Halfblood Heritage

by Rheaume, Laura

  He told himself that he could meet the Youngs after he returned. He would just vid Mercy a couple of times so she could see that he was fine. Also, it wasn’t as if he was working for the Eler. He was almost working against them, by siding with the Hedeler.

  As for wanting to discuss the governor’s offer with Flame, he could do that when he returned as well. There was really no reason why he couldn’t do this one assignment.

  “Alright, I’ll do it; but I’m not agreeing to do more than this one mission.”

  “That’s all I’m asking for, right now. You’ll leave immediately. The sooner you get there, the better.”

  Right now? He couldn’t believe how fast things were moving all of a sudden...

  She signaled to one of the men at the doorway. “Our guest has decided to aide us. You will see that he is well taken care of, won’t you?” She turned back to Scythe, “Jorden is one of our better agents. He will brief you and answer any of your questions. You may also communicate with me through him if you need. I thank you for your help in this matter. It puts my mind at ease to know that soon we will have the answers we need in this case. Additionally, once you have worked with us, you may find yourself more amenable to our point of view.”

  “I doubt it, but, thank you for answering my questions, and for explaining as much as you did.”

  It was just one assignment, and then he would be back...He stood up.

  “The information I’ve given you is strictly confidential. You are not to share it with others, especially your Human family. In this, you will be held strictly accountable. The Scere protects the viability of the Human race against a powerful tide. It is intolerant of anything that undermines that objective, down to the man.”

  Scythe turned to look at the man who waited in the doorway. He looked strong, confident, and determined; he stood like a Blade.

  Next to him, Soshia spoke again, “Oh, and try to avoid the Eler. They’re not fond of you or our recent compromise which guarantees your freedom for a time; however, should your mission go as expected, we will have a much easier time justifying and even enhancing that freedom. Jorden will advise you with regards to that.”

  Damn idiot. Do you want to die? When Scythe didn’t bother to answer, beyond a mental eye rolling, he was hit with one more message: an overpowering, stubborn will to survive filled him. I will live, with or without you.

  At her dismissal, Scythe followed Jorden out of the room and down a long, unfamiliar corridor.

  The End

  Excerpt from Halfblood Journey

  Book two in the Halfblood Series:

  Halfblood Heritage

  Halfblood Journey

  Halfblood Legacy

  Prologue

  They were making too much noise.

  Only a Human would miss this parade.

  He held up his hand but kept walking, and soon his steps were the only ones echoing in the hall. Behind him, they would wait until they were needed, which would be when it was over. He reviewed as he went, remembering every detail of the building: the two rooms on the right were for storage, and the one next to it was the restroom with a broken faucet. The noisy one on the left housed the computers, which reminded him that a guy named Byron sometimes ‘worked’ late in the telecommunication room.

  He slowed down, listening and breathing in the scent before checking inside. No one. He slowly and silently pulled the door shut, but not before cataloguing the picture of a Human youth taped to the screen that hadn’t been there before.

  He heard a low shuffling when he had put enough distance between them to make someone nervous. It had to be one of the new guys. Everyone else had learned by now. A moment later, the shuffling stilled.

  This is it. One deep breath and a second to listen told him how many were likely to be inside. No longer than that, because if they were any good, they would just be detecting him as well. The same second was all it took for him to go from cold to hot, from walk to run, from waiting patiently to digging in with both hands. He dropped a match into a pool of something wet and flammable and his body became the flame.

  He took a hold of the handle and turned it, opened the door and walked in. He assessed the entire room with a quick glance. It looked nearly the same as he remembered, except for a few insignificant details. Along the back wall, a desk squatted in front of a wall of file cabinets. Between the door and his goal, a couch and a couple of chairs sprawled in front of a low table that hosted the evidence of a meal in progress: a fast food bag was ripped open to make a quick platter for the mountain of fried food that rose up in the middle of it. Three men hunched around it as if were a fire, basking in the heat of their own gluttony.

  “What the hell?” Number Three said, standing and reaching with fingers coated in grease and ketchup for the gun holstered under his jacket.

