“This hunter protected us, though some of us depend on her realm for sustenance.”
Lounging against back into her chair, Violetta studied her manicure as the murmuring continued. The tight clench of her jaw hinted at the lie in her posture.
“Imagine she wasn’t here,” Lushiku continued, “and we were vulnerable to their feeding. Would you still deny the need for a protector?”
A gasp. Horrified whispers. Reluctant assent.
Violetta cast a dour glance at Lushiku, eyebrows raised, arms crossed over her chest, the corner of her mouth twisted in a sour pucker.
Definitely would be words. Maybe projectiles.
Lushiku noticed and changed tactics. “What if vampires threatened us the way the nightmares threatened humans?”
A wave of motion parted the crowd, revealing the vampire’s table at its center. Another beautiful woman looked up askance, Lafayette and George standing behind her. George made a nearly imperceptible shift toward a jewel-encrusted ceremonial blade on his hip, which I hadn’t seen earlier. If I hadn’t been concerned another fight might break out, I’d have laughed at the absurdity of a vampire carrying a weapon.
“But,” Lushiku quickly added with a slight bow for the vampires and another for Violetta, “they abide by the laws and agreements that preserve the balance between worlds.”
George relaxed, and the preternatural stillness seeped out of the woman in front of him. Violetta nodded, her eyes closing briefly in acknowledgement. My relief turned to revulsion when I caught Lafayette’s rakish grin, the tip of his tongue sliding across his lips.
A green-skinned creature with a massive, slicked blue-black pompadour stood, and I couldn’t help but wonder if the mile-high hair hid horns. “You’re asking us to permit a hunter to stalk us while we struggle to survive and punish us for sating our needs.”
“No,” Lushiku said. “I’m asking for a new accord, for new negotiations to govern the Compact and the business that crosses worlds.”
Hesitant applause grew louder as creatures voiced their approval.
“As appointee to the council representing the humans of the Earth realm, Caitlin Kelley, Hunter, has the support of the Hidden Earth clans of the Indo-African region.”
I tried to memorize what he said to tell Marty and Sister Betty later, but my brain hiccupped trying to digest the meaning. “Wait, I’m supposed to speak for all humans?”
Even in the primate’s face, I read irritation. “Are you not a protector of humans? Do you not already speak for them in matters concerning higher beings?”
Higher beings.
I held my tongue.
Another day, another miracle.
To be the sole voice for the humans in this Compact “until death prevented” me from doing so? Anyone from DEMON or even the Church would be better prepared to take on this role. It required a certain diplomatic flair, of which I had a demonstrable lack. I hadn’t been in this room more than an hour before I killed someone. An important someone. Well, formerly important. Still, what kind of credibility could I have after that? “There are more—”
“She speaks for the humans.”
Helen’s crisp, aristocratic pronunciation rang through the ballroom.
The crowd didn’t exactly part, but people turned in their seats toward her shadow-swaddled table. Guillaume stood behind her, offering his hand as she rose. Her hair swept across half her face. “She transacts on their behalf and has the vote of the pantheon.”
Maybe things got interesting for her after all. I wished for my headset, for Marty’s nimble, detail-capturing fingers. I dug my fingernails into my palm, forcing my sleep-deprived brain to remember the conversation.
Lushiku nodded, his black and gray fur gleaming.
“And the vote of the queen,” the female vampire said from her spot in front of the vampire thugs. The queen? Queen of the vampires? Catherine? Sister Betty mentioned her in a briefing, but I only knew her reputation. Queen Catherine couldn’t know me. How could she vote for me? Part of me wondered what these leaders knew.
“With three votes of support, the referendum is presented to the floor.” Gideon returned to the podium.
Within moments, I heard my name across the room. Dozens of…appendages rose until the room filled with a sea of human hands, paws and claws, a few tentacles, and even a flipper or two, if the light wasn’t playing tricks on me. When the master of ceremonies called for dissent, the only hesitant hand in the air belonged to Gyleeto, the frat-boy man/nightmare I’d been chasing since I landed in New Orleans.
Gideon turned toward me, and I looked into the black void where his eyes should be. “Congratulations, Caitlin Kelley, Hunter, and Human Representative of the Compact.” With a sweeping gesture, he indicated the table in front of the podium where a humanoid servant placed a leather portfolio. “Please join us, and we’ll continue.”
I sat, thanking the tuxedoed shade who pulled out my chair and helped me slide it in.
“Congratulations.” Lushiku leaned over to whisper in my ear.
“Thanks, I think.” Before he stepped away, I touched his arm. “I have a question.”
He nodded with a quiet grunt.
I beckoned him closer, leaning in to whisper. “What did you do with my panties?”
His chortling animal laughter drew the room’s attention. He shook his head and returned to his table with long, swinging strides that alternated between feet and fists.
Definitely pervy.
I opened the leather portfolio in front of me as Gideon called the Compact to order. Cooper was gonna be so pissed when he found out.
17
Sleep transformed our entire team as much as Deacon Paul and Father Callahan transformed the old office in St. Louis Cathedral. Only the old green carpet and the tiny door to the arsenal of weapons remained from its previous inhabitant. In place of Father Robicheau’s imposing wooden monstrosity of a desk stood a smaller, modern, modular workspace with cabinets, shelves, and plenty of space for multiple chairs. Behind the desk, a new bookcase, already filled with Father Callahan’s most important reference books. Comfortable chairs, couches and small tables made it welcoming.
Father Callahan put his book on the desk and stood as we entered. “Glad to see the two of you well rested.”
“A little sleep works wonders.” I handed him the bag of beignets we’d bought on the way. Sister Betty put the paper tray of coffee cups on the table. “A few more nights like that, and I might feel partially human.”
