowel. She’d taken a lighter off one of the highwaymen, and used it to light the torch before descending into the basement.
The panic room was sealed and undisturbed, and when she opened it, it was empty, the lines guarding it unbroken. She sealed it back up and went upstairs.
She made a small fire in the fireplace and heated up the meat. She dragged the cushionless couch close and curled up on it. She left the headphones off, but the night was silent, and she fell asleep.
She spent the next day looking for anything to salvage, even though she knew everything of value was long gone. The bucket of rock salt was the only thing of worth remaining, and it diminished year by year.
She was still alone by nightfall, and wondered if she was early. She wasn’t. She knew that people once tracked days with calendars and numbers, and while she didn’t know how to do that, she could read the stars, and she knew this day was solstice.
She ate the last of the cat. If she killed something to eat tomorrow, she decided, she could wait one more day.
* * *
She shot down a bird, a raven, at midday, and was in the kitchen plucking it when she heard the softest of steps on the porch. She set the bird down and picked up the rifle, coming around the corner to aim it at the front door in a confident, easy hold.
The man opened the door and stepped carefully over the salt line, scuffing back a small break with his toe. She lowered the rifle.
“You’re late,” she said crossly, and the man smiled, his teeth flashing white through his unshaven face. Blue eyes crinkled at her out of weathered skin.
“I arrive precisely when I mean to,” he said, and crossed the room in a few quick strides to wrap his arms around her. She allowed it, and hugged him back. They kept their arms in place when they pulled apart to study each other’s faces.
“Ellie,” he said fondly, and she crinkled her nose at him.
“Castiel,” she said, and he tipped his head down to drop a kiss on her dark hair. Then he straightened up and said, “Is that raven? I’m starving.”
They prepared the raven and ate in front of the fireplace, cross-legged on the floor with their backs to the couch. Ellie took the glass of rainwater she had gathered from dents in old vehicles here and clogged gutters there and divided it into their canteens, and they washed the meal down with a mouthful. Castiel stretched out his legs in a satisfied way and leaned his head back.
“How does the world find you?” he asked, and she shrugged.
“The same,” she said. “Exorcised a few demons out east. Killed a werewolf, too. Came through the Appalachians and checked the rendezvous point, but nothing. Not a whiff of other hunters anywhere now.”
“No,” Castiel said, looking intently at the Devil’s Trap on the ceiling. “You’re the last now.” He lolled his head sideways and looked at her.
“I found Crowley,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“You’re kidding,” she answered. “I hope you killed the old bastard.”
Castiel shrugged. “He’s no longer a threat,” he said. “We still might use him someday.”
Ellie snorted, but held her tongue. Castiel went back to studying the ceiling.
“He says Lucifer is gone,” he said softly.
Ellie rubbed at ground-in dirt on the knee of her jeans. “You figured,” she said.
“Mmm,” Castiel said, and shut his eyes. They sat in silence until he fell asleep.
Ellie got up and took care of the remains of their dinner. She checked the salt lines, moving slowly through the rooms. She had vague memories of this house when it was still alive with color and warmth, but they were unfocused and distant.
She lay down on the couch and pulled out the phone. She scrolled quickly through the pictures, pausing to study one or two, and then put in the earbuds and selected Metallica. She let the Sandman put her to sleep.
* * *
When she woke, Castiel was at the kitchen table with the book, carefully turning the worn pages and studying certain sections. Half of the leftover raven was sitting out, covered, on a plate. She ate it cold, standing at the counter.
“Got plans?” she asked.
“Hmm,” Castiel said, which generally meant he wasn’t going to answer.
“I’m going west,” she said. “See if the mountains are faring better with water. Maybe go all the way to the ocean.”
Castiel had taken her once to the ocean, years ago, but that had been the east. She wanted to know if the west was different.
“The passes can be dangerous,” he said, “but there are some people in the mountains.”
“People or demons?” Ellie asked, and Castiel looked up and gave her a wry smile.
“If there’s people, there’s demons,” he said, and added for emphasis, “Everywhere.”
Ellie crossed her arms over her chest and stood there watching Castiel read. Finally, she said, “Gabriel?”
Castiel just shook his head. “I am frustratingly earthbound,” he murmured. “It limits my search.”
She left him reading and went outside to check for any more water. She wondered what Castiel had been like as an angel, a true angel. Chuck had told her stories of true angels, and they were terrifying, fiercer than demons, deadlier than nature. She could not reconcile the stories with the sardonic, patient man she knew.
