Out of sight, beyond the veil of shadows.
I tucked the letter back into the bottom of the box and pulled out a pair of black jeans and my favorite navy blue shirt. Alex, as usual, grabbed whatever came to hand first: jeans and that worn-out green sweater he'd been wearing so often, I was sure it would tear any day now.
"What?" he asked, frowning at me.
"Nothing," I replied, suppressing a smirk. It was just another reminder that Alex, bless him, could be a bit of a dimwit at times.
"If you're so much smarter than me, you could at least help me pick an outfit!" His voice carried a hint of resentment, clearly frustrated that I wasn't clueing him in. "I don't even know where we're going! How am I supposed to know what to wear?"
"You'll find out soon enough," I assured him with a hint of mystery.
After a moment's thought, I swapped my shirt for a thin, off-white one that would complement the black trousers I'd chosen. Alex preferred bright colors, and they suited him well, especially with the tan he'd picked up over the summer.
Rolo, at least, had the sense to dress himself appropriately. He donned a green shirt that made his eyes pop and his usual well-worn jeans.
We left promptly at eleven, stepping into a downpour that felt relentless. Though I usually enjoyed the rain, even I had my limits. Thankfully, the pub wasn't far from the bus stop. Our travel passes had likely burned in the rush of leaving, so we boarded without tickets.
We disembarked at the Arcade, crossed the street, and made our way down Tímár Street before turning onto Károly Goldmark. The old Clinic stood opposite our destination, making it impossible to miss. I paused at the door, glancing around to ensure we were alone. The weather had deterred any passersby.
"Are you ready?" I asked, turning to my best friend and the kid.
They nodded without hesitation.
"Wir sind die Jäger," I whispered.
"It's simple," I explained. "Just whisper the phrase and grab the handle."
I demonstrated, and the spell coursed through me like a current, seizing every cell and pulling me through the slivers of space. When I blinked, I was standing in the midst of a bustling street. Here, it never rained.
Rolo appeared first, followed by Alex. The kid held up well, only a touch paler than usual. Alex, however, was a different story; he looked ready to lose his breakfast all over my shoes. Still, he managed to hold himself together.
For a first-time teleport, they were doing remarkably well. I remembered my own initial experience vividly—my head spinning and the unfortunate revisit of my previous meal. It wasn't uncommon for first-timers to get sick, but they were managing admirably.
Rolo's eyes gleamed with amazement as he took in the scene around us. The narrow street bustled with activity, hunters moving with purpose, their boots thudding softly against the cobblestones. The air was alive with murmurs of conversation, the clinking of weapons, and the hum of quiet preparation. Shops lined the street, their windows filled with various gear and artifacts, each one offering tools essential for a hunter's survival.
The street itself had a certain charm, flanked by white birch trees and lined with greenish-red cobblestones that glistened under the faint streetlights. Each step on those cobblestones felt like walking through history, a reminder of the many hunters who had tread this path before us. The lamps, with their ornate metal casings, cast a warm, golden light, adding a sense of timelessness to the atmosphere.
Despite the busy scene, there was a calm that settled over the place, a strange contrast to the tension that often accompanied hunters' lives. It was a space where they could gather, prepare, and share stories, a haven in the midst of their dangerous work.
"Where are we?" Alex asked, his voice filled with awe as he took in the sights.
I turned to him, a slight smile tugging at my lips. "Welcome to Rosenstein Alley," I said softly. "This is the city of hunters."
The weight of the moment settled in, the significance of being here not lost on any of us. It was a place that spoke of legacy, of battles fought and victories won, and of a community bound by a singular purpose.
Even though Rolo and Alex were wide-eyed at the splendor of the main street, my heart belonged to the maze of narrow side streets nestled between towering brick houses. Those alleyways held a charm of their own, places where one could easily lose track of time, wandering with no particular destination.
"This is incredible," Rolo said, taking in the scene. "I never thought hunters could create something like this..."
"How do you think they'd have gotten the better of monsters without a place to regroup, recharge, and gather information and allies?" I replied, glancing at him.
"Fair enough," he nodded, digesting the idea.
Alex asked, "How long has this place been around?"
"Since about the early eighties," I shrugged and I could hear Alex's chin tapping loudly on the cobblestones. Back then, of course, the place was a little different, but it already existed.
