Hellcats: Anthology

by Kate Pickford

  It wasn’t enough to knock him over the edge, but that hadn’t been Ronin’s goal. Instead, Hamedi lost his footing and stumbled into the channel.

  But he caught himself on the edges with his hooked swords. He wasn’t gone yet.

  The carriage scraped away, and Garrick rushed forward.

  As Hamedi tried to pull himself up, his bronze head rose from the channel like a gopher popping out of a burrow.

  And Garrick’s battle-axe was there to meet it.

  It cleaved clean through the bronze helmet and lodged at the bottom of the skull’s nose hole.

  Hamedi froze in place, and the remaining purple orb in his good eye socket went dark. He relinquished his grips on his weapons, his body went slack, and he slipped down into the channel. A moment later, Garrick heard a heavy splash in the waters below.

  He looked at Ronin. “That’s your idea of helping?”

  Ronin shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “So much for your plan.”

  “Hey, you got your wish. Plenty of death and destruction.”

  “Speaking of which, they’re still fighting down on the Urthian side of the bridge,” Garrick said. “Let’s grab this beast and get outta here.”

  Ronin pulled back the canvas of the carriage.

  Inside lay a cage made of blue metal on its side, but rather than containing a majestic winged panther, it housed a small fluffy housecat with striped fur.

  Garrick stared at it, then he looked at Ronin, who shrugged again.

  “Is this a joke?” Garrick asked.

  “Not a joke. This is it.” Ronin pulled the green-and-black rope from his belt and uncoiled it. “Don’t let its appearance fool you. It’s called a hellcat for a reason. I’m going to open the cage, and you’re gonna grab it, alright?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” Garrick didn’t know whether he should be mad or relieved. He decided it was too ridiculous of a situation for him to be upset. And besides, the little beast was actually kind of cute.

  Ronin opened the cage and said, “Now!”

  Garrick reached one huge hand in and grabbed the hellcat by the scruff of its neck, just like a mama cat would’ve done. As Garrick took hold of it, the hellcat mewled, soft and sweet, but it went totally limp. Only then did Garrick notice the black, leathery wings protruding from its back.

  Weird.

  “Alright…good,” Ronin said. “I’m gonna tie it up, so just keep it—”

  The hellcat spasmed, and its wings spread wide. It thrashed and hissed in Garrick’s grasp, and he reached to grab it with his other hand.

  “Hold it!” Ronin yelled. “Don’t let it go! Whatever you do, don’t let it go!”

  “I’ve got it!” Garrick shouted back. He wouldn’t let go of its neck no matter what, but as he tried to grab the front of it to calm its rage, it latched onto his other hand with its claws and its teeth. Searing pain pricked and scratched his palm and his fingers like dozens of tiny knives. “Ow! Not cute! Hurry!”

  “I’m going as fast as I can!” Ronin furiously wrapped the rope around the hellcat, gradually pinning its arms and legs and peeling its claws and teeth away from Garrick.

  Then its mouth began to glow red.

  Garrick’s eyes widened. “Look out!”

  Ronin ducked just in time to avoid a blast of red-hot fire from the hellcat’s mouth. It lit up the night sky in a raging inferno. It only stopped once the hellcat closed its mouth.

  Garrick cursed. “What in the third hell?!”

  “I told you it could do that,” Ronin said with a laugh. “I’m almost done. Just don’t let it sear my head off, alright? Point it toward the sky or something.”

  Garrick did, but he said, “The rest of the Bronze Skulls and the wyvern riders will have noticed that. We need to go.”

  “Almost there…” Ronin wrapped the last bit of rope around the hellcat. “Done.”

  “What now?” Garrick asked. Then he noticed something glowing green from within one of Ronin’s pouches. “And what’s that?”

  “Huh?” Ronin glanced down. “Oh!”

  He reached inside and pulled out the small wooden box covered in crimson lacquer. Green light streamed from around the opening in the center, which was still secured by the golden clasp.

  “I’m guessing that’s your sign,” Garrick said.

  “Must be.” Ronin smiled. He unfastened the clasp and opened the box, and the green light multiplied in brightness.

