Huntress

by Elizabeth Hartwell

  “And how did they—”

  “It was suicide missions,” I explain, making Cerena shiver. “He was eventually eliminated.”

  “So you think our friend—”

  “I don’t know,” Lance replies, “but I know a guy. And if you need to keep something hidden in Bane, Nymph’s Corner is the place to do it. Because they’re so weak, everyone tries to take shit from the nymphs, even their own masters. So nymphs have become masters of hiding.”

  “Still, keep your eyes open for the gangs,” I advise Cerena. “The humans who claim nymphs are protective of their . . . investments.”

  “I understand,” Cerena says, and I nod, flexing my hands in my new power gloves. Since seeing Cerena in her pair back in Ringtown, I’ve wanted my own set, and while they’re nothing compared to the strength and power I can generate when I’m in berserk mode, I’m still much stronger than normal.

  And the gloves feel . . . comfortable. They’re not a second skin, at least not yet, but I’m amazed at the level of precision and technology that Solace can generate. I’ve always known it was a better place to live than Bane, but it’s in these little details that I remember why so many of those who live outside Solace hate the city. It’s jealousy and the way that the city tries to exert their influence through the control of their technology. Nobody creates holochips quite like Solace, nobody has as many pre-war technologies as Solace, and no place is quite as comfortable as Solace.

  I flex my hands in my gloves again and know that soon enough, I won’t even notice they’re there unless I turn them on. Cerena’s the same way, her almost dainty fingers extending from the black edges of her gloves. It’s funny. She doesn’t need them, as her hands are deceptively strong, but with her gloves on, she’s certainly able to keep up with paranormals a lot more.

  Lance holds up a hand, jerking his chin toward one of the larger buildings along the street with a sign hanging outside. “There.”

  “A bar?” Cerena asks, lifting an eyebrow. The sign above the door declares the place as The Grove, although I don’t think there are any trees in all of Bane, at least not the kind that cannot be smoked.

  “Hey, it’s daylight, which means it’s beer o’clock in Nymph’s Corner,” Lance reassures her. “Right, Tym?”

  “Many humans will use daylight to relax,” I confirm. “Although it is still early.”

  “Would you prefer to start searching at sunset?” Lance points out. “Come on. I know the bartender. He’ll point us in the right direction.”

  We go inside, and I’m immediately on guard. When Lance said it was beer o’clock, I was thinking he might have been exaggerating things a little. But The Grove is busy. At least two dozen people are gathered in the medium-sized room, with a card game going in one corner, two nymphs doing a striptease act on a stage near the back wall, and a small crowd gathered around, watching them.

  “What can I get you folks?” a scantily-clad female nymph, who’s carrying a serving tray with her along with her scrap of skirt and barely-there top, asks. “Drinks, party favors . . . or are you looking to find some partygoers?”

  “I’m looking for a friend,” Lance says, holding up a hand when the flat-chested nymph smiles. “Not that kind of friend, little one. Where’s Custer?”

  “I’ll go get him,” the nymph says. “Ah, the bar’s open if you want it.”

  She sashays away, giggling when one of the patrons at a nearby table grabs her ass as she walks by. We head over to the bar, where Cerena’s face is lined with disgust.

  “She looks too—”

  “I know,” I murmur in agreement. “I find it repulsive as well, but there are enough who don’t. And with Nymph’s Corner being one of areas of Bane friendlier to humans, our best chance of finding him is here.”

  From the back, a sweaty bearded man emerges, the small nymph looking at him with a mix of dutiful worship and pathetic disgust that tells me that while she may be bonded to this creature, she seriously regrets it at this point in her life.

  “This is your friend?”

  Lance shrugs. “I know him. I wouldn’t call him a friend,” he replies before grinning broadly. “Custer! Buddy!”

  “Not a friend,” Cerena whispers in my ear, chuckling. “Remember that.”

  I nod slowly, keeping my eyes on Lance and Custer as the two talk.

  “So, how’s business, Cus?” Lance asks, looking around. “Seems you’ve kept the doors open, at least.”

  “No thanks to you,” Custer says with a wary laugh. I understand. Lance is the sort of person that you trust only as long as you can see both hands. “Seriously, you drive customers away.”

  “I gave you a cut of the proceeds,” Lance says, shrugging. “Besides, you owe me for helping you out with those ghouls who were looking for some hors d'oeuvres, remember?”

  “I remember,” Custer replies, looking around. “You saved four of my nymphies that day.”

  I lift an eyebrow, and even Cerena looks impressed. I’ve never heard of this little act by Lance, who before this mission has always struck me as someone who looked out for himself first, second, and third. We’ve only worked well together because I treated him that way.

