After breakfast I grabbed a thermos filled with the rest of my coffee, my laptop and keys, and pulled on a comfortable pair of colorful sandals and was out the door. Arriving downstairs I didn’t head out the front door but turned left instead and into my office. The room was painted in pale amber, a warm color invoking grain fields on a rainy day, and dominated by an old, wooden desk. The wall behind it was covered with rows of filing cabinets.
I put the laptop on the desk, booting it up and then set down to sip a little of my coffee, enjoying this peaceful moment of silence. When the clock announced that it was time to get to work I moved to open the front door of my office and waited for the first clients to show up.
My telephone rang. I turned and answered it, “Bonjour, Maiwenn Cadic with Saints Investigation, how may I help you?”
Yes, I was a private detective. Mostly strange stuff. My job was it to keep Paris safe after all so I decided it would make life easier to become a P.I. It made it less complicated to explain my presence in delicate situations to the police, if necessary. And of course, sometimes I was able to help people before it’s too late. Translation: before they were dead.
“Bonjour, my name is Sandrine”, a female and desperate voice said. “I need your help. A friend of mine gave me your number and told me you would believe me, listen to me.”
That’s the way it mostly worked. By hearsay. I opened the office five years ago and started to hand out my card to those I helped on the street and told them to come by if they were in trouble. Magical trouble. Word spread and after establishing some connections and relations, folks came rushing in. Well, almost.
“Hello Sandrine. I’m listening, what’s troubling you?”
“I have a boyfriend. We’ve been together for four years now. We want to get married. But last night he made this special candlelight dinner...said he needed to explain something.” She snuffled, “He told me he’s a wolf. A werewolf.” She slowed down, probably expecting me to cut in and tell her she should stop this nonsense, but I stayed silent, listening. “At first I thought it’s a joke, but...then he changed right in front of me. What do I do now? Will I become a werewolf, too? Can I marry a werewolf? Will he kill me? What’ll our babies look like? I have so many questions...”
And sometimes I ended up the agony aunt. Oh boy.
At seven I closed up to head out, patrolling. One last time I checked my weapons – everything was there; three throwing stars, my two Trident daggers and, of course, my sword Cutter which was safely tucked away in its dark brown leather harness strapped across my back.
The air was clear thanks to a light but steady breeze, even if dry and scented of summer and the occasional waft of perfume from people passing by. Cars drove past with their brakes screeching or the horn hooting and mopeds droned. The streets of Paris were crowded as usual but people were wearing less and laughing more, thanks to the heat and the holiday period. During the hot months of summer the city was cramped with tourists, to such an extent that it almost belonged only to them while the Parisians fled, escaping the stress and the noise, and enjoying their summer elsewhere.
Never taking a particular route I just followed my gut, my instinct. They would guide me to where I was needed.
We were living in interesting but also very dangerous times. We were living in times full of change. The Mayan calendar would stop in December but the reason for it was not the end of the world, like the humans wanted to believe. Not exactly, anyway. Let’s just say it would be the end of the world as we know it when Earth’s magnetic field would reverse. Human scientists wouldn’t know what to expect but the magical community knew it very well.
With the reversion of the magnetic field, the magical balance between realms would change, too. Our – at present – non-magical world would change into a magical one. There were transparent gates between realms and in December they would open up again and magic would flood the world once more. Californian’s trembling coast, the floods in Europe and the storms in Asia were only a few catastrophes that were a sign of the weakening of the gates and only a foretaste of what was to come.
After the last Turn some magical creatures got trapped or some just chose to stay here. That’s how we’ve still got shapeshifters, undead, witches, faeries and other stuff roaming the Earth. Sometimes those gates between the worlds leaked and magic would flow into our realm, giving strength to those magical creatures.
In the 19th century chosen representatives of the magical creatures formed The Council, an institution established to govern the magical community in secrecy and located in the USA. They enacted laws everybody had to follow or otherwise would be punished, permitting a secret coexistence with humans. The three most important laws were quite simple:
No one gets turned without the permission of the Council.
