The Silver Star (Kat Drummond Book 11)

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  It was about time that Brett and I moved on and at least start to pretend that we were adults.

  Right on cue, as Brett and I entered the HQ, Brett was mobbed by three recruits and two inducted Crusaders. Guy Mgebe led them.

  “Garkain pinned in a warehouse on Adderley,” Guy explained, unflinchingly professional. But I was getting better at reading Guy’s subtext.

  What he actually had said was:

  “There’s a damn blood-sucking bastard in our city and we best show these younglings how to put it down.”

  Brett looked at me for assent.

  “I’m not your keeper,” I replied, with a sigh. “Have fun!”

  He gave me a mocking salute and sprinted off with Guy, Henri the Sniper and the three Crusader hopefuls.

  I was certain that Brett did enjoy spending time with me. One would hope so, and I was confident enough to believe that our relationship was going well. But Brett was still a guy. And guys needed guy time. In this case, with a friend named Guy. My boyfriend and his best friend had bonded over a mutual hatred of vampires. Both had lost family, friends and even communities to the blood-sucking monsters of post-Cataclysmic Earth, and both of them had built a career around slaying them. But, even if they weren’t paid, I had a feeling that both Brett and Guy would have found a way to continue their slaughter of vampire-kind. I couldn’t blame them. I had done whatever I could to rid the world of the undead. Even if my relationship with the necromancer whose eye I shared had tempered that hateful passion, I was still dedicated to my crusade.

  Brett and co had left, but I was far from alone. It had only been a few months since the Crusaders started its expansion, yet the HQ already felt like a veteran monster hunting agency. Hunters were constantly entering and exiting the building. Some stopped to salute. Some were new and didn’t know that I didn’t think highly of militaristic rituals. It stroked Treth’s ego too much. Which it shouldn’t. As they were saluting me, not him.

  I proceeded down the entry hallway towards the stairway. Perhaps, I’d drop into the mosh pit to check in with the recruits. But I doubted there’d be too many there today. The mosh pit was, effectively, a large waiting room. Hunters watched their phones and communal TV screens waiting for hunts to come up. There, they formed squads and went out to slay some monsters when a job came in. But, with all the bustle in the hallway, I doubted there’d be many hunters idle. I’d glanced at the MonsterSlayer App to see what people were up to while Brett drove, and it seemed to be a busy workday. But not busy enough that I could be afforded the opportunity to go and slay some monsters myself.

  No, no. These petty monster attacks were much too unimportant for the likes of the Last Light herself. I was the commander! I had an organisation to run, influential officials to meet, and strategies to implement. Only when there was a real crisis could I don my flaming cloak and feed Ithalen some blood and broken bones.

  I repressed a longing sigh as I watched Heather and Hammond lead some new recruits out on a hunt. One of the new girls had a sword. I was half worried that she was going to get herself hurt, and half envious that she was just starting this journey. She didn’t have all the baggage that I did. She could do what she wanted, without all the responsibility.

  I missed the brutal simplicity of living from kill to kill.

  But, I also knew that this was better. This was necessary. With the rise of undead outbreaks, and the constant threat of large-scale monster attacks and machinations by the Conclave, the Crusaders were not just another profit-hungry hunter agency. We were necessary for the survival of Hope City.

  Jane Phoenix gave me a politician’s impeccably white smile as I entered the reception area. Jane had, at one time, been the minister of police. And had even had a good shot at becoming the leader of Hope City. That was until a mad elf named Darius mind-controlled her to shoot her rival on live television.

  Jane had been freed under the circumstances, but her reputation would never recover. But, as hunter agencies didn’t really care that much about murder in its employee’s history, I hired Jane to help run the Crusaders.

  And, oh boy, I regretted it.

  “Kat! I trust you went over the income report for last month. And I need you to sign-off on the acquisition of the new flak jackets. Cindy also requests that we hire a new janitor.”

  “Another one?” I exclaimed. “Didn’t we hire a new one just last week.”