Father Callahan hugged Sister Betty, asked about her stitches, and offered her a chair.
She dismissed his comments with a half-smile and removed the five cups from the tray.
Watching them, emotion clotted in my throat. I’d come close to losing Sister Betty twice in less than a week. Marty’d been hurt. Father Callahan only narrowly missed being bitten by a hydra. The longer they stayed close to me, the more they got hurt, the closer they got to dead. And yet, they endured it. They volunteered to stay. Not even my parents did that.
“I’m glad you both decided to stay.” I tried not to sound as awkward as I felt.
“Where else would we be, Caitlin?” Father Callahan took his seat, leaning as far back as his ergonomic chair would allow. “Regional monster hunter’s a complicated, difficult job, and you’ll need help keeping such a massive territory in line.”
I nodded and claimed a coffee cup before I slid into a chair. Cooper leveraged my new role with the Compact to convince me to accept the regional monster hunter position covering the south from the Tallahassee to San Antonio and everything in between. A massive territory indeed. Riding a motorcycle like Sister Evangeline didn’t seem so eccentric when you saw the lines on the map.
“Someone has to keep an eye on you, wild child.” Something in Sister Betty’s teasing tone belied the seriousness of the sentiment, or maybe something in her steel-blue eyes. Either way, she meant it. She intended to keep me safe, even if only from my own bad decisions. It wasn
’t the reason I wanted her to stay, but I’d take it.
“Really, we owe it to Father Robicheau for so conveniently vacating his position for me,” Father Callahan said with humorless smirk.
Sister Betty hung her head. She had to be thinking about Sister Evangeline, the hunter Father Callahan murdered for his twisted beliefs. “At least some good will come of his crimes,” she said, softly.
Father Callahan cleared his throat. “Marty stepped out with Cooper, but they’ll be right back.” He picked up the grease-spotted paper bag, rolling the edges back, and sniffed inside. “I thank God for beignets.”
“Until you eat them with that on.” I gestured at his black frock shirt.
“Rumor has it you’d know.” He winked at me.
“That might or might not be true,” I admitted with a laugh.
They smiled at me, and I felt an inkling of confidence return. With them here while I took on Sister Evangeline’s old territory, maybe I wouldn’t screw this up. Maybe I had a shot at keeping the list in my head short, never adding another innocent victim’s name to it.
When I shook off the thought, they were both staring at me. Sister Betty looked expectant and concerned, but Father Callahan beamed with pride.
They looked at me the way I wanted my parents to look at me. Like they had before Shannon’s death ripped a hole in my family.
I picked at the paper coffee cup, trying to swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “Seriously, thank you for staying.”
Cooper and Marty’s conversation about the relative merits of Marvel over DC preceded their entrance, and not even juggling plastic bags and Styrofoam containers interrupted it.
“Yeah, but Marvel has Black Widow and Scarlet Witch, and you can’t say they aren’t badass. Ask Cee.” Marty deposited his load of breakfast containers on the table. “She ‘ships them and, if you think about it, they’re a more dynamic duo than DC has dreamed up.” He shot me a look. “They’re the perfect match.”
A hot blush raced to the tips of my ears so fast, I thought I might pass out.
“There’s so much wrong with that, I don’t even know where to start.” Cooper placed his stack of Styrofoam containers on the table. “Breakfast is served.”
Marty sat beside me. I elbowed him hard as I reached for plastic utensils. “How about you let me fly my nerd flag, instead of flying it for me.”
He rubbed his side. “Sure, beat up a friend trying to help.”
“Uh huh.” I pulled the lid off my coffee and set it aside.
“Hello?”
We all turned, but I knew the voice. An earthquake of nerves started in my heart and radiated through the rest of me.
“Officer Boudreaux,” Father Callahan said in his most genial, pleasant voice, “how can we help you this morning?”
Boudreaux filled the doorway, smiling at each of us in turn. The expression widened when he locked eyes with me. “Deacon Paul said you’d be in here. I hope I’m not interrupting.” He lifted a brown paper bag. “I brought beignets. The good ones.”
“Please, join us,” Father Callahan said. I reached back and dragged the nearest chair to where we clustered around the table. “We just sat down for breakfast.”
Boudreaux smiled and strode across the room, handing Marty the grease-spotted bag before sitting beside me. Under the shuffle of the others passing plastic utensils, food containers, and coffee, he leaned close and whispered, “How about that date?”
“Are you asking me out, Officer Boudreaux?” I bit the inside of my cheek to control the grin and avoided looking at him.
“What if I am?”
“Then, officer, I’d be afraid you’d arrest me if I said no.” I popped the plastic fork out of its sealed package, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.
“Then how about I ask you as Rene Boudreaux?” He grinned, a devilish glint in his eye.
Curse him for such pretty eyes and nerve-wrangling smile.
I hurried to answer before the quiet settled around us. “Then I’d say yes.”
“Good.” He peeled foil off some kind of breakfast burrito. “That’s the way I like to start my mornings.”
“How’s that?” Sister Betty asked, leaning around Marty.
“With coffee,” I said before he could answer.
He sipped from his cup, almost spilling it as he tried to nod.
Sister Betty frowned, skeptical as Marty, Father Callahan, and Cooper shared confused glances.
“So,” I pulled a notebook across the table, starting the meeting, “what do we know about the Collectors?”
THE END
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About the Author
Theresa Glover spends her days plumbing the dark depths of the human psyche in search of new, frightening character inspirations from the relative comfort of her marketing job in North Carolina. When not writing or crafting her ass off, she can be found buried in a book, playing Magic, or watching horror movies alone in the dark.
Copyright © 2017 by Theresa Glover
Cover Design by Natania Barron
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental. Except that bit about that guy. That’s totally a thing. But it’s parody, so piss off.
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