  Pleased that the boss had picked out such well trained dogs, Scythe took Number One by the collar, helping him the rest of the way out of his seat and into the doorjamb. Twice. It was a little bit of overkill, and cost him a pair of seconds, but it had taken him only one time to learn that some guys could take a hit like that to the head and still aim pretty well.

  Number One took a nap.

  Number Two saved him some trouble by coming to him, and bringing a knife to boot. He practically handed it to him, in a stabbing way. After sharing, Number Two got to turn and stand between Scythe and Number Three, his knife up against his own throat, digging in only enough to make a point. It was not a great weapon, but it was big and impressively scary with the serrated edge. Helpful Number Two must have liked to camp on the weekends; either that or he had to cut through a lot of bones.

  Blood. Scythe pulled Number Two’s blood in through his nose and let it run through his veins. His own blood ran after it, a pack of wolves chasing down a stray coyote.

  Number Three turned out to be a wild card. He didn’t even blink before shooting Scythe. It turned out to be a bad choice for him, because Scythe really liked it when people would shoot their own partners in the chest to get at an intruder. It was like holding up a sign that said, “Free game.”

  Scythe grinned and propelled a now useless Number Two forward the two steps he had left before he realized he was dead, let the obnoxious blade fall, and pulled out his own gun. He was going to have to hurry now, because the adrenaline would only mask the pain for so long.

  Number Three put two more bullets in his friend, both of which hit Scythe’s vest just as the first one had. Scythe gave him one for the shoulder, which took care of the gun, and one for each knee.

  Number three decided to have a little sit down.

  Letting Number Two go, Scythe helped out Number Three with a little pain reliever. Twice. He stepped over the man’s body and irritably knocked the gun across the room. He was already feeling it: the disappointment and frustration that inevitably sprung up when the last one fell. The wolves growled impotently at the room that didn’t offer any more game.

  All that waiting...all the holding...and it was over so quickly. Clamping down on the heat got tiresome after a while, but he could do it...he could manage it because he knew that his job provided plenty of food for it. A few bites like these would keep it just satisfied enough to sit still and wait until it was time to go out for more.

  What he needed to learn, he told himself, was how to draw the fight out longer.

  He approached Number Four.

  “You’ve got yourself a couple of holes there,” Number Four said, trying for nonchalant.

  Great, another talker, Scythe thought, and then narrowed his eyes. The man was unusually calm in the face of having his bodyguards distracted from their duties, so Scythe gave Number Four a little more of his attention. Scythe recognized what hung around him right away: a special kind of confidence that meant he was used to getting what he wanted. Since he wasn’t a big man, or particularly fit, and since he didn’t have any obvious weapons, that left one contributing factor.

  “Alright,” Number Four said
abruptly. It turned out that he was surprisingly blunt for a talker, or maybe he just was good enough at reading people to know that the shit had hit the fan. “How much?”

  ‘How much?’ told him it was going to be a dirty ride, but Scythe didn’t even flinch. He was used to it.

  Money. Power. Services. Resources. This was the place, and this was the man.

  But Scythe wasn’t buying, or selling. He was taking.

  “All of it,” he said, leaning forward just enough to wrap up the man’s mind like a present and then open it. “Show me where the querine is being delivered tonight.”

  Number Four was transfixed by Scythe’s power; frozen in his own body, he was helpless to stop his own thoughts from sitting up, dancing a little jig, and then dropping down and rolling over.

  Scythe shuffled through his memories with a quick, practiced efficiency. He ignored the man’s groans as easily as he ignored his own instinctive reactions to what he saw. The things this guy would do without blinking an eye...the things he had done to find and secure his position...were not things Scythe wanted in his head, but that was the price he paid to get the job done right.

  When he had gotten all the information he wanted about another building he’d never been to, he asked one more question, “Show me where the boy is.”

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  About the Author

  Laura Rheaume lives in Southern California with her husband and sons. A teacher by profession, she is also a student of aikido and a lover of road trips with the family. The Halfblood Series is her first major work and is based on a short story she wrote one spring break while camping on one of California's beautiful beaches. She has also written a stand-alone fantasy entitled Father Willow's Daughter. Your visit would be welcome at her website:

  http://www.halfbloodheritage.com.