GOLD DUST

I tread carefully so he doesn’t scurry away like the last one. That could have ended badly but I’m a professional, I took care of it. But this time I’m hoping not to have to play cat and mouse around the woods in the dead of night. This one is completely clueless though. It’s a design flaw that they leave gold dust sprinkled in their wake. They are easily hunted. By me. And me alone.

     A branch cracks under my foot and I smack my back behind a tree. He’s turns round at the sound. His footsteps have stopped. I wait until they start again and poke my head around the trunk. I draw an arrow from my quiver and slot it carefully in my bow. I let out a relaxed breath and shoot. The arrow pierces straight through his back and he explodes into a beautiful cloud of gold dust. The moonlight reflects off the shimmering speckles. It is a spectacular sight. A sight only I see. It’s enough to bring a tear to your eye. But not my eye. I run into the golden mist and open my satchel under it. If only dust was easier to collect.     

     Once I’ve seemed to have caught as much as I can scoop up the dry dirt which is speckled with the shimmering flakes and add it to my satchel. It’s a good job this stuff is worth a lot. Picking it out must be a nightmare but no one seems to complain. They’re just glad it’s not them out here collecting the goods.

      My arrow is lying on the ground. It’s completely clean. I pick it up and slide it back into my quiver. I never waste my arrows. My eyes scan my surroundings and find nothing. Time to head back. My satchel bounces against my hip as I walk and I can hear the dirt shaking around inside. The speckles that coat my shoulders leave a light trail behind me as the air brushes them away.

     My name is Aria Delloway and I’m a Pixie hunter. Yes, you heard right. I hunt Pixies. It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it. Seriously, someone’s got to do it. And it’s only me who has the guts. And the brains. The Shifters used to take care of the Pixies for us, until they were chased out of the town by an angry mob with knives and pitchforks. They think that there is no room for magic here. They are wrong. Magic is necessary. Well, that kind of magic is. Are Pixies magical? I guess you could say that. They have certain talents that could be considered magical. Like ‘glamour’. They can glamour a human and make them see whatever they want to them to see. They can’t manipulate our minds though. Just our eyes. That’s how they blend in with us. They make us see them as human beings. Yet there is one slight flaw. We can still see the gold dust and the golden rings in their irises. I guess from hundreds of years of fooling humans, we have somehow evolved to resist part of the effect of their glamour.

     So the Shifters left us. They were only one family but they had the effect of an army. I grew close to the youngest son, Bramble. He is the same age as me. We haven’t spoken since he ran away. I hope he’s okay.

     The people of my town don’t fully understand the Pixies. Well, that’s not true. They are just ignorant. They choose not to see what is happening right in front of them. My dad was taken by a Pixie and used as a blood tribute. Drank completely dry. My mum died trying to save him. It’s just me and my brother now.

     I push the stiff, disjointed door of our house open. It scrapes across the floor making a piercing screech echo around the walls.

     Dillon is sat by the log fire, staring into it with his back to me.

     “Successful?” he asks, not looking away.

     “Two down,” I reply, dropping my satchel on the table top.

     “And how many more to go?” He finally turns round. His face is red from the warmth of the fire.