Both Barrels of Monster Hunter Legends (Legends of the Monster Hunter Book 1)

by Josh Reynolds

  “I had it in my hand, I put it into my mouth before I morphed. Jaguars have no pockets.”

  “Neither do naked red-heads.”

  Her dinner arrived, which she attacked with an animal single-mindedness. Jeremy finished his and they worked on the wine. Jeremy signaled the waiter for another bottle.

  Her meal finished Prosperine turned her attention back to him. “I’ve been in these mountains since I left you. Life has been good until recently when these kids disappeared. I had to move more into the human world to avoid all these trackers and police. It’s causing me to run through my money, so you’re paying for dinner.” She continued, “I checked with the local evil after the first three bodies.”

  “Three, I thought this was the first?”

  “Humans haven’t found them. One male and one female, they’re the missing kids from what I can tell. They are all pretty well destroyed, partially eaten by something that doesn’t eat like a natural beast, unless you know of any Tyrannosaurs wandering around. I know animal bites; these bodies were bitten to pieces.”

  “Were you able to find out anything?”

  “Only that the local evil has had more casualties than the human world. Stands to reason, most of the evil up here lives in the mountains. The area’s empty, I found one boggle in the woods. It told me it was tunneling down to the netherworld for a couple of years to avoid whatever has moved in. It may only have turned on humans because it exhausted the supernaturals.”

  She looked around. “Speaking of supernaturals, where is your tall, dark and menacing archangel?”

  “We’re taking a bit of a vacation from each other.”

  She stared at him.

  “I told her I wanted a week by myself. I can’t even get back in touch with her unless I return to Charlotte.”

  She leaned back in her seat. “Can’t say I am sorry, she scares the crap out of me.”

  “I want to see what I can do about this on my own,” he replied. “We can always turn tail and head for Charlotte later.”

  He eyed her. “You in?”

  She yawned a surprisingly animal-like gesture in her. “Yes. But it will cost. I need money to keep up my human guise. Ten thousand dollars and you’ve hired yourself a fearsome werebeast of extraordinary intelligence and beauty.”

  Jeremy signaled the waiter for the check. “The Knights Templar is a poor order.”

  She drained her glass. “Bullshit. All these religious orders have tons of golden treasure, land and artwork.”

  Jeremy signed the tab. “Yeah. Okay, you have a deal.”

  “Good,” she said. “Let’s go up to your room and have some violent sex.”

  “Huh?”

  She took his arm. “I’m evil. I like it rough and it will be rougher on you than me. Don’t worry, you’ll still love it.”

  “And if I am not in the mood?”

  “You’re twenty-five year old human male. Plus I can smell you’re in the mood. I’m in heat and I’ll be a lot easier to deal with after you satisfy me.”

  “I thought that was perfume. Guess, I’d better satisfy you then.”

  “Yes, you had. We’ll go looking for trouble tomorrow. Tonight we eat well, have sex and sleep deeply.”

  “I like to watch TV after.”

  “Shut up,” she growled.

  Prosperine proved to be a handful in bed, two handfuls, with a delightful if demanding directness. Jeremy did keep flashing back to the movie “Cat People” but fortunately, however much Prosperine growled and yowled, she did not lose control of her human form. She was not big on cuddling afterward, preferring a solitary couch to the wreck of the bed.

  If it wasn’t for the mutilated teens, he thought before plunging into sleep, this would be the best vacation ever.

  Morning arrived too quickly. After showers and breakfast they pulled Jeremy’s Mini out of the garage and headed into the mountains.

  “Any idea where to look?” Jeremy asked.

  Prosperine stretched sinuously. “I’ve been over the areas to the north and east. While I sensed disturbances in nature, they were transitory.”

  “The kids were last seen near Bat Cave, NC, about twenty minutes south of here. Maybe we can get a lead from that turtle object.”

  They spent the morning driving around the area around Bat Cave. Checking at small towns, camp sites, low rent hotels. Some people had seen the kids in the area, all had told the police what they knew.