Every creature gone rogue was to be killed.
The existence of magic and otherworldly creatures was to be kept a secret.
The last one was going to change very soon though.
The Turn would be like a bomb going off. Chaos would rule. Humans – now perfectly ordinary beings – might develop powers they’ve never even dreamed of, just because their grandmother might have been a witch or something like that. To avoid this kind of chaos or to at least contain it The Council was in negotiation with the human governments to on one hand prepare the humans for the things to come and on the other one to plan their coming-out.
I was walking through the Quartier Latin enjoying how the last rays of the evening sun envelopped the typical limestone buildings in a warm glow when I saw what seemed to be a couple leaning against a wall, making out in the shadows of a gap between houses. The man had his hands on each side of the woman, trapping her. He bent down, apparently kissing her throat. Every other passerby would probably turn away believing to interrupt some lovebirds. But not me. Goosebumps covered my skin and warned me. I saw behind this facade. It was all in the woman’s eyes. She was terrified. Vampires could put their victims in a sort of trance, with just one glance, and then they would pull them somewhere private and feed upon them. That’s what was going on here.
I unsheathed Cutter, being alert. “I’m the Patroness of Paris. May I see your license please?”
The vampire’s head whipped around, his face distorted in a hiss and blood red eyes glowing in the night. Nope, I wouldn’t find any license here. That I was sure of.
Vampires were bound by the Council’s law to carry a license including a magical sensor that would tell how many humans they were allowed to drink from and had actually tapped. Still, feeding off humans was rarely possible. They mostly had to be satisfied with canned blood.
His red eyes had the same effect as a bright neon sign flashing “Bloodlust”. And for me it ranked right up there with “Jackpot”. Exactly what I needed as a warm-up.
I rotated my wrists swinging Cutter around, stretching my muscles, and smiled at the vamp. He growled back. And his gaze locked on my neck. I smiled, feeling the familiar weight of the silver locket engraved with a Celtic knot under my shirt. It would protect me as good as a cross would a Christian – the power depending only on true faith and not the deity.
“Looks like you should work on your seduction skills. Apparently she doesn’t want you.” I slowly approached them. “But lucky for you, I do. Come here, I won’t bite!”
The vampire charged me. In the last moment I sidestepped him so that he ran passed me. Quickly whirling around and wielding Cutter in a wide circular motion I severed his head and kicked his back from behind. His body fell to the ground, his head toppling down a split second later. Both turned instantly to dust.
I stared at the swirling ashes in disbelief. “Oh come on, I really expected better from you!”
Behind me the woman had snapped out of the magical hold and started crying. Not a loud wailing but those silent and heartbreaking tears. She sunk to the ground, her legs giving away.
I sheathed my sword and hurried to settle down beside her and taking her i
nto my arms I murmured into her hair, “Shh, everything’s okay. You’re save now.”
We sat together till there were no more tears left within her.
Then she looked up at me, her eyes swollen from her tears. “Thank you, thank you so much. I don’t understand what just happened, but...thank you. I think you saved my life.”
“It was an honor.”
We got up and I lead her into the lights of a bigger side street. It was time to move on.
“Hey, who are you?” The woman asked, still trying to understand what had happened and working herself through the confusion.
I smiled at her and gave her my card. “If you ever need my help again. Was nice meeting you. I have to go now. Take care.”
I set forth towards the Jardin de Luxembourg without farther troubles – and without any sign of the rogue. Dammit. When I reached the gates of the park I looked around, checking the area. Since no one seemed to look or to care I swiftly climbed the fence and landed quietly on the soft green grass on the other side. Standing still for a moment I listened to the night. The distant hum of cars, a cricket singing in the park; nothing out of the ordinary, and so I continued my way. As usual I was once again baffled how quickly the air had changed – no deafening noise but a reverent calm as if time passed more slowly here, no polluting fumes but the scents of flowers and green leaves instead.
