Chapter 1
Paris, France
26th August, 2012
It could have been such an ordinary, balmy Friday evening – but not for me. With a sigh I walked closer to the heap on the street that was partially illuminated by a street lamp, already sensing trouble. There was blood, and the bizarre form turned out to be a shredded-to-pieces body lying in an awkward angle on the cobbled alleyway. The victim was human, a young female. Her killer was a shapeshifter, probably gone rogue. Sure I wasn’t one of them and couldn’t tell it by scent or anything but the small strands of gray fur here and there and the open stomach made it seem obvious. To top it all off, the police station was right around the corner and the last thing I needed was a long discussion with some smart-ass officer as to my presence on a murder scene – again. Way to go, Maiwenn. I really knew how to pick them.
I looked the small and narrow alley up and down. It was calm here, no cafés; but only a few meters away, turning into the next street, the nightlife was buzzing with people celebrating the weekend. Most humans were ignorant and repressed any unexplainable stuff that would make their world tremble, but I preferred to be better safe than sorry. I began to chant, repeating the same phrase over and over so that it would divert the eyes of passersby. Although I was a witch – okay, okay only half – I couldn’t do a lot more in this case. I didn’t have the time for something fancy. And so I just grabbed my cell and began taking pictures of the crime scene; first of the surroundings, mostly modest apartment buildings lying in the dark and where only a few windows were still lit-up, and then of the body. I knelt down and took a closer look on the wounds; deep claw marks and pieces of flesh ripped out. Yep, definitely shapeshifter. And he would be punished for his acts - with death.
When I was finished, I got up murmuring a prayer for the young girl whose life had ended too early and in too brutally a way. Then I pulled a little bottle out of the pockets of my leather jacket and poured the contents over the body. I would never get used to the horrible noise created by the acid burning through flesh and bones but I didn’t have a choice. Even humans were only ignorant up to a certain extent.
After I cleaned the scene I moved on. I would find the bastard who had done this to her, but for tonight my patrol was done. Soon I would lose the cover of darkness, so I headed home.
Home was a comfy apartment located on the upper floor of an old six-story building near Place de la Bastille in the east of Paris. I punched in the code for the security door, got the mail and headed upstairs, enjoying the scent of the old wooden stairs. On the fifth floor a door opened with a soft creak and Viviane, not only my relying neighbor but also my tutor and friend, appeared in the doorway. She was fifty-some, still good in shape and had short auburn hair showing streaks of white.
“Bonsoir Viviane!” I greeted her, kissing her on each cheek, and breathed in her familiar scent of Chanel No.5. I was surprised to see her up at this late, or rather early, hour. It was almost five.
Viviane looked me over with worry showing in her warm hazel eyes as she searched for wounds.
“I’m fine, really,” I assured her and the tension showing in her slim shoulders released a little but not entirely, telling me there was more.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come home. I need to talk to you, Maiwenn.” Her voice, like whiskey, rolled through the dark silence of the stairwell.
I frowned, wondering what was wrong, but nodded. We climbed the last steps together and went into my apartment. I closed the door behind her, took off my boots and went into the kitchen where I put my keys on the big counter, which served as a table and roughly divided the room, and made us some tea. The kitchen and the living room were actually one spacious room painted in a color Viviane called apricot. I watched Viv sit down in one of the blood red comfy armchairs and heard her sigh as she looked out the big double-casement windows offering a breathtaking view over a sea of roofs and little, round chimneys.
“Ah, I’ve always loved this view. Paris, the City of Light. When I see this, I understand again why we risk our lives each and every single night.”
I carried our two steaming mugs on a tray to the little table standing in front of her, took one for me to warm my hands and set on the couch facing her, tucking my legs up. The scent of strawberry and raspberry filled the air as I waited for her to tell me what worried her. Sooner or later she would, Viviane had her own time.
“We’re broke.”
I just stared at her, probably catching flies with my mouth since that revelation came rather unexpected. “How’s that even possible?” I finally got out.
“You remember the crisis a couple of years ago? Well, the patronesses, so actually we, mostly invested in stocks. It was good…but after the crisis, it went downhill. I thought we could manage it. But now I have to admit that it was foolish of me, I should have told you right away. So…”
“We’re broke,” I whispered still trying to wrap my mind around that one.
Then Viviane leaned forward, the light back in her hazel eyes and a shadow of a smile pulling at her lips. “But I have an idea how we could fix this. You should rent the other rooms. You don’t use the space here anyway. You could get yourself some company and some money. Two birds with one stone, darling. And maybe we could reconstruct the first floor, turning the space beside your office into stores or something like that. What do you think?”
I thought about it. I couldn’t work more hours since I already had a full-time job – two actually – so the money had to come in from somewhere else. “Reconstructing the first floor is a good idea. It will take some time and money but given the high demand for space in this city, in the end, it might work out. But roommates, Viviane? With my line of work?”