  Perhaps I’ve been wrong.

  “Yeah . . . well, I’m calling in that marker,” Lance says, leaning in. Cerena and I keep an eye on the bar, but I’m still able to hear what they’re saying.

  “What do you want?” Custer asks warily. “Does it have to do with your two friends?”

  “Something like that. We’re looking for someone. Someone specific.”

  They haggle for a little bit, their voices getting lower before Lance claps Custer on the shoulder. “Do that, Cus. And if you do, send me a message. You’ve still got my freak, right?”

  “I wouldn’t forget . . . not if it means wiping a marker off my board,” Custer replies. Lance chuckles, and the two shake hands before Lance leads us out of The Grove.

  In the street, Cerena turns to him. “What was that about? And a freak?”

  Lance reaches into his coat and pulls out a small box. “I’ve got a short-range radio. Frequency hopping. It’s not perfect, as the range is only about a mile, but Cus can send me a message if he hears anything about our boy.”

  “And you think he’ll do it?” I ask. “I don’t like the man.”

  “I don’t either . . . but he owes me, and he’s got connections. The Grove’s a one-man information center in this part of town,” Lance assures us. “You didn’t know, Tym?”

  “I prefer . . . other locations to spend my money.”

  Lance nods, and we keep moving. “So do I. But he does owe me. And I annoy him from time to time.”

  “What’s that about saving four of his nymphs?” Cerena asks. “I won’t ask how they became his.”

  “Better not to,” Lance says in agreement. “This was about three years ago. A couple of ghouls came into the place and started some shit. Now, I get it, they need to eat, but they have their own hunting grounds in Bane. Folks go in there to fight them, they fight back, and the losers get eaten. It’s fair enough. But nymphs can’t even fight a desert rat, they’re so mild and weak. They were out on a supply run for Cus, and I took care of the ghouls. No big deal, just a little entanglement and time stop.”

  “Two ghouls . . . no big deal,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You’re a huge liar, Lance.”

  “What?” he asks, offended. “I did!”

  “And I believe you,” I reply. “The lie is the one you tell everyone about your being a shiftless pain in the ass.”

  The light is just starting to fade as we approach The Grove again, tired and sweaty. “I’m glad Cus found something,” Lance says as we near the door. “I’m not one for all this walking shit when I could be doing something useful with my damn time.”

  And I’m not one to argue. It’s different, walking outside the city. There, on the trail, the three of us walked with plenty of space between us, and while our packs were heavy, we could establish an easy
, steady pace that ate up the miles.

  Walking around Nymph’s Corner has been an exercise in everything but. We’re constantly starting and stopping, checking out locations that Lance and I know, trying to find Brandon while at the same time avoiding Bane Security, pickpockets, and the general mess of people clogging up the narrow alleyways of this portion of the city.

  Just as we were about to give up and head over to my safe place, an apartment just over the border into vampire territory, Lance’s radio buzzed and we got a short message for us to come back to The Grove.

  “Keep your guard up,” Lance murmurs. “I trust Cus about as far as a nymph can throw him.”

  The bar’s busier, the place raunchier and seedier as we make our way through the bodies and to the bar. Cus is there, wiping out a suspect-looking mug and talking up a couple of rough-looking men in scuffed leather outfits.

  “Yo, Cus, got your message,” Lance says, interrupting the conversation. “Whatcha got?”

  The two ruffians don’t look pleased, but Cus gives them a nod and comes over. “Listen, I heard a lead about where your boy might be. You ain’t gonna like it.”

  “Fill me in,” Lance says, but suddenly, I see him blur. A moment later, there’s warm flesh pressed against my hand, and I look down to see a human woman, her almost naked breasts in my grasp.

  “What the . . . hey!” she yells, backing up. “Watch where you put those things, asshole!”

  “Apologies. I didn’t do it,” I growl, glancing side-eyed at Lance who’s smirking while Cus just looks like he saw a ghost. Cerena’s also pissed, her eyes narrowing, but she says nothing as the woman starts yelling.

  Suddenly, the two leather-wearing tough guys from the bar are looking at me furiously. “You come in here and grab my bitch’s tits and then say you didn’t do it?” the taller one asks, reaching for his pocket. He pulls out a knife, his buddy doing the same. “You’re gonna fucking pay for that.”

  Chapter 19

  Cerena

  I want to smack Lance around. I know that he caused what’s happening right now. I didn’t see him time stop, but the girl had been a good two feet away from Tym one instant, her clothes on and her hand rubbing a roughneck-looking guy’s neck while Tym’s eyes scanned the rest of the room, making sure we were safe.