As I drew nearer towards the grand stairways leading to the Senate building I caught a faint sound and took cover behind the trees, moving quickly but silently. Soft moonlight illuminated the great central fountain below – and the woman dancing in its waters. Buck naked. A faery, if the wings were anything to go by. I sighed, stood up and approached the faery. She was about my age, slender and had curls bouncing around an oval face, her pointed ears sticking out.
She caught sight of me and, stretching her arms out, she nearly begged, “Come! Come dance with me.”
The woman was obviously high on faery dust. It happened from time to time. Faeries needed to dust flowers and trees and stuff to make them grow and blossom. But if they didn’t get the golden colored dust out of their system it would accumulate. The result? Well, they might end up dancing naked in a fountain before the senate in the middle of Paris. That’s why most faeries preferred life in the country, by the way.
It would take a while for her to calm down judging from the glittery cloud swirling around her and making her glow like a firefly. I closed my eyes and drew in the energy of the dust flying around us and hoped I had enough time to take care of the delicate faery situation at hand.
I kicked my shoes off and stepped into the fountain. The water was cool and refreshing after a hot summer day. “What’s your name?”
“Pauline, and yours?”
“Hi Pauline, I’m Maiwenn.”
“Oh, that’s a beautiful name and you’re beautiful, too.” She must be delirious. “Like an Amazon...” she bounced around, flashing her breasts at me. “Dance with me, please!”
Yep, delirious.
I approached her to take her hand. “I’m sorry Pauline!” I threw a golden brown powder in front of her face as she breathed in, and caught her as she fell. It wouldn’t hurt her. The sleeping powder was mainly made out of valerian root mixed with a little magic. It just knocked her out long enough for me to bring her to safety.
I wrapped her up in my jacket and carried her as fast as possible to my apartment clouding us in fog so we couldn’t be seen. At home I laid her onto the couch for a while, preparing a bed in one of the other rooms in the mean time. When everything was ready I tucked her in.
I would have liked to crawl into my bed too, but had this feeling that the patrol wasn’t done for tonight so I headed out again.
The streets were rather quiet with only the distant and tidal hum of cars, air conditions and electricity pumping through the city’s veins. The evening was warm, the air stagnant, but there was a hint of refreshing music in it. People, illuminated by streetlights and colorful neon signs, on their search for a next drink, a next dance or a next flirt passed me by, and I kept going, watching for vampires or other shadows of the dark. Then, with a new slowly rising wind came the smell of blood. And death. Not far away.
Five mutilated bodies were lying in an alley not far from my apartment. Surprisingly, they were naked. Shapeshifters, who had changed back to their human form after death?
I was used to seeing this stuff but I sure as hell would never get used to the feeling of loss and failure.
Pushing away those negative thoughts since the situation at hand needed my full attention I pulled out my cell, prayed for the lost souls and started taking pictures of the crime scene. After that was done I crouched down and I got out a small plastic bag and carefully filled it with a sample of the bundle of fur that seemed to have been rather deliberately placed between the bodies. Standing up again I sealed it and tucked it into the waist bag I carried around my hips.
Next step was the clean-up. Of course, I had some acid with me but it was not nearly enough to make five bodies disappear. Special situations needed special treatment and for this one I needed help. Lucky me, I knew the right guy for this. Well, actually he was the only one I could depend on with such a case so hopefully he would hold his stomach.
I pushed the button for speed-dial on my phone. Mathieu Ardent was a human, or almost, and a friend of mine. We had met three years ago while I had been on the pursuit of an exceptionally nasty vampire, who had tried to open his own personal blood bank by stocking anything that walks on two feet in a hidden basement – among them Mathieu. He had been sixteen at that time, and we have been close friends ever since. In such a way that more often than not I feel like the bigger sister running after her baby brother.
