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join them at Le Géant Tranquille after his duties were done. The man drank like…well…an American, and made friends fast too. Almost seamlessly, he’d integrated himself into their Hunter family and, except for the occasional tavern brawl, got along with everyone else. Belle was happy to have him soon officially join her hunting party.
    “Can I get you something to drink, cowboy?” asked a barmaid while she pushed out her chest. Belle snickered.
    He rocked on his heels, grinning at her. “Whiskey, please, ma’am.”
    Was it just Belle or did Jack’s accent thicken when a pretty lady was around?

 

    Belle started up the church steps carrying a single rose she’d bought from the town greenhouse. The cathedral’s two great, looming steeples reached for the heavens as a thousand tiny peaks tried to do the same. Three arched front doors set next to each other; the center standing taller than the ones at its side. A single ornate, circular glass window encompassed the center of the church’s front.
    The morning sun caused melting snow to drip from above, as she traversed through the cathedral’s entrance. Giant chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Rows of pews lined the floor leading to the dais where a gold crucified Christ suspended. Complex stonework brought saints to life in every available space, hand painted murals depicted various biblical scenes, and massive stone pillars were a canvas for both. Sun shined through the great stained-glass windows, casting the cathedral in a rainbow of colors.
    The room’s stillness made every sound more palpable. An elderly man shifted in his seat, his eyes staring at the savior. A woman whispered to her candle’s flame. A friar’s mop sloshed sudsy water onto the lovely floor.
    The clergyman acknowledged Belle as she crossed the wet marble to reach the catacomb’s entrance. Into the stairway she delved, her pace slowing as the light receded and the air grew colder. Voices traveled up from below. Orange-hued light broke the darkness as she neared the bottom, pausing on the steps.
    “Hall of the Unknowns…” a woman said, reading the placard above one of the three entrances into the catacombs. They were high and arching, their words etched in gold.
    “Those are the remains of souls we could not identify,” the clergyman attending her said. “The majority are souls redeemed by our Hunters.”
    Belle noted the pride in his voice. She’d only walked through there once and the many unnamed graves—the forgotten souls—had made the Hunter’s burden feel like a deep, jagged cut. Yet she considered herself lucky to have that hardship. At least she will not be lost in death like those poor souls—At least she will have a name, and the living will come to pray for it.
    “Oh, I see.” The woman’s eyes widened and she looked to the next hall. This dainty, but well-proportioned woman was American, judging by her accent. She had dark brown hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her dress was burgundy, with an almost military style. Around her neck was a thin, gold chain that sported a small pair of tinted bifocals. In her hand was an official-looking briefcase. “And the Hall of The Beloved Dead?”
    “That’s where our own are put to rest,” the friar responded, and Belle followed their gaze down the long stretch of tombs.
    The woman wiggled her nose from the stale air and turned to the final hall. “Now why is the Hall of the Hunters sealed?”
    Unlike the first two halls, the Hall of the Hunters was cut off by giant metal doors which were not open to the general public. Black metal elegantly shaped the double doors and the visible gears that made up the lock. It was a worthy tomb for those who died protecting the town.
    “In the beginning, people feared that Hunters who died by a hellhound would soon rise and become one of them. Everyone had heard the tales of werewolves who turned others with a bite,” Belle spoke up, making them aware of her presence. “As a