  They stopped in a few jewelry stores and souvenir shops, showing off the turquoise turtle. They hit pay dirt with a local artisan. “Yeah,” said the man, an aging hippie in a tie-dye shirt. “That looks like it might be old Adahy’s work. He makes Cherokee handicrafts, ceremonial objects, knives, pipes. Has a general store north of town on Old Bat drive.”

  “Is there anything out that way?”

  “Not much, some places that don’t even qualify as towns, a lot of hills where people go hunting.”

  “I’ll buy it from you,” the man offered.

  “Thanks, I think I will hang onto it.”

  The man grinned. “Present for the hot babe?”

  “Something like that.”

  Jeremy collected Prosperine, who was examining some stuffed animals with too much interest. They took the road to where it went from asphalt to tar and chip. At one scenic overlook, Jeremy parked the car; they ate the lunch he’d bought in the last town. Prosperine was quiet but good company. Good, he thought, because I’m not sure how to make light conversation with a 1000-year-old jaguar wearing a girl costume.

  He pulled the car over. “This Adahy’s place should be around this hill according to the map. Let’s approach on foot.” They hiked up the ridgeline, looking into valleys that no one beyond the occasional hunter might have seen in hundreds of years. At the crest, Prosperine pulled up short.

  “What is it?” Jeremy asked.

  “Power,” she said. “Old power, not familiar, but not good either.”

  “Can you tell where it is?”

  “Can try.” She stalked forward. Even in the loose-fitting hiking clothes she wore there was an explosive tautness in her movements. She unzipped her jacket despite the cool autumn air. “Don’t want to get tangled in clothes if I need to jag on short notice.”

  They trekked through the pines until they found themselves on a hillside over a back road. A one-story building with a tin roof sat off the roadway with its back to the hillside. Some sheds and smaller buildings filled a fenced yard behind it. Jeremy took out a small set of binoculars. Animal skins were stretched out on frames. Small skulls dotted poles. The building had a foreboding look to it with its dark wood siding. There were windows on the sides but they were either papered over.

  “Bad place,” Prosperine sniffed. “Dead animals and something more.”

  They worked their way down the hillside so they could come out on the road as if they were hiking alongside it. A sign over the covered porch said, “Adahy’s General Goods.” The front of the store was less foreboding. Dreamcatchers vied for space with a Coke poster of a girl in a bikini. Some sturdy rockers sat in invitation next to a checkers set on a barrel. The windows here were uncovered but filled with pottery and other Cherokee handicrafts. The door was covered with glyphs and symbols he didn’t recognize. Prosperine shrugged when he looked at her. “Do we go in?”

  The decision was made for them as the door opened. An old man in jeans and a beaded jacket looked up at them. He was slightly stooped and wore his long, gray hair in a braid with a feather hanging in it. Black eyes looked out a seamed and leathery face.

  “Morning folks,” he said in a deep voice. “Can I help you?”

  “We were just out for a hike,” Jeremy said, juicing up his own French accent. “We saw your store and thought we’d drop in.”

  “Sure,” the old man said. “Come on in and look around. I got pottery, handicrafts from the Cherokee and Natchez tribes, even some Iroquois stuff. Not like that crap like you get from the Souvenir Cherokees down in
the big towns, I got the genuine article. Make some myself and I’m genuine.” He gave a dry chuckle.

  “We prefer the authentic,” Jeremy said.

  Prosperine was staring at the old man until Jeremy nudged her. “Let’s see if we can find a present for your Dad.”

  “What? Oh yes.”

  “Is that a European accent, young man?”

  “Yes.”

  “French, I’d say but I also hear a hint of Scotland in it.”

  “Very perceptive,” Jeremy replied.

  He chuckled again but the sound was devoid of humor. “It pays for an Indian to know about Europeans. Our problem is we learned too slow. Well. Look around. I gotta go get the mail and the paper.”

  They walked through the store past shelves of canned goods, tools, and pottery. Jeremy paused by the stacks of refrigerators full of drinks and some wrapped sandwiches.

  “We should buy something so it doesn’t look suspicious.”

  She eyed him. “You’re a fool if you take food or drink from this place.”

  “Where is he?” Jeremy said. “I want to get into the back rooms.”

