by Carrow Brown
I scoffed, offering mock protest. “Why should I trade you anything? So far, you’ve enabled a mess I have to deal with and allowed Hunters to infest your territory. If anything, you should pay me to go away and pretend we never had this conversation.”
Seven’s ears drooped, and his bottom lip quivered. “If you do not support my business, mother dearest, who will?”
“For fuck’s sake,” I said, giving him an exasperated look. “You’re seriously pulling the pity card on me?”
Seven gave me a toothy cut-the-crap smile and set a small empty vial on the countertop. “An ounce will do.”
I scrunched my nose up. “What are you going to use it for? Blood’s a serious agent in magic.”
“You will be safe.” He grinned monstrously wider. “There is a guard in Rose Prison who requested it and promises to pay very well for what we can provide.”
My eyes rested on the vial. There was only one person I knew in Rose Prison who’d request my blood. I picked it up, turning the object over in my fingers. “Give me fifty percent of the cut.”
Seven narrowed his eyes. “Ten.”
“I’m not going lower than forty.”
“You assigned us a number instead of a name. Thirty is the final offer.”
“Low blow. I stand on forty.”
Seven held up a gnarled finger for me to wait before climbing off the counter. When he returned, there was a clay wine bottle in his hand.
“Thirty percent and this,” he said, presenting it to me.
Taking it, I looked it over and arched an eyebrow at the label. “You think mead is really going to cover the difference?”
He stared at me in silence before extending the vial in my direction. “That bottle was crafted by Aegir himself.”
I eyed the bottle again, my fingers sliding over the cool surface. Shifting my sight to look at the bottle magically, I found Aegir’s signature mark embedded into the clay. I held several thousand dollars’ worth of mead in a clay bottle. Just thinking of what it would taste like made my mouth water.
Admitting to your alcoholism is the first step. You can mitigate that addiction with bloodshed. I will volunteer my precious time to help you.
Snorting, I set the bottle on the counter and thought. “Fine. Thirty percent and the bottle is a deal.”
I pulled out Silence and slid him across my palm in a smooth motion. The pain was little more than a dull throb as I held my hand out. Black blood trickled down and Seven caught all of it, watching with wide eyes until the vial was full. He corked it and held it as if it were made of gold, while I licked at my wound until it healed.
You’re going to need to eat soon. Between the shifting and self-inflicted injuries, your last meal won’t carry you far.
“It is always a pleasure to do business with you,” Seven said, looking up at me with what I thought was a pleased expression. It was hard to tell with goblins if they were grinning or just exposing sharp teeth. “So few have your manners and courtesy.”
“You don’t have to keep buttering me up, Seven. You’ve got what you wanted.”
“Oh, but we do. Because we want you to come back, Most Valued Customer.”
Jim returned with his arms full of my order. I took the guns and placed them into my bag before filling it up with the bullets. There were two books, carefully maintained and wrapped in plastic, as well. I looked over the covers, one on Egyptian rites and the other involving the history of Atlantis, and tucked them into the front pocket of my bag. Seven took the time to place my bottle of mead into a special case to protect it from impacts before sliding that into my bag, as well.
I pulled out Kathy’s encased brain and set it on the counter in front of Jim. His eyes snapped to it and he moved in to examine the jar.
I patted the jar. “She had Alzheimer’s. Not sure if that mucks things up for you.”
“As long as it’s not cancer or a tumor, it’s fine,” Jim said, picking up the jar. “Alzheimer’s brains go well with jalapeño.” He offered me a genuine smile. “Thank you.”
I shouldered the bag. “You’re welcome.” I should have haggled for more bullets out of the deal, but I didn’t want to worry about having to carry too much. Weight wasn’t an issue for me, but bag space was, even with enchantments.
“Don’t go outside tonight,” I told them.
They shared a look, but it was Seven who asked, “Why?”
I grinned, exposing my teeth to the men. “I’m going wabbit hunting.”
CHAPTER NINTEEN
Punchable Face
Hunting involves more than leaning against a lamp post and fiddling with your phone. You have to, you know, hunt.
I grinned at Silence’s comment. “But I’m doing just that.”
How?
“By baiting.”
What? That makes no sense.
“Baiting. You heard Seven. They took a photo of me, so I blipped their radar. Given the number of abductions in this area, I know they are still around.” I tucked my phone away and swept my gaze over the area.
You better be right, Silence grumbled. Otherwise, I think you came to the Quarter just get some drinks. You promised me stabbing.
The mental image of Silence’s misshapen face flickered in my mind’s eye. When faced with personal pressure, I focused on work until my brain was ready to sort things out. Looking up, I paused and listened to the whispers. Soft hisses. Guttural rumbles.
Silence mentally nudged me. I wouldn’t bother listening to them. They just repeat the same thing over and over.
I tilted my head at the volunteered information. “You understand them? What are they saying?”
That they’re hungry.
A shudder rolled down my back and I found myself listening to endless numbers of voices. Just the thought of all of them hungry and possibly prowling for a way to get to food left my blood cold. Some part of me was pretty confident they were going to be picky with their food like I was.