Man wasn’t quite right, Ellie knew, but neither was angel anymore. He could not fly, but he could still see men’s hearts. He could be injured, but he did not age. He could not leave this earth, but he saw more in it than mortal eyes could discern.
She found a small gathering of water in a discarded hubcap near her father’s old car. She poured the dirty water carefully into the cup she’d brought with her, then stood and looked at the rusted frame for a moment. She could remember sleeping in the back of that car while her father drove. Sometimes Castiel had been in the passenger seat, sometimes Chuck. And once, only once, she had opened bleary eyes to find that the car wasn’t moving, and a very tall man was in the passenger seat, twisted around to look at her as she slept. Her father was still in the driver’s seat, one hand covering his eyes.
She thought, but wasn’t certain, that he must have been her uncle, but she’d forgotten about it by the morning, or thought it was a dream, and by the time she realized who it must have been, her father wasn’t around anymore to ask.
She went back into the house. Castiel had closed and wrapped the book, and he put it carefully in her pack. She added the new water to their canteens. They shouldered their packs, donned their glasses, and left the house together.
* * *
She was in the low mountains to the west of the passes when the external battery for the phone crapped out. The mountain towns had all smelled like demons to her, too many demons to take alone, so she had avoided them, but now she found this was important enough to her to venture into populated land.
It looked like all other towns. A three-legged dog ran across the road in front of her. People slept in doorways and abandoned cars. Makeshift tents lined the alleys. It was noisy, and it stunk. Snipers perched on rooftops, and she knew at least one of them had her in his sights, watching her make her way to the market area.
She traded a coyote puppy she’d shot the day before for new gloves – hers were filled with holes. She found a man with a horse-shaped face in an old storefront who agreed to charge the battery for a lighter and three packaged wet wipes. He invited her to wait at the saloon across the street, but she declined, wandering around his tinkershop and inspecting his goods. It grew warm and she swallowed dryly.
“They have water in that saloon?” she asked the tinkerman, who looked at her incredulously.
“They have hooch,” he said, as if there was nothing else she could ask for, but then he shrugged. “And water, if you can pay for it.”
She traded bullets that she had no gun for and received a single glass of water. She drank two precious mouthfuls and poured the rest into her canteen.
When she turned to leave, a bear of a man stepped into her path, and gave her a rotted-tooth smile.
“You ain’t leaving, are you?” he asked. “’Cause you just got here.”
“And now I’m leaving,” she said, cool and steady.
“But we’re havin’ a party,” the man said. “How can you leave when we’re havin’ a party?”
The room had grown quiet. “Hey, Sledge,” the bartender said, “lady’s a paying customer.”
“I’m a payin’ customer too,” Sledge said, and grabbed her.
He let her go when he realized the spurting blood was coming from where his hand used to be. He backed up, screaming, “My hand! You cut off my fucking hand!” He stumbled, and fell.
No one else moved or spoke. She kept the machete loose and ready in her grip. There was no clear path to the front door, so she backed up to the bar.
“Way out?” she asked the bartender, without taking her eyes from the crowd.
“Hey!” someone yelled from the second-story balcony. She didn’t have to look to know a shotgun was on her. A tall bald man in a dark duster came down the stairs and over to her.
“Boss wants to meet you,” he said, and gestured grandly toward the stairs. She glanced at them, then back at the crowd. The man lowered his voice.
“Put your weapon away,” he said. “Come up the stairs with me, slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them. And maybe Sledge’s buddies over there won’t tear you apart in the street as soon as you hit it.”
She put her weapon away and went upstairs.
* * *
The boss was named Baz, and he was a leather-faced, squirrelly older man. He was reading a book, she noted in surprise. He saw her eyes fall onto it.
“Do you read?” Baz asked. “I love to read.” He waved toward a large bookcase. “I’ve been collecting books.”
“I read,” she said.
Baz nodded. “Unusual for someone your age,” he commented, and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.
“I had a teacher,” she said finally, because he was waiting for something.
Baz laughed. “If it is the same teacher who taught you to pull a weapon that smooth and fast, you’re a better reader than I am,” he said.
She didn’t answer.
“I could use someone of your talents,” he continued, and she raised her eyebrows at him, thinking of the whores downstairs. He waved a dismissive hand. “As part of my security force, of course. Food, water, bed – all taken care of. Pussy, too, if that’s what you’d like.”
“Thank you,” she said, “but I’m just passing through.”