Mathieu answered after the second ring, “Allô?”
I was running out of time, so I kept things simple. “Salut, I need your help!”
Understanding, he sighed. “How much do you need this time?”
I looked over the bodies. “Hmm, actually a lot, maybe some liters will do.”
“Wha...What? What did you do?”
“Me? I didn’t do anything. I just stumbled over five dead shapeshifters during my patrol. I need you ASAP. Passage Main d’Or.” I hung up.
Mathieu would only need a couple of minutes to find me since he was living nearby. I crouched down again to take a good look at the wounds. Broken limbs. What looked like to be red bruises tinged with gray; silver poisoning. And some deep wounds, probably caused by a very sharp tool; how strange. Their heads were cut off, to ensure they’d really stay dead.
Then, for the first time, after I rolled a body over I noticed that it had an intriguing symbol burned onto the chest. What the hell? Checking the others I came up with five different symbols showing a wolf, a cross, wings, a cat and a shape looking rather like a Halloween ghost costume. Examining all of them very closely I knew this one was big trouble.
As I took the last pictures Mathieu came running up the street. He was tall, blond and started to lose his boyish looks. And he was followed by a shadow – a ghost, who also happened to be his best friend. When Mathieu had moved into his new apartment to be closer to the University he soon found out that he shared it with a ghost, whose body or what was left of it was stuck in our realm and with his mind somewhere in the sixties. The ghost was barefoot, wearing a worn out jeans and a colorfully died shirt emblazoned with a peace symbol across his chest – a life-sized cliché. His name was Philippe. He was eighteen years old and had shoulder-length, brown hair. Right from the start Philippe had decided to be Mathieu’s bodyguard, although how he wanted to do that without a body of his own I didn’t know. But it still relieved me given the fact that if ever something happened, Philippe was able to come to me in a nanosecond thanks to travelling ghost-style.
Mathieu stopped dead in his tracks, as did Philippe, when they saw the bodies. Getting up I said in a hard voice, “Oh no, you don’t. Take a deep breath Mathieu!”
And with a look at P
hilippe’s transparent but nevertheless green face I added, “You, too, Philippe. Although – are ghosts actually able to vomit?”
Mathieu did as I had told him and came towards me holding a big plastic canister filled with acid. Philippe just scowled at me.
I shrugged. “I’m just curious. Are you alright?”
Philippe gave me a thumbs-up, apparently too afraid to open his mouth.
Mathieu looked at me. “Hi. And yeah, we’re fine.” Then he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Philippe. “Although he has a crush on this new chick. Of course, she doesn’t even notice him and so he’s just a big pain in the ass.”
The ghost in question couldn’t leave it at that. “Well, if I could smoke a little pot I would stop wailing. But that’s just not possible and it is even illegal in this age.” He threw up his arms in desperation. “God, everything we’ve once fought for...love, freedom. You all...”
“Oh, not again!” Mathieu groaned.
“I miss the sixties! I’d like to see you running around as a ghost in a time that is so self-centered and superficial like this one.”
Geez, these two acted like an old couple.
It was just a matter of time until the police would notice that there was something going on here so I took the canister out of Mathieu’s still slightly trembling hands and poured the acid over the dead. Mathieu couldn’t hold it and threw up in the shadows of the street.
After everything was cleaned up we walked down the alley, and as a light evening breeze provided us some fresh air Mathieu looked up at the night sky, his lips crooked in a smile. “You know, I always want to see myself as Viktor. You know from ‘Nikita’? But he sure as hell never threw up.”
I smiled at him. “I think it is better this way or otherwise you would scare the shit out of me. But you know what troubles me the most? The movie is alarmingly close to reality.” Then, looking at the ignorant people walking on, couples hand-in-hand, I sighed and corrected myself, “Well, at least to my reality.”
Blue Moon Rising (The Patroness) Page 2