Focusing my attention away from the voices, I took a quick inventory of what was on me instead. My Glock rested in my shoulder holster inside my jacket. Silence, secure at the small of my back, was within easy reach if needed. My hand dipped inside the pocket of my parka to check for my flash grenade, one of the few magical items I carried on me.
A nagging sensation of being watched tickled the back of my neck and grew into an annoying itch. Pausing, I didn’t see or hear anything that stood out in my surroundings. So I was either imagining it or the person was that good.
I adjusted the strap of my bag and started to head deeper into the city. In the late afternoon, only a handful of people could be seen. Nothing stood out as I crossed into the French Quarter. In the distance, I could hear music, laughter, and the subtle growling of cars. A red squirrel darted up along a building, his head peeking into the windows for easy food.
People became more prominent the farther I went. Street vendors sold goods, fortune tellers wooed tourists, and my nose picked up on the occasional smell of a witch or zombie hiding in plain sight. Further and further still, music became the dominant theme, the beat humming its way into my bones, pulling a smile to my lips. I paused to listen to a singer inside one bar. The basso was confident and assertive as he sang out his heart and soul. I wanted to go in and listen, but I kept walking.
For all the local flavor, the bar strip held exactly the same people you could find anywhere in the realms that served booze. Mostly college students out for a good time, men and women drowning their sorrows in a bottle of something, loners looking for temporary companionship, and the occasional male wanting to drink and fight, with a penchant for the second.
It was a member of the last class who swaggered away from his friends at the bar toward me as I walked. Despite my effort to step out of his path, our shoulders collided. The impact caused him to drop his bottle and the sound of glass shattering drew the attention of a few toward us.
The man rounded on me with a snarl. “What’d you do that for?” he snapped
, spittle flying with his foul breath onto my face.
“I didn’t do anything,” I said.
“You want some of this, bitch?” He lifted his fist up in my direction.
Silence snickered. He looks like a squealer to me.
He wasn’t massive, but even in his shirt and jacket I could see a scrapper’s build. Not to mention, he had a smug, punchable face. I noted his friends moving away from their seats and toward us, but something in their expressions didn’t give me the impression they were going to pull him back to the table.
“Look, I don’t have time to teach you manners, so why don’t you go back to the bar with your buddies?”
His snarl deepened, and he took a step toward me. “I ain’t afraid to hit a woman,” he slurred.
“Your mama must be very proud.”
This guy is making it too easy. I highly encourage you to curb stomp him.
A giggle almost bubbled out of my throat at the idea of a brawl. I let my bag slide down my arm to rest on the ground as I looked the group over. Another man reached over to grab the drunkard’s arm. He murmured something to the first man while trying to pull him away from me, but his belligerent friend jerked his shoulder away and stomped my way.
I looked at the man, but he only smirked. The guy’s punchable face rating went up with every passing second.
I popped my knuckles and flexed my fingers. “Come on, impress me,” I mocked.
“Don’t tell me what to do, bitch.”
“Call me a bitch one more time and I will break something of yours.”
He laughed, his hands went up, and he did a few playful jabs at the air between us.
The peanut gallery requests for bone to break the skin, Silence snickered. His excitement rose up in me, and I had to fight down a giggle. Lots of blood! Teach him the beauty of pain and fill the air with his screams!
The man, true to his word, rushed me with a fist aimed at my face. I brought my hand up to knock his arm to the side, and our limbs met with the solid sound of flesh on flesh. His arm didn’t get diverted as much as expected. I felt his strength pushing back onto me. His movements were too sharp and crisp for him to be drunk.
He’s testing you? Interesting.
His other hand flew toward my face in a hook, and I stepped back and out of his range in time to feel the flow of air from the fist. I started in while he turned and brought my fist up and into his ribcage. It connected, and I heard the satisfying subdued pop of a rib breaking.
He grunted and wheezed, his hand flying to his side as the pain registered. I could’ve left it at that, but I had never been the benevolent sort.
I asked, “You okay?” as I grasped his elbow to help him stand. He let me, and as he rose I jerked him toward me and slammed my knee into his groin.
I reveled in the pained squeak as he crumpled back to the ground.
A heavy footstep behind me signaled that my downed opponent’s friend had decided to join the fight. He slammed into me from behind, hoping to knock me off my feet, but I pushed back against him with all the brute force I could muster. His arm wrapped about my neck, and he pulled back, tightening his hold on me.
Snarling, I twisted to seize his groin and pulled. Hard. Soprano shrieking filled my ear, and his hold loosened as he curled up in the fetal position by my feet.
No testicles are safe from us!
I turned and stomp-kicked him several times for good measure, the force of my blows only for bruising, not breaking.
C’mon! Go at him with the chair!
Breathing deeply through my nose, I turned and looked about at those who had stopped to watch. Some held their phones with the camera aimed in our general direction with fingers pointed at the grown men.
“This is a good stopping point,” I muttered. I smoothed my hair with my hands as I walked to the first man, still rolling in agony from his injuries. Leaning over him, I gripped him by the hair to push him onto his back. His face was twisted up in pain, and one hand pressed to his side and the other lower while he took slow and shallow breaths. He glared at me, eyes shimmering with suppressed pain and hate.