  She looked out the window. “Coming back.”

  “Damn,” Jeremy walked over to a display cases. In one lay a variety of turquoise animal pendants and bracelets. In the other were ranks of knives. The blades showed they were handmade. He opened the case and picked out one. The knife was finely made and balanced.

  The owner walked back in a paper and some envelopes in hand. “You know your knives.”

  “I collect them,” Jeremy said.

  “Those are tribal made blades, I finish them out myself. That’s one of my best.” He said as he walked past Jeremy to the counter, dropping the mail next to the cash register.

  “How much?” Jeremy asked.

  “I modeled it on the old Puma White Hunter. Sharp enough to cut through a bad dream. Couldn’t let it go for less than 200 dollars. Sheath comes with it.”

  “You take plastic?”

  Again the dry chuckle, “Yep, no wampum for me. Me heap big modern injun.” He pulled out a small credit card unit.

  “You have a sale,” Jeremy said, not reacting to Adahy’s mocking tone. He handed the knife to the old man careful not to touch flesh with him. Jeremy noticed the pictures of the missing teens on the wall. The one of Hans had a neat “X” drawn through it. “Shame about those kids.”

  Adahy looked up. “Oh, them, yeah.”

  “They find the others?”

  “No. Ain’t gonna either. There’s more in these mountains than white people believe.”

  “Such as?” Jeremy asked.

  “Nothing you would credit young man. No offense. Anyway I haven’t heard anything about them finding the kids. You know, they were in here.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, bunch of punk kids, all dressed in leather, chains, with crap hanging out of their eyes, ears and noses. Two boys and three girls, real trash-talkers, all of them.”

  “They give you trouble?” Jeremy asked.

  “Ah, the usual stuff: stupid war-whoops, bad jokes. At least they bought some stuff but even that…well they got no respect. They just thought there might be some black magic or bad medicine in the objects. The dead one, they found, he fancied himself some sort of adept in the occult. The others just lapped that up.”

  “You ask me, he’s the one that was trouble. I bet he killed the others. One of those murder-suicide things all these Goth kids are into.”

  Adahy handed him back his credit card and a slip that Jeremy signed. Then he wrapped the knife in plastic and handed it to Jeremy. “You folks take care,” he said with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

  “We’ll do that.”

  Jeremy felt relief wash over him along with the sunlight as they stepped out of the gloomy store. Prosperine was on his heels as if she too had no desire to linger. They walked quickly down the road until they were out of sight of the store then cut into the woods.

  “What did you sense?” he asked, as they made their way back toward the car.

  “Hard to say,” she replied. “There’s a scent of evil on him, but it’s hard to say if it is old bitterness and hate, he does not like your kind, or something more. He does not feel like a witch, yet somehow there is something familiar…he reminds me a little of my first master, an Aztec priest. As if his power came from an old and different source than the European witches I served.”

  Jeremy frowned. “A shaman? Templar records show those mostly to be myths. If these Native American myths held any real power European absorption of the Americas would have been slowed or stopped.”

  She shrugged in response. “Compared to what? Technology trumps most magics, a 20mm chain gun will kill all the witches and warlocks you want. Magic can move mountains but it does so subtly. How do you know shamans didn’t slow it up? Anyway, this Adahy bears watching.”

  “Yes,” Jeremy replied. “There was a certain satisfaction in how neatly and carefully that “X” was drawn on Han’s photo. Like a guy keeping score.”

  “What now?”

  “I think back to the Inn, then back here around midnight, we’ll check out those backrooms. See if he is up to something supernatural. He is not a right guy.”

  “You’re feeding me right?”

  “Yeah, you’re still on expense account.”

  As they walked into the Grove Park Inn, Jeremy spotted Dietrich at the front desk.

  “Trouble?” Prosperine asked following his gaze.

  “Maybe. Make yourself comfortable by the fire.” He walked over to the desk. Dietrich turned well before Jeremy reached him, maybe picking him out of a reflection or the corner of his eyes.

  “Oh, there he is,” chirped the girl behind the counter.