“Everyone’s just passing through,” he said, “but where are we all going?”
It was a good point, so she stayed silent. “Stay the night,” Baz said. “Think on it. Let me know in the morning.”
It wasn’t a request.
The room had a bed with a real mattress, a table and chair. The window was boarded up. The door locked from the outside, but it was a single, flimsy click. The tall man in the duster informed her that someone would be outside all night, if she needed anything. They left her pack and weapons with her.
She salted the door, then sat on the bed and pulled out the book. Something about Baz didn’t sit right with her, and not just because he was a slimy town boss.
The door lock clicked, and she hastily shoved the book under the covers. One of the whores appeared with a tray of food, and a small basin of water to wash with. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had the luxury of washing water.
“Can I help with anything else?” the whore asked nervously. She looked like a teenager.
“No,” Ellie said, “thank you.”
The girl stood there, twisting her hands, while she looked over the food. When Ellie looked up, the whore stammered, “It’s just that, Mr. Baz thought, lots of women don’t stay with men except for money, but he said to give you what you want, I think he really wants you to stay.”
“Will you be in trouble if I send you away?” she asked, and the whore nodded, terrified.
“Then stay,” she said. “We can share my meal.” She went over to the door and fixed the salt line, then sat at the table.
The whore sat on the bed, and accepted half of the food gratefully. As she ate, she looked curiously at the salt line.
“It keeps evil out,” Ellie said.
“Oh,” the whore said. “I didn’t know.”
When they were done eating, Ellie washed up with the water. “We can share the bed,” she told the whore. “Just let me put some things away.”
She tried to slide the book discretely away, but the whore saw it. “You have a book!” she said. “Mr. Baz likes books. ‘Course, he’s ‘bout the only one can read them. He’s always tellin’ his men, get the books, wherever you go.”
Ellie put the book away in the pack and rested it at the foot of the bed. “This one’s mine,” she said firmly, and looked the whore in the eyes.
The whore nodded quickly. “Yeah, sure, I ain’t gonna tell no one,” she agreed.
Ellie did not sleep, but lay down and rested. The whore got up and left before dawn. Ellie moved silently, and slipped a small, slender knife into her hand, then crouched down before the lock.
The door opened abruptly, and she slashed out automatically. The shape in the door jumped back, then put a finger to his lips.
The guard was asleep, as was everyone down in the bar. They left like shadows and sank into an ally.
Ellie slapped Castiel’s chest. “I could have killed you,” she hissed.
“You could have gotten yourself killed,” he hissed back.
She didn’t question his sudden arrival any more than the sleeping bar. She remembered, as always, that Castiel was not quite human.
“Let’s go,” he was saying, hand on her upper arm.
“Wait,” she said, and tugged back. “The tinkerman – he’s got my battery. For the phone.”
Castiel made a sour face at her. It was too dark to see properly, but she knew what it looked like. “I already paid for it,” she said, and stamped her foot.
Castiel huffed out his nose, but let her lead him through alleys to the storefront. The tinkerman was sleeping, but they slipped in silently and got the battery. Outside, the first rays of sun were reaching out.
* * *
“They gonna come after you?” Castiel asked her as they trudged down the road. The sun baked the dry earth and the wind blew up little cyclones of dust.
“Why?” Ellie asked. “Not worth the resources.”
Castiel was silent, and she could feel his eyes on her.
“What was that, back there?” he asked. Ellie didn’t answer. “Had me turning around to come straight out here,” he said.
“I don’t know,” Ellie said tightly. “The town boss – something was wrong.”
“Why’d he notice you?” Castiel asked.
“Had to cut off someone’s hand in the bar,” she said.
“Oh, that,” Castiel said. “That happens sometimes.”
“It does!” Ellie squawked, and glared at him. He glared back.
“It’s safe, isn’t it?” he asked.
Ellie could feel the shape of the book in the pack. “It’s fine,” she said.
She remembered the whore, asking about the salt line, catching sight of the book. She pressed her lips together.
They walked west.
* * *
They camped in the tall, conical shell of a nuclear power plant. Their breath showed in the cold air, and hidden within those walls, they built the fire high and warm. She’d shot down a vulture on the road, and they ate well.
Ellie rolled out her sleeping mat next to the fire, then pulled out the battery and recharged the phone. When she was done, she scrolled through the pictures.
Castiel sat beside her and leaned in. She tilted the phone so he could see. Her mother, holding a baby Ellie, smiled out at them. Ellie touched a finger to the tiny screen.