  The next thing Garrick knew, the hellcat in his grasp dissipated into red light and slipped through his fingers. The light streamed toward the box and merged with the green light within, turning it yellow.

  Then the box shut on its own, and the clasp refastened itself. It glowed with warm yellow light for a moment, then it faded to nothing, leaving the crimson box just as it had been before.

  Garrick looked at Ronin, and Ronin looked at Garrick.

  “Let’s get out of here,” they both said in unison.

  Several days later, after much traveling and even more prodding, Ronin agreed to take Garrick to meet his mysterious client to deliver the hellcat box.

  They met in an old farmhouse in southwestern Govalia, which suited Garrick just fine. A quick trek to Osnal would get him back to drinking on a beach in Caclos within a few days.

  When the client finally emerged from an adjacent room within the farmhouse, Garrick frowned at him.

  He wore the most miserable disguise Garrick had ever seen, including a false nose with spectacles and a mustache made of black fur over his face, which looked somewhat like a cross between that of a human’s and a wolf’s. A wide-brimmed hat topped his head, and he wore a large, flowing cloak that did little to hide his excessively hairy arms and legs.

  “This is Mr. Furlong,” Ronin introduced him. “He commissioned me to find the hellcat so it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

  Ronin pulled the small crimson box out of his pouch and extended it toward “Mr. Furlong,” but Garrick snatched it away from him.

  “Hey! What are you—”

  “You moron,” Garrick chided him. He turned to Mr. Furlong next. “And you’re a deceitful bastard, too! Take off that stupid disguise.”

  Mr. Furlong snickered and removed his hat and glasses, revealing short, wolflike ears and an overly hairy head. Then he shed his cloak and stripped totally nude, except the same kind of furry hair on his head covered his entire body. Only then did he begin to give off his usual amber glow.

  “This is Ravzar, the God of Beasts,” Garrick said to Ronin, whose eyes widened. “And yet again, he almost destroyed the continent because of his carelessness.”

  Ronin dropped to his knees and bowed down. “Great Ravzar, please accept this humble offering!”

  “Stand up, idiot,” Garrick barked. “He doesn’t deserve your worship or any offerings.” He turned to Ravzar and pointed at his hairy chest. “You’d better pay this man whatever you promised him and then some.”

  “Aw, Garrick,” Ravzar said between chuckles. “C’mon. Lighten up, will ya? Just havin’ some fun.”

  “Nearly torching the continent is not ‘fun.’ We’ve been through this. You know better.”

  Ravzar’s countenance went stern, and his voice hardened. “And you know better than to lecture a god.”

  “I wouldn’t have to lecture a god if the god could handle himself.” Unfazed, Garrick glanced down at Ronin, who was still kneeling and bowing. Garrick nudged him with his boot almost hard enough for it to be considered a kick, and Ronin shot upright. “Are you gonna pay him or not?”

  “Hand over the hellcat, and he’ll get what he’s due.” Ravzar displayed a yellow, lupine smile.

  “Coin first,” Garrick said. “Or you can claim this from Aquina at the bottom of the Tahn Sea.”

  Ravzar grunted and muttered and growled, but he waved his hairy, claw-tipped fingers and produced a head-sized bag brimming with gold coins out of thin air. It landed in his hand, and he pulled the drawstring tight to shut th
e bag.

  “Here.” He tossed it to Ronin, who caught it with wide eyes, then he faced Garrick again. “Now lemme have my babe-er-reeno.”

  Garrick tossed him the crimson box.

  Upon catching it, Ravzar exhaled a long, contented sigh. “Much appreciated. I’ll be sure to enlist your services the next time one of my beauties makes a run for it, Mr. Shroud.” Ravzar gave him a toothy, doglike smile.

  “Or just don’t let any of them escape. How about that instead?” Garrick pressed.

  “Pbbbbt.” Ravzar waved his furry hand. “Always the buzzkill. I’ll see to it that this little one can’t make babies, alright? Now go back to your fruity drinks on the beach.”

  “I will,” Garrick said.

  “And let me know when you’re ready for that rematch.” Ravzar gave Garrick a wink and walked toward the door. But instead of walking through the door, he disappeared in a flicker of amber light.