  “Looking for me?” Jeremy asked.

  “Yeah. I have something of yours.” He gestured at some nearby seats. Jeremy followed him. Dietrich sat stretching out his long legs. Jeremy sat opposite him. The lean, state-trooper reached into his overcoat and pulled out a package and some paperwork. “One Walther PPK in 9mm, seven rounds all unclipped and loose, one magazine. Said Walther is empty with the slide locked back and the safety on.” He slid the pen and paperwork over to Jeremy.

  “Safety first,” Jeremy said as he signed and handed the material back. Jeremy took the envelope but laid it aside without opening it. Cops didn’t like guns in civilian hands, not even unloaded ones. Dietrich’s lips quirked as if he had just divined Jeremy’s next question…

  “Any luck on the case?”

  “Identified the body. As I suspected from the size, it was Hans Ulrud, eighteen-year-old German exchange student at UNCC Ashville.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Young, hardly more than a child.”

  “You’re kinda young yourself to think so.”

  “Perhaps it’s the miles, Officer, not the years.”

  “It is sometimes. Lots of hard miles in the graphic design trade?”

  “You might be surprised.”

  “Oh, you surprise me in a couple of ways. Not too many graphic designers have a concealed carry permit.”

  “Well studio space is often cheapest in the poor neighborhoods.”

  “Your address in South End is pretty trendy these days.”

  “Don’t cross the light rail tracks, it gets less trendy real quick.”

  Dietrich leaned back, studying Jeremy with his cool denim cop eyes. “I got a friend in Charlotte PD named Detoma. She says you sometimes show up around, let’s say, unusual events in the company of equally unusual people.”

  Jeremy’s ears pricked, had he heard a slight stress on “people”?

  “Wow, she must be in the Charlotte PD’s Vagueness Section.”

  “She says you can be useful to people in unusual trouble. She’s heard good things about you from people she trusts.”

  “Nice to hear.”

  “You staying in the area?”

  “Yep still got plenty of vacation.”

 
; “Plan on hiking with your lady friend? She looks like the outdoorsy type.”

  Damn, Jeremy thought, this guy misses nothing. He must have spotted us coming in.

  “The hills are beautiful this time of year,” he replied, aware that Dietrich was trying to rattle him, though unclear as to why. Perhaps he just did it to everyone.

  Dietrich leaned forward and handed him a card.

  “It’s got my cell number on it. My instincts tell me you may be a right guy. They also tell me you’re not what you say you are and you might turn up stuff I need to know about.”

  Jeremy pocketed the card.

  “Try not to get the pretty lady killed while hiking,” Dietrich said as he stood. “That would be a sin.”

  “No worries. She can take care of herself. She’s a bit of a wildcat.”

  Dietrich flashed him a grin. “Lucky you.”

  Armed with bloodsword and pistol, Jeremy and Prosperine pulled out of the Inn at about 10pm. The drive to Adahy’s shop wasn’t a long one. They made their way by the same trail they’d used earlier that day. As they crested a hill, Prosperine touched him on the shoulder. “We’re being followed; behind us. One man. I smell gun oil.”

  Jeremy nodded. “At the opposite side of the clearing.”

  He drew both the pistol and he bloodsword from its concealed sheath in his black leather duster. They stepped behind trees and waited. After thirty seconds a man stepped out of concealment. He was tall and lean in a grey uniform and carried an M-14. Dietrich. The lean officer hesitated then took a knee, sensing something.

  “Lieutenant Dietrich,” Jeremy called. “Why don’t we all step into the open carefully.”

  “You’re good, Leclerc,” Dietrich called. “Yeah, how about you and the lovely lady step out slowly.”

  Jeremy stepped out, his pistol pointed at the ground; sword resting casually on his shoulder. From nearly alongside Dietrich, Prosperine stepped out. Dietrich gave a low whistle.

  “I’m good in the woods too,” she said with a toothy smile.

  “Quite a cleaver you got there,” Dietrich said. “You want to tell me what’s going on here?” His M-14 remained poised between Prosperine and Jeremy.

  “We’re working on a lead on the missing kids,” Jeremy said.