“Merdaemons,” I repeat. Now those are in the case files. I’ve never had to hunt one because they can’t come out of the water. But Ursula warned me that if seal carcasses ever started washing up on the beach or if surfers started disappearing, I’d have to break out the scuba gear and go deep-sea hunting.

“It had me,” I say. “But something pulled me out, made it release me.”

“That would be Achilla.”

I follow the direction of her gaze, to a … person standing on the far side of the circle. I can’t say whether it’s a man or a woman because it appears to be half of each. The left side female, the right male.

“I am a machlyes,” it says, dipping its head.

“Whatever you are,” I say, giving Achilla a sincere look, “I am grateful for the help.”

It looks embarrassed by the thanks and takes a step back, out of the light. The light, I notice, that is emanating from the unicorn’s horn. Its bright blue glow beats back the darkness that pervades this place.

None of this makes any sense. I’ve never seen a unicorn before, just as I’ve never seen a golden maiden. Or a machlyes, for that matter. None of them are in the records. How is that possible?

I scan the rest of the circle, the seven or eight creatures gathered, and I don’t recognize one of them.

“What’s the matter?” the unicorn asks. “Never seen a monocerata before?”

“A what?”

The unicorn lowers its head and the light in its horn flashes off and back on. When the light goes out, everything around me plunges into inky dark. I’m not ashamed to admit my relief when the light comes back on.

“Oh, a unicorn,” I say, feeling stupid but relieved. “No. I haven’t.”

The unicorn nickers the way I’ve seen horses do in movies but doesn’t comment further.

“What exactly is going on here?” I ask. “I’ve been hunting for four years, and I’ve never seen any of your kinds before.”

“You see me,” a small voice says. Stepping out from behind the golden maiden, a small monkey—a cercopes—waves at me.

“Sillus?” I ask.

The beastie who was camped out under the Bay Bridge overpass. I feel a surge of awkwardness having to face a creature I sent back to this horrid place. He doesn’t seem angry though.

“It is not surprising that you do not know us,” the golden maiden says. “Our kinds are not usually allowed through the door.”

“What do you mean?”

A roar, the likes of which I’ve never heard, rumbles from somewhere deeper in the cavern. It echoes off the rock surfaces, amplifying until I can literally feel it shaking my bones. Worse than any earthquake I’ve ever experienced.

“Come,” the golden maiden says, stepping toward me and bending down to hand me my forgotten bundle of clothes and boots. “Let us get to a safer place. Then we will answer all your questions.”

I take the bundle and quickly untie it, embarrassed to realize I’ve been sitting here in my underwear the whole time. I yank my pants up to my knees, then bounce to my feet to pull them all the way up. Within seconds I have my tank over my head and my boots on my feet and roughly laced, and am shrugging into my long-sleeved shirt.

“And perhaps,” the golden maiden says before turning and walking away, “you can answer our questions as well.”

I start after her, buttoning my shirt as I go, but the unicorn blocks my path.

“You must be tired after your ordeal,” he says. “You want a ride?”

I study him. This feels like a test, like I’m supposed to prove myself. Only I’m not sure if I’m supposed to refuse and prove my independence, or accept and prove my willingness to trust. Since trust is not exactly my strong suit, I hope it’s the other.

“Thanks,” I say. “But I’ll be fine.”

He nods, not giving away anything by his reaction. I fall into step with him and the others as they make their way toward a tall crack in the rock wall beyond the lake. Sillus walks at my side, his little furry feet moving double-time to keep up. The golden maiden leads the way into the crack, and the others follow. When the unicorn is the only other one left, he nudges me toward the opening.

I face the crack, trying to remind myself that I’m not claustrophobic. Walking into a narrow, uncertain space should not leave me petrified, frozen to the spot.

“Don’t make me use the horn,” the unicorn says.

I twist around to look over my shoulder. Although I can’t tell by looking at his horse’s mouth—there’s no obvious smirk—I think he might be teasing me. With no other real choice to make, I turn and step into the crack. It’s dark inside, darker even than in the cavern of the abyss. But as soon as the unicorn steps in behind me, the entire place glows with a beautiful blue light. I can see now that the crack does not go infinitely up to the top of the cavern. It ends just a few feet above my head—making it a really good thing that I’m not afraid of confined spaces.

“Keep moving, huntress,” the unicorn says.

“Yes, come,” Sillus says. “Move faster.”

As much as I don’t like being told what to do, I’m squished against a narrow opening in a rock, with a unicorn behind me and a cercopes and a bunch of other creatures straight out of mythology in front of me. Arguing doesn’t really seem like the best choice.

Soon the light from the unicorn’s horn isn’t the only thing illuminating the crack. There’s an exit up ahead—thank goodness, because I’m starting to believe I was lying to myself about not being claustrophobic—and it’s glowing with a soft yellow light.