"Since the early '80s," I answered with a shrug. "It was different back then, but it's always been here."
With that, we continued down the main street, the hustle and bustle flowing around us. Greek coffee wafted from some corners, Belgian chocolate beckoned from others, and for a touch of class, there was the Bacchus wine bar. Ice cream, though, was overpriced everywhere, and the only place where it was worth the steep 450 forints was the Forst House.
As we walked, hotels, restaurants, and fast-food joints dotted the landscape, almost every fifth block offering something to eat or drink. Along the sidewalks, hunters could be found too, playing music or setting the mood in the pubs.
Then, of course, the bookshops caught Rolo's attention. Bernard's was the largest, sprawling over four blocks, with leather-bound volumes of every size and shape, from miniature tomes to the imposing meter-long ones that piqued Rolo's curiosity.
We carried on, stopping only to browse a stubborn herb seller's wares and then an old talisman vendor—nothing too strange, but enough to remind Alex and Rolo why this place was called the City of Hunters. An hour was barely enough to scratch the surface of the place.
Finally, we made our way to our destination, the towering House of Terror, right in the heart of the city. No, not the one with the Holocaust exhibits; I was talking about the other one. It was a nickname I'd given it, because enduring the psychological terror of climbing eight floors with no elevator was a feat of its own.
And there it stood, towering above us. So high, in fact, I had to tilt my head back just to glimpse the gold clock on the top floor. The clock displayed not only the time and date but the signs of the zodiac, and the cycles of the moon and sun. The building was adorned with intricate reliefs and crenellations, ornate windows, and double ebony doors. It was an architectural beauty—but an exhausting climb.
The Babel stood like a snow-white spike, reaching up into the sky, its sheer height almost dizzying.
I fumbled through my pocket before we entered, finally finding what I was searching for. I handed two of the three amulets to the boys, keeping one for myself, which I slipped around my neck, tucking it discreetly under my shirt.
"What's this?" Alex asked, twirling the nickel between his fingers, which I had pierced and strung on a leather cord.
"It's a translation amulet," I explained. "Wear it, and you'll understand any language, even if you don't speak it. I tied it up so you wouldn't lose it."
Rolo's eyes sparkled, as they always did when he encountered something new and fascinating.
I grasped the silky handle and pushed the door open. It wasn't difficult, but it was heavier than the average wooden door. To the rest of the hunters, this place was known simply as "Headquarters."
It had a centuries-old history. It smelled like the typical smell of such places: musty and heavy with resigned sighs. I sighed too — I wasn't looking forward to the eight-storey hike. The air stuck in the building was heavy with the elegance of the old brick walls.
The building had centuries of history. The air was thick with the familiar musty scent of age and resignation, a smell I had grown used to. I sighed too, knowing what awaited us: the grueling eight-story climb. The air in here clung to the old brick walls, steeped in history and faded elegance.
Outsider hunters called the place by its true name, the one given by the founding fathers: Babel. And no, it wasn't just because of the height. Legend had it that this was where the magic behind the translation amulets was first crafted—created by Ágota Rosenstein at the request of her sons. Babel had stood as a testament to humanity's defiance of fate, and to hunters rising above the ordinary. It was the first place where hunters from all over the world gathered. While such meetings were now more often held in Berlin, the Rosenstein family still owned and maintained the place.
The wooden stairs groaned with every step, their creaking filling the air. Red carpet covered each one, held in place by golden rods. The handrail was old wood, supported by tiny columns, the varnish worn off from years of use. The imperfections in the wood only seemed to add to the place's charm. The exposed brick wall beside me radiated a bone-chilling cold.
By now, the others must have gathered in the meeting room on the top floor of the family base. I paused in front of the door, taking a moment to steady myself. My friends stood beside me, and I knew I had to do this—for them.
"Don't say anything unless they ask you," I told them. "No sudden movements. Try not to stare. And please, if you can, avoid eye contact for too long. They might take it as a challenge."
Alex was visibly tense, his nerves already picking up on the presence of nearly two dozen hunters inside. Rolo, ever the stoic, gave nothing away—only the faint sparks in his emerald eyes revealed his own excitement and unease.
I had no choice but to stay strong for all of us. I reached for the smooth copper handle and pushed. The click of the lock signaled that the door was open.