  Jane grinned oddly. She loved problems. It meant opportunity. Something she could solve. Jane may no longer be a politician by profession, but the nature of her previous vocation would never truly leave her. I should just cede full control of the Crusaders to her and make all the form-filling and document-analysing her job.

  “Ms Giles regretfully informed me that the old janitor was not adept in the handling of the minerals used in purification rituals.”

  “Handling what? They’re a janitor! If they can handle a broom and mop, they’re already an expert.”

  “Ms Giles has high standards. A welcome trait. I know you give much more leeway to the people you employ, for which I am forever thankful, but it is good to have a partner that is more discerning.”

  Jane’s grin became conniving.

  “If not, you may get more people like me.”

  I rolled my eyes. “A truly horrible thought.”

  Before she could ambush me with any more requests to partake in the vacuous endeavour of bureaucracy, I made a break for the stairwell. But Jane somehow gained superhuman abilities and kept pace without breaking a sweat.

  “Far from done, Kat. After you’re finished signing off on the acquisition forms, I need you to write a report about the recent outbreaks. Be persuasive. If the Council takes them seriously, that could mean big bucks for us.”

  “Those outbreaks are a danger to us all, Jane. It’s not about the money.”

  Jane beamed. “Yes! That’s a good start. Use that…”

  If Jane alone wasn’t bad enough, descending the stairway was my one-time boss and now constantly scheming head of merchandising. Conrad Khoi.

  Conrad looked like a smarmy used car salesman. Often, he acted like one too. But under that sleazy veneer, he was, in fact, one of the mythical Seraphim. His powers had been drained, making his disguise as a somewhat scummy human more convincing, but that didn’t change the fact that behind that perpetually plotting grin was a living, breathing angel.

  “Aye! Kat. Fleeing errands?”

  Jane didn’t seem perturbed at the accusation that I was fleeing her. But I realised that my hurried pace was a bit telling.

  “Fleeing towards errands,” I rebutted, whatever that means. Treth gave me a double thumbs up. At least he was convinced.

  “Ah, always the hard worker! So, you won’t mind taking a look at the new…”

  “I really don’t have time to be looking at the new lingerie posters you’re selling to perverts…what the hell is that?”

  I changed my tone from irritation to bemusement in seconds as Conrad revealed an orange, scaly trench coat from a duffel bag by his side.

  The trench coat lacked the fiery glow and almost sentient humming of my coat, and it was obviously non-magical, but it was still obvious what it represented.

  “Please don’t tell me you skinned a salamander for this…” I groaned. My coat had once been the hide of a salamander that I had killed. I regretted that kill, as salamanders were far from evil. But the creature had forced my hand. It was the lives of humans, my clients, or the life of a terrified and enraged fiery beast from beyond the In Between. Perhaps, it wasn’t as simple a choice as I made it sound. Perhaps, the salamander’s life deserved to be preserved. But, at the end of the day, a hunter had to make a decision. Right or wrong. And then stick with it. Decisiveness trumped conscience when it came to life or death.

  “Who do you take me for?!” Conrad feigned offence, pretending to gasp and be taken aback. “I procured the materials for this fine piece of merch the way all respectable tailors do. A wizard did it!”


  “A wizard skinned a salamander? That doesn’t make it any better. It’s like saying you’re a vegetarian because you only buy meat. You’ve never killed an animal yourself.”

  “Silence, demon! I won’t exchange venomous words with one such as you. But, rest assured that no fire-breathing lizards perished in the making of this coat. It’s all plastic, cloth and other doodads. I don’t know. I didn’t make it. The enchanters did. But I’m going to sell the fake hide out of it!”

  “Will people really buy something like it?” I sighed. “My coat is useful because it…you know…lights bad guys on fire. This is just a bright orange coat. Not that fashionable…”

  With those words barely passing my lips, I was reminded that I knew jack-shit about fashion. Trudie, my best friend, bubble-goth and a werewolf alpha, approached the three of us wearing one of Conrad’s knock-off salamander coats over a The Cure t-shirt. She had a mouth and handful of kebab. I seldom saw Trudie not eating something unhealthy these days. She was adamant about enjoying every moment of her inability to put on unhealthy weight or collect cholesterol. Being a werewolf did have its perks. That was if you could get over the potential to lose your humanity, of course.