“You and your friend should go to the hospital,” I told him and started to walk away.
“Fuckin’ bitch,” he snarled.
I paused and turned back toward him. “I said I’d break something if you called me that again.” In the next moment, my foot stomped down on his arm with a delicious crunch.
The man didn’t scream like I wanted, but grunted in pain instead. A pity, really. I’d had him down as a squealer, too.
I turned to grab my bag and make my way out of there. The gathered onlookers parted to let me pass.
It didn’t take long for me to blend into the milling crowd in the Louisiana evening as I resumed my walk. A few police officers rushed past me on their way to the bar but didn’t glance in my direction as I passed. I continued to breathe slow and deep through my nose to calm my heart and blood from the fight. Inside my jacket, I could feel my hands tremble from suppressed adrenaline.
In moments, I left the crowded area and wandered around with the other occasional people walking through the Quarter. But not alone. I sensed him as my breath started to even out, my thoughts focusing back on my task. When I took another casual look around, I saw him. A man tailing me.
A bird croak pulled my attention from the man to overhead. Three ravens peered down at me from a balcony. Their heads turned to watch me as I passed. One opened its beak to call out again and said, “Bani!” Death.
I snorted, pausing in my walk to face the bird. The trio of them perched over the closed establishment with their wings fluttering in what I knew to be bird laughter. Nothing set them apart from other carrion birds, but if I looked at them magically, I’d see plenty to prove the contrary. Where Valkyries go to do battle, ravens will follow.
Oo, three’s not bad, Silence mused. At least one person is going to die!
“Hopefully not me,” I said.
You don’t die. Only become savage with hunger.
With a shake of my head, I looked up at the ravens once more with a smile. “How is it, ye ravens—whence are ye come now?”
The three of them cawed, their wings fluttering at their sides.
“Ghost,” one raven croaked, earning a look from a nearby person, “funny.”
“Allfather and gore,” another said. “Corpses and blood.”
Why can’t we have more friends like them? They speak my language.
Shaking my head, I resumed my walk once the ravens took to the air. Heavy footsteps sounded behind me once I made it halfway through the Quarter toward the main street. A quick glance over my shoulder showed the man I noticed before still followed.
If he kept following me, I could lose him and then track him in turn. Or I could end this and face him straight on. I had to consider he might’ve been a cop tailing me after the assault. My best option was to lure him away from the crowds and see what happened.
I stopped and lifted my head to scent at the air with dramatic wolfish head bobbing. They thought I was a lycanthrope, so who was I to disappoint? I turned my head to look at my mystery stalker.
Our eyes met for a brief moment before I walked backward and into an empty alleyway. It wasn’t a long wait before he appeared around the corner, his head lowered as he followed me, another man on his heels.
His age was hard to determine because of the distance and half his face hidden by a hat and hoodie. His jacket spread open. I scanned for a bulge, spotting nothing significant. He couldn’t have anything better than a pistol.
My magical senses twanged and another figure stepped out in front of me, blocking my path. Robed and hooded. A third, a woman, appeared from behind a dumpster and stepped closer to me, also dressed in a thick hood. In moments, I counted six people closing in to pin me to the wall. I tilted my head and looked about at the surrounding people before shifting my attention back to my first stalker.
He pushed his hoodie back. He was a man in his m
id-thirties with blond hair starting to gray at the temples resting about his neck. My eyes focused on the radio earpiece in his ear. Another quick look at the group showed they all had one. Part of me had hoped it might have been the big bad Henry himself.
Keeping my voice cheerful, I said, “If this is about the guys at the bar, they started it.”
“It’s what they’re supposed to do,” he said, giving me a smug smile.
“Supposed to do?” I arched an eyebrow. “Why?”
Silence’s amusement tickled my mind as he asked with sarcastic tones, I’m confused, who’s the bait?
“I wanted to see how you fought. Even though you have weapons on you, you fought those men using your hands. It was quick, efficient, and you didn’t permanently cripple them.”
“Observant of you.” I frowned. “You’re studying me?”
“We’ve been tracking you for a while. Now we got the order to detain you,” he said, opening his jacket and exposing the Hunter’s insignia.
I played along and widened my eyes in mock-shock at the insignia before glaring at the man. “There must be better things to do than tracking me,” I snapped. My eyes shifted about as I took in the measure of the people around me. I loosened my knees and lowered my center of gravity. All but the man who followed me tensed, reaching inside pockets and coats.
“On the contrary, it’s been our goal to follow you and your people to learn more about your species.”
Our species, Silence snickered. This is funny. They don’t even know what we are?
“Gross.” I looked at the others moving in on me. “Is this some weird stalker-boner thing? You kidnap us and jerk off at night?”
“Our purpose is not your concern,” he said.
“Of course, it is. It affects me and others like me. Not to mention no one does something for nothing.”
The man scoffed. “Who needs a reason to rid the world of monsters?”
I frowned and then turned to step off to the side to keep walking. The two that had stepped out before moved in to block me.
The question was what they were going to do since they had found me.