“Maiwenn, the magic might still be hidden in this world but you aren’t the only one to know that it is there.”
“I’ll think about it, okay?”
Viviane took a relieving breath and took the mug of tea in front of her. “Now that that’s settled, how was the patrol?” She sipped carefully, watching me.
She said it in a way others might ask “how was your day”. I liked that, it made me feel normal. As if we were talking about a job and not a curse. Then that’s what it was – a curse. Not meant to be but it just turned out that way.
My mother was Geneviève, the first Patroness of Paris. She’d been devastated, heart-broken and pregnant when she had finally found shelter and a hint of hope in the city of Paris; only to see everything endangered by the invading Huns. Having enough of running away she decided and promised to do and give everything in her power to defend her new home. Well, she kind of gave me, unintentionally.
My mother had died when I’d still been a child and so her loyal friend the Lady of the Lake, Viviane, had been taking care of me ever since. She loved and trained me, was my tutor and my mother. Geneviève’s death left first Viviane and then me as the new Patroness of Paris behind. But my mother couldn’t have known that we didn’t die. Well, we did die; our deaths just weren’t exactly permanent. For the rest of the world the Patronesses were born, fought and died; ever changing, never staying. Whereas, in reality, we weren’t.
We were reborn, again and again, to protect the city. So technically, we were the only Patronesses to have ever existed after Geneviève, although we couldn’t remember our previous lives. What a shame. Now I probably made the same mistakes over and over again. What a depressing thought.
I understood and accepted why I didn’t cease to exist permanently. My mother was a witch, she just didn’t know it at the time, and spoke those words with all her power behind it, all her heart, so she accidently jinxed me. Magic was a tricky bitch. But I didn’t really understand why Viviane would be reborn and she refused to explain it to me. I only could guess. The Lady of the Lake, being a powerful and mysterious creature herself, chose to be reborn; either to watch over Caledfwlch, also known as Excalibur which she gave to me, or to look after me. I hoped for both.
“It’s bee
n quiet lately. Disturbingly quiet. Something’s up. I found a dead girl tonight, about sixteen years old, a rogue got her.”
“Et merde! You’ve found him?”
I shook my head. “Not yet, but I will.”
Viviane smiled at me, pride showing in her eyes. “You always do.” She got up; her body already a little tired after all those years of fighting. “Now, I’ll let you be, you must be exhausted. Sweet dreams, ma grande.”
I saw her to the door and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Bonne nuit.”
Left alone I studied the room and thought about Viviane’s idea of sharing the apartment. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad to have someone around. Except that someone would be in permanent danger with me around and therefore would have to be somewhat crazy. With a sigh I went along the living room and into my room. It was nothing fancy; just a bed covered with golden yellow sheets and the only trustworthy man on earth lying sprawled across it – my orange cat Malo. A closet in one corner, desk in the other one. The walls were painted a warm grass-green and covered with overcharged bookshelves. Like everything else in the apartment they were made out of pine wood, even the floor, and the fresh scent welcomed me.
“Salut!” I greeted Malo, who got up and stretched, and then I opened the left door of my closet, containing a full-length mirror. I looked at my reflection. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t anything special either. Green eyes were staring back at me. I was about five-ten and had dark blond hair which normally came down past my shoulders but I always kept it braided or in a bun to keep it out of harm’s way, so to speak.
I began to take off my weapons; three throwing stars and my two Trident Daggers, everything went into a drawer. I really liked my daggers. By pushing a concealed button on the ivory heft a portion of the blade would spring outwards on each side. That way the dagger was not only capable of trapping other blades – well, claws most of the time – more securely but also of inflicting more damage to the wound while I pulled it out of my adversary’s flesh.
Yep, times and methods had definitely changed. Geneviève had defended Paris by praying, that was nice and effective but I for one preferred a more personal and direct approach.
The last weapon that I still had on me was Excalibur, my double-edged sword. Long, lean and lethal, with a design of two chimeras on the antique golden hilt. It had its own magic, so that tucked away in its leather harness it stayed hidden from curious eyes. Given the fact that the sword was of value and allegedly lost and Excalibur a too famous a name I called it Cutter according to its original meaning. It wouldn’t end up in the closet. I always kept it close, never out of reach.
I went over to the desk, opened my laptop and began to upload the pictures from the crime scene I’d taken. After that was done I headed into the bathroom to freshen up with Malo following my every step. Then it was finally time to crawl into bed. I hid my sword in a way so it was easy to grasp and donned a top and shorts, just in case an enemy decided to pop in – I really couldn’t recommend fighting butt naked – before hopping into bed. Beside me my cat found an acceptable spot, circled a little and curled up resting his head on his front paws. I stroked the soft fur behind his ears, eliciting a vibrant purr, and wondered about what Viviane had told me. We were broke. How could that have happened?
“Jesus Malo, what’ll tomorrow bring?”
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