  “Ah, Ms Davison, how are you enjoying the prototype?” Conrad grinned.

  Trudie held up a finger to tell Conrad to wait a moment, before swallowing and then grinning like a predator. But her eyes weren’t glowing gold, so the only predator was Trudie herself.

  “I didn’t think orange would be my colour, but it really grows on you. How do I look, Kats?”

  Trudie gave me a little twirl and then a wink.

  “I’ll be ordering three and am looking forward to the sales,” Jane interjected. “But there are still important things to discuss…”

  Trudie’s eyes flashed gold as she glanced at my discomfort, before placing her arm over Jane’s shoulders.

  “Actually, Janey dear, I’ve got some important business to discuss too. I talked with the Constantia alpha and he says he is positively ravenous to hear about your proposal for the Sentience Amendment.”

  Jane, seemingly ignoring Trudie’s unnerving werewolf pun and having forgotten her pestering of me, lit up. She and Trudie had been working with the werewolf packs around the city to pass a long overdue law. An amendment to Hope City’s magically protected constitution. Effectively, a law to declare werewolves a sentient species with the same rights as humans, vampires and other living species. Until now, werewolves weren’t exactly criminals by default but, if some hunter slayed Trudie, they wouldn’t be criminally liable. That didn’t sit well with me.

  Thankful for Trudie distracting Jane, I began to sneak away, just as she looked up.

  “Oh, almost forgot. Don’t forget that you have a meeting later today with the…Chairman.”

  Jane couldn’t help but sneer at the title. A rare show of her actual emotions. I didn’t blame her. She had almost won that coveted position. Now, it was held by the last person who had been expected to win it. Riaan Haggenort. A positively pathetic individual who had won by default as Jane was disqualified and Radebe had been shot on stage.

  I nodded, reluctantly, knowing better than to argue with someone whose entire job had been arguing. Well, that and form filling.

  I finally managed to escape her and Conrad before disappearing into the isolation of my office and home. It was quieter on the second floor and for that I was grateful. Until Treth appeared and interrupted my solitude.

  “You aren’t keen on meeting this Haggenort fellow,” Treth stated, unnecessarily matter of fact.

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “Maybe not to others, but don’t forget that I’ve been in your head for…how long now?”

  “I don’t know. Seems forever. And it’s all been torture!” I emphasised the final word and then waited for his response.

  Disappointingly, he didn’t even give me so much as a snort of mild amusement.

  “You must not forget, Kat, that you are a paragon. A hero. That doesn’t just mean fighting evildoers. It means maintaining a good working relationship with the ruler.”

  “You know how I feel about rulers and authority, Mr Concord.”

  “That’s not my sur…ugh, don’t distract me.”

  I grinned. Victory! Well, almost. Treth continued lecturing.

  “Your anarchism aside, it’s imperative to get along with those in charge. Maybe we can avoid ever having another debacle like your license being taken away. Or having the police trying to arrest you.”

  “Really? That was just one or two times! And it was fun.”

  “Excuse me, but I’m quite certain that if you die, I die completely. So please don’t coax any trigger-happy law enforcement into putting you down.”

  “You don’t want to die, ghostie? Wouldn’t dying mean more time you could spend with your lovey-dovey?”

  My jab must not have been that funny, as Treth frowned.

  “That’s not how death works, Kat. You are a special case. Spiritual energy flows more consistently and strongly around you. Without you, I am certain I would never be able to see Gorgo again. Let alone speak to her. But even if that weren’t the case…I don’t want you to die.”

  Treth said the last bit with an unmistakable hint of sadness.

  “Getting sentimental on me, old friend?” I asked, by way of trying to lighten the mood.

  “Yes,” he answered, simply. That didn’t lighten anything at all. Drat!