“Did you know her well?” she asked.
“No,” Castiel said, staring at the picture. “But she was a good hunter. She was a good mother.”
Ellie’s thumb hit the next button. Images flipped before their eyes. She stopped on her father’s face. He was pointing a finger at her, a mock stern look on his face. Castiel started to reach for the phone, then dropped his hand.
“Did you love him?” she asked Castiel.
“I do love him,” the angel said.
“Were you in love with him?” Ellie asked, and felt him shrug beside her.
“I still don’t understand that,” he said.
“Do you miss him?” she asked.
He stroked her hair. “I am made of missing him,” he said, and kissed the top of her head.
* * *
The convey caught them the next day. Castiel heard them coming, and they fortified themselves in an RV that lay on its side away from the road. They did their damage, but Baz had brought four trucks of men and weaponry.
He wanted the book, and called out for it with a bullhorn before the attack began. “Why?” Castiel asked Ellie, and she shook her head in confusion. But when they came out from what was left of the RV, hands up, defeated, Castiel knew why instantly.
He drew up and his face made her heart cold and for one horrifying minute, as a bolt of lightening fell to the ground far away, Ellie thought she saw the outline of dark, ragged wings behind him.
Baz laughed with delight, his black eyes glinting at them. “Two for one!” he crowed. “The last angel and the last hunter. What a glorious day! And let’s not forget this.” One of his goons handed him the book and he unwrapped it.
“Oh, here it is,” he said smugly, and waved it at them. “Someone get me a light, please.”
While they watched, he held the flame to the pages until they caught, then dropped the burning book into the dirt.
“All gone,” he said. “Bye-bye. No more exorcisms. No more Devil’s Traps. No more salt. No more summoning. No more names. All gone.”
Ellie felt sick. Bile rose in her throat.
“Aw, you look sad, sweetie,” he said, and grabbed her face, squishing her lips into a pucker. “You know,” he said conversationally, “we thought Lucifer had wiped you fucking people out. Damned interlopers. Didn’t you get the memo? Earth belongs to us now.”
“It didn’t turn out so well for Lucifer,” Castiel said, and Baz didn’t look at him, smiled slow and sick at Ellie.
“He’ll be back,” he said. “And now the path is clear. Humanity will welcome him as their new savior. They will fear and obey him as they fear and obey us. And now there’s no one, and nothing, to stop us, is there?”
The air crackled again, and Ellie kneed Baz in the groin. He grabbed her hair and spun her around, into the ground.
“That,” he spat, and pointed at Ellie, “you can have.” He said this to the tall man in the black duster, who gave Ellie a malicious smile.
Baz pointed at Castiel, then turned and began walking toward his truck. “Kill that,” he said.
The man in the duster raised his pistol and fired.
Castiel fell to his knees, his face stunned. Then, unbelievably, he got back up, and for one breathless moment, Ellie thought she was going to see the angel, that wings and light would unfurl and demon and man alike would be burned up in the brilliance.
Castiel fell back to his knees, then fell over into the dirt.
“No!” Ellie screamed. “Castiel!” but the man in the duster picked her up by the waist and shoved her in the backseat of his vehicle. She screamed and beat at him, but she had no weapons but her rage, and he shoved her into the seat and got into the front.
“Let’s go,” he said to the driver, and they pulled away and left Castiel there in the dirt.
* * *
Ellie shook with rage and horror and grief. It was silent in the vehicle. The man with the duster had Ellie’s machete and was looking at it with admiration. She wanted to tell him to get his hands off it, that it had been her grandfather’s, but nothing came out. She balled her hands up and shoved them into her coat pockets.
Coiled inside one of the pockets was the string to her bow. With hardly a thought, she slipped it out and wrapped it around both hands, then darted forward and looped it around the driver’s neck.
The vehicle hit the one in front of it, went off the road, flipped over, and came to a shrieking stop. Ellie yanked the cord as hard as she could and blood spurted from the driver’s neck. He kicked, shuddered, and was still.
She scrambled out her door, pulled open the driver’s door and yanked the man out and onto the ground. She got behind the wheel and looked at the passenger seat.
The machete had gone right into the chest of the man in the duster. He was looking down at the hilt in disbelief.
Ellie reached over him and opened his door. She grabbed hold of the machete handle and pulled it out of him.
“Who are you?” he asked her in a amazed voice, blood spilling out of his mouth.