  Ronin blinked several times, then his eyebrows lowered. He looked up at Garrick. “Rematch?”

  “Arm-wrestling,” he replied. Ronin kept staring at him, so Garrick added, “Long story, and I’m leaving for Osnal right now.” He extended his hand to Ronin, who took it and shook it. “Good working with you. Don’t ever ask me for help again.”

  “Deal.” Ronin gave him a smile, and then they went their separate ways.

  Several days later, Garrick concluded a long night of drinking pineapple ale at the tavern.

  As he made his way home, a wild chicken skittered across his boots, and he stopped short.

  Such a nuisance.

  But as Garrick cursed the chicken, he heard a familiar mewl, soft and sweet, from some ferns nearby. He turned, disbelief in his chest.

  When Garrick saw a tiny mouth glowing red, his eyes widened, and he cursed Ravzar anew. This couldn’t be negligence again. It had to be some nasty prank the God of Beasts was playing on him.

  A blast of fire sprayed from the hellcat’s mouth and fried the wild chicken, which screeched and fell over, dead. Then the hellcat leaped out of the bushes and landed on the chicken’s seared corpse, tearing into it with its tiny, razor-sharp teeth.

  As he watched, Garrick reconsidered the curses he’d leveled at Ravzar. Maybe this fiery furball wasn’t so bad after all…especially if it dealt with the rest of the island’s chicken infestation so deftly.

  Plus, it was pretty darn cute, wings and all. Perhaps this wasn’t a prank after all.

  Perhaps it was a gift.

  Garrick crouched next to the hellcat, which continued gnawing on the extra-crispy chicken, and tentatively stroked its soft fur. “I suppose if you’re gonna stick around, I should give you a name.”

  The hellcat stopped its feasting for a moment and looked up at him with contended feline eyes—eyes with a touch of fire deep within them. It gave another mewl and rubbed its head against Garrick’s knee.

  Garrick couldn’t help but smile.

  Definitely a gift.

  Ben Wolf is the award-winning author of I’d Punch a Lion in His Eye for You, a children’s book Ben wrote for his son. When not writing sci-fi or fantasy, Ben chokes his friends in Brazilian jiu jitsu. He lives in Iowa with his gorgeous wife, author Charis Crowe.

  Find out more at subscribepage.com/fantasy-readers.

  37

  Devourer of Souls

  by Kris Bowes

  Nova might be a spoiled house cat, but she won’t hesitate to rip out your soul and sacrifice it for the greater good… if you’re on her list.

  Splinters of light broke through the curtains. The sun was far enough in its descent to bust through and blind Nova. She stretched herself awake. The heaviness in her limbs faded. Lucipurr was still snoring, sheltered from the light by the arm of an overstuffed couch. Halfway to the drink she desperately needed, a new assignment ripped through her.

  She couldn’t contain the deep growl that escaped as her muscles tightened and gravity pulled her to the floor. All eighteen of her claws extended. Electric shocks burned their way from her brain down her nerves. A faint blue glow overtook her field of vision.

  Nova was forever bound to the gate along with the rest of her legion. Her kind fought the all-consuming destruction of the Unformed, the ancient ones who once ruled the Earth. Nova’s forebearers had sealed the Unformed into other dimensions using the Earth’s magic but everyone knew the seal wouldn’t last forever.

  She had been the third of twelve in her legion to be awoken. Only two of them were still dormant—two unassuming cat totems sitting atop Urraca Mesa, a place that boasted the most lightning strikes in New Mexico. There was a reason for that. The Earth sends energy where it’s needed most, and the gate seals needed that energy to remain closed.

  When the active legion members couldn’t keep up with the gate’s demand for soul sacrifices, they would reanimate the last two of their cohorts. The Earth had struggled to power the seal for a couple of centuries, so Nova’s legion had been awoken one by one as the gate’s demand for souls grew.

  Veins of magic ran through the Earth (and beyond) as ley lines, but many of the weaker branches were entirely dormant now. There was still enough magic to provide most of the power to the seal. But not all of it. A little extra boost from a soul sacrifice was enough of a supplement for now.