  I sighed. “Fine! I’ll pretend to enjoy my time with this glorified secretary.”

  Treth smiled sadly but nodded triumphantly.

  “It’s good for business, Kat.”

  “Since when have you cared about business?”

  It was Treth’s turn to laugh.

  “Since you corrupted me. Now, sign Jane’s forms. When she lectures you, I have to listen as well.”

  Rich of him to be condemning lecturing!

  Chapter 4.

  Business

  I rode my new motorcycle to the Council Building in Old Town. I’d long since lost count of which motorcycle this was. Hope City was rife with two things. Monsters and criminals. And both had a propensity to rid me of my primary method of transportation. But, a dozen monster heads usually came up to the same price as a new motorcycle. And I had definitely lost count of how many monsters I’d slain.

  As I pulled into a parking space near the Council Building, an aide spotted me. I knew this because their knees buckled, slowing them down as they sprinted towards me. I had dismounted my bike and taken off my helmet by the time the aide reached me.

  “Last Light!” the aide croaked. His looks did not match his behaviour. If he wasn’t currently pale faced and grovelling, I would have pegged him as the type of guy to win student council elections. A blonde preppy type with a strong jawline. But, right now, he looked like a sycophant in some sort of cult. Well, in a city that worshipped a titan that had almost destroyed it once before, we were prone to odd forms of hero-worship.

  “Drummond is fine,” I waved the title aside, making my way towards the entrance gate. The aide managed to outpace my stride, sweating buckets.

  “Oh no, La…Drummond. There is a special reserved parking for you behind the gates. No need to park on the street!”

  I looked at the parking space. Sure, it was accessible from the street, but I wouldn’t say it was ON it.

  “It’s fine! Really.”

  “But…”

  I sighed. “I’m already parked. And I’m sure that the City’s finest have quelled the crime rate enough that I can park my bike for an hour and not have it stolen.”

  The aide looked close to arguing but relented, following me inside.

  Like most Hope City residents, I had travelled past the Council Buildings a few times in my life. But, besides visiting its old parliament halls on a field trip, I had seldom been inside the building proper. And had definitely not had the opportunity to peruse its labyrinth of central offices.

 
The Council Building was an old structure. Very much pre-Cataclysm. And it was dripping with the dual prestige of age and disappointing status as a government building. As an historian and anarchist, I was torn.

  I stopped at the foot of the building and examined its whitewashed walls and towering columns. A metal bust of Adam Dawi, Hope City’s most decorated and successful Chairperson, dominated the plaza at the foot of the stairs. Dawi was a politician, so I didn’t like him much, but he had, very possibly, been assassinated by the Conclave. So, he couldn’t be that bad.

  “Shy, Last Light?” Treth chided, emphasising the title mockingly. He loved the title but knew that I found the moniker a bit pretentious. Well, any moniker. I shouldn’t be hero-worshiped just for doing my job.

  I eyed my ghostly companion subtly. While many of the Crusaders knew about my spectral companion, Treth was still a secret. I didn’t want to attract any more notoriety!

  “Chairperson Haggenort is expecting you, Ms Drummond,” the aide said, pulling me out of my contemplation. I was pleased to hear my actual name and not the title. At least it was just a single title, now. Before I defeated Loviatar, I had collected a bunch of nicknames. Flamewalker, Part-Time Monster Hunter (a bit outdated now) and Voidleaper. Last Light wasn’t any better but, at least, it meant I didn’t have to memorise all the mishmash of words people wanted to use to address me.

  “I’d hope he’s expecting me,” I teased. “He set up the meeting.”

  The aide didn’t seem particularly amused as he guided me inside. Beyond the front door was a security checkpoint. Metal detectors, scanning crystals, and a sprinkler that could spray out heated demanzite if a mage decided to get a bit aggressive. I didn’t see much point in a checkpoint such as this. If someone truly wanted to do harm to someone in this building, they would find a way. This checkpoint basically just stopped stationary theft. And seeing that everything here was taxpayer funded, it wasn’t so much theft as a tax return.