“I’m a Winchester,” she said, and kicked him out the door.
She spun the wheel around and got back on the road. The second downed vehicle was on its side, in between her and the two other trucks. She slammed on the gas and tore down the road. She watched the rearview mirror behind her, but they didn’t follow.
They’d destroyed what they’d wanted.
* * *
Castiel wasn’t by the RV, so Ellie kept driving. She found him a mile to the west, walking.
He didn’t know her at first, but then he touched her hair and said, “Ellie. Ellie.”
His clothes were soaked with blood. Ellie bandaged him with a shirtsleeve and some duct tape.
“What do you want to do?” she asked him, and touched his face.
He smiled at her. “Let’s see the ocean,” he said.
She drove.
* * *
The road became impassable in the car, but Ellie could smell the salt, could see the vast expanse of sky that meant ocean, so she pulled Castiel out of the car and hooked his arm over her shoulders and together they stumbled the last miles. Castiel had bleed through his bandages and was gasping in pain.
Ellie knew she should find shelter, she should let him rest, she should try to make him comfortable, but he wanted to see the ocean, so she kept dragging him along.
She dragged him right up to the water, and then she thudded down into the sand, and lowered Castiel and put his head in her lap.
“See?” she said. “See the ocean?” She was crying. Castiel took one of her hands in his. They breathed together.
“Look,” he said finally, and she squinted out in the ever-too-bright light.
An island. An island with buildings. Something glinted. She couldn’t tell, but she thought something moved.
“There,” Castiel breathed.
She found a rowboat and put Castiel in it, then climbed in and took the oars. The island had sheer rock cliffs and no where to pull the boat in that Ellie could see, but she rowed up to it all the same.
“Here, Cas,” she said. “We’re here,” but he didn’t answer.
“Do not come any closer!” a voice boomed from above. “State your business.”
Ellie stood up slowly, carefully, hands held high. “I didn’t know anyone was here,” she said, and she couldn’t stop crying. “My name is Ellen Winchester. I’m a hunter.”
* * *
The island was called Alcatraz. Ellie had never heard of it.
Alcatraz had solar power and a process for taking salt out of water, which meant they had clean water. Ellie took a shower for the first time in more than 20 years, and felt like she should stop all that water from going down the drain, even while the woman escorting her assured her repeatedly that it was re-collected and re-used.
They even washed Castiel before they wrapped him in a white sheet and finally burned him away to nothing.
There were no demons on Alcatraz. No demons, and no angels. Just people.
There was an immense collection of books and art and music. The curator was an enthusiastic man with flowing white hair who happily gave Ellie a tour. When they came to the set of Led Zeppelin albums, Ellie smiled, and thought of her phone.
“I don’t know if you can use this,” she said, “but there’s music on it. It was my dad’s.”
“It’s charged?” the curator said is disbelief, taking the phone carefully. Ellie nodded.
“Well,” he said. “We do have a few fairly functional computers. I’ll see if someone can pull them off.”
Ellie’s hand was still stretched out. “Just,” she said, “there’s pictures on it. Of my family. So.”
He smiled, and patted her shoulder. “You’ll get it back,” he assured her. He led her around a corner, and said, “Oh, here’s a treat. We have a printing press.”
“A what?” Ellie said.
“A printing press,” the curator repeated. “To print books.”
Ellie’s mouth formed an ‘oh.’ “I have a book,” she said.
“Wonderful!” the curator said. “We’re trying to add anything we can. What book do you have?”
“The Key of Solomon,” Ellie said, and stepped up to the printing press in wonder. “It tells how to fight demons.”
The curator was silent behind her. Ellie turned around. He was staring at her in disbelief.
“Fight demons?” he said. “My dear, they can’t be killed. They can’t be fought. Places like this, where we remain hidden – that’s the only way to fight demons.”
Ellie shook her head. “No,” she said. “There’s ways, ancient ways. We could use this,” she pointed at the printing press, “to teach people.”
The curator was shaking. “And these ways work?” he whispered. “Where is this book?”
Ellie reached out and took back the phone. She pulled up the pictures and scrolled past the beloved faces. “My father photographed it,” she said. “For reference.”
“The whole book?” he asked in astonishment.
“The whole book,” Ellie confirmed. She handed the phone back to the curator, who stared down at the cover of the book on the tiny screen. “Will that work?”
He looked down at the phone again, then back up to Ellie.
“Who are you?” he asked in awe.
“I’m a hunter,” she said.