  Nova’s body accepted the assignment and her claws retracted. She stood up and wobbled into the kitchen and drank until the bowl was dry.

  “Hey! You didn’t leave any for me,” Lucipurr whined.

  She ignored him. Dusk and dinner are synonymous with one another. Lily, their human, would be home soon. And with her, more water. That fact didn’t stop Lucipurr from sulking—kittens are so dramatic.

  She circled around, waiting for the blue haze to brighten and show her where to go. When she was facing due southwest, the blue tinge became more radiant. The soul wasn’t too far away; she had enough time to eat before collection. Truth be told, she had never taken a soul that wasn’t dark and terrible to power the gate seal. She suspected that was part of it: the darker the soul, the more power the seal drew from it.

  “Cleocatra! I—” Lucipurr bawled.

  “How many times have I told you? I am Nova, Devourer of Souls and Guardian of the Seventh Gate of the Unformed. Only Lily calls me Cleocatra!” She strutted toward him; her ears flattened to her skull.

  He backed away and squeaked, “I’m sorry. I thought since Lily calls—”

  “Lily doesn’t know any better,” she snapped.

  Lucipurr took another step backward and tripped into the empty water bowl. He rested his head on the edge of it, looking defeated.

  “Just call me Nova,” she offered.

  He perked up a little and climbed out of the bowl, “Why don’t you just tell her?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure, you can. You told me,” he replied.

  “The human world is different. Things did not go well for the last one I told.”

  “But Lily is a—”

  “No, I can’t. I won’t.”

  The front door creaked open. Lily bounded through and kicked off her loafers. Her satchel dangled from her left shoulder, and she clutched a thick envelope to her chest. In her right hand, she held a tote bag. Lily always smelled faintly like death when she came home from work. Nova inhaled deeply and caught a different scent mingling with her typical eau du cadavre, “Chicken!”

  Lucipurr joined her in tasting the air, purring all the while.

  Lily rushed through the living room and into the kitchen. She deposited her tote on the counter then scurried to the dining room, sliding the envelope onto the table and dropping her bag on the floor. She rushed down the hallway to her bedroom.

  When she returned, she had traded her work clothes for jeans and a black t-shirt. The straight black hair that was usually tucked behind her ears was coiled into a tight bun.

  She ambled into the kitchen. Lucipurr was on the counter. Nice move, rookie, thought Nova. Lily scowled at him, then carefully picked
him up and whisked him over to the couch. He jumped before she could set him down.

  Nova sat beside her food bowl and waited. Lily watched Nova watching her. “You’re a strange one, Cleocatra.”

  You have no idea, thought Nova.

  Lily retrieved the cats’ bowls. She puréed some chicken, rice, and root vegetables for them. She placed the full food bowls on either side of their large water bowl. She filled her plate with the same, unpureed.

  Both cats were content, faces buried deep in their dinner. She walked past them and into the dining room. She sat down on the dining room chair with her plate to her right and the envelope to her left.

  A colleague in Albuquerque had asked for her opinion on an unusual case. There was a string of murdered sex workers—not unusual, unfortunately—who’d had their eyes removed—very unusual. She slid the file out of the envelope. Detective Gonzales had included crime scene photos along with all the written reports, interviews, and statements.

  He asked her for her opinion, which was that the suspect likely lived in the area, was male, in his mid-thirties, white, and a sexual sadist—nothing that even an amateur profiler wouldn’t tell you about the vast majority of serial killers.

  Interestingly, he hadn’t left any fingerprints or DNA behind, which suggested that he was intelligent and organized. The only evidence they had found was some squirrel tail hairs on a victim’s coat, but there may have been a reason for that which had nothing to do with the murder. Lily pulled a pad of paper from her bag and jotted down some notes:

  Re: the third victim—any connection to a wildlife rescue or pet squirrel?

  Unless she was involved with one of those two things or communed with nature regularly, it seemed unlikely that the victim was the source. She would have been too busy hustling to take on extra commitments like wildlife rescue, Lily commented to herself. Who the hell was this killer? With four bodies in three months, they were accelerating. The first two were two months apart, the third one a month later, then the fourth came three weeks after the third. The time between kills was getting shorter, which meant there would be another victim very soon.