  The next instant, her tits were in his hands, and while she wasn’t naked, she was certainly getting felt up. She backed off, but in a little something that pissed me off, I could hear in her protest and the way she looked at Tym as she did . . . she wasn’t as upset as she pretended to be. Well, that and her nipples starting to harden through her top were pretty big clues.

  Her man must have noticed it too, because he doesn’t accept Tym’s apology and claim of innocence, and instead is reaching for a knife.

  “Fuck,” I growl, firing up my power gloves and reaching for my own knife. The guy’s got backup, and I count three buddies with him, five if you count the women with them who look more like sluts but probably fight like demons. “Lance—”

  Lance, though, is ignoring the trouble, talking with Cus while Tym and I square off. Our backs are to the bar, which is helpful in that nobody can sneak up on us, but at the same time, we’re a long way from the door.

  “We don’t want trouble,” Tym says, his one hand on his knife but his free hand out. “Come on, let me buy you a drink, maybe a lap dance?”

  “If I wanted some little spinner to sit in my lap, I’d have one of my own,” the gang leader growls. “I like women, not . . . them.”

  “He’s saying you ain’t man enough for me, Johnny!” the girl who had her tits felt says, egging her man on. I grit my teeth. So that’s what we’re dealing with. Great. Now, in order for her to feel like her man’s a real man again, she’s going to keep pushing until blood gets spilled.

  Meanwhile, Lance is still ignoring us, and Tym taps the stud on the inside of his power glove, ready to throw down. “That isn’t what I’m saying at all. I’m saying I don’t want trouble.”

  “Yeah, well, motherfucker, you got it now, you—”

  The ruffian goes to stab Tym, but Tym’s already moving, deflecting the blade and catching the guy with a shove that sends him tumbling backward. His buddies pull their own knives, and in an instant, what started off as a prank by Lance has turned into an all-out clusterfuck.

  “Why is it every time I go into a bar recently, a fucking fight breaks out?” I growl as I square up. “Lance, I swear I—”

  Lance turns, firing blobs of his entanglement from his hands and catching all but the gang leader around their ankles, sticking them to the floor. One of them, who was mid-step when Lance’s power caught his left foot, tumbles, his head smacking a chair leg as he falls to the ground.

  “What the fuck?” one of the men growls, caught tightly. “Fuckin’ . . . what the fuck is this shit?”

  “Drop the knife,” Lance says to the lead ruffian, who’s getting to his feet. “You got a beef with my friend, you settle it like men. Or else the next entanglements are on your nuts.”

  “Johnny, don’t let him do that!” one of Johnny’s buddies pleads. “I gotta piss!”

  “Fine,” Johnny says, stabbing his knife into the table while the bar flies spread. I glance, and not a nymph is in sight, probably all the better for the petite beings. “Let’s dance, big man.”

  Tym nods and hands me his knife, which I take in my other hand, keeping my eyes on Johnny’s friends as they start to squirm and probe their entanglements to see if they can cut them free. I’m curious too and find out that while yes, a knife can cut Lance’s webbing, it’s not a quick or easy process.

  A couple of the remaining patrons pull the tables out of the way, and Tym steps into the middle of the space, his hands coming up and his fists clenching. I spare a quick glance to his wrist and notice that he’s turned off his power gloves, or maybe he never actually turned them on at all.

  Johnny throws the first punch, and I’m shocked when Tym takes it square in his mouth, his head jerking back. He takes a half-step back, and Johnny follows up with a wild double-haymaker that jerks Tym’s head left, then right, and when he looks up again, he spits blood on the floor before nodding.

  “My turn now.”

  I’ve seen Tym fight before, but it was always in deadly battles, his hammers whirling and his muscles straining to their full extent. I’ve never seen him toy with an opponent, and I’m spellbound as Tym moves. He’s not bouncing, not dancing, but as Johnny swings, wild windmill punches that make the air whistle with his effort, Tym just . . . evades. It’s never much, he’s not flipping or flying around the small space they’ve been granted, but instead, just enough to make sure that Johnny’s fists miss him cleanly.

  Time after time, Tym dodges, until finally, he catches Johnny’s wrist and tucks in down and around in a tight circle. I’ve seen this move, I can do this move, but when it’s done by a man of Tym’s size and strength, the results are even more remarkable. Johnny goes flipping through the air, completing a full somersault before slamming into the floor of the bar. “Had enough?”

  “Fuck you,” Johnny growls, getting to his feet. He punches again, but Tym slaps it aside before backhanding him across the cheek and sending him reeling across the small space, near one of his buddies.

  I see a glint of metal, and as Tym closes, I open my mouth. “Tym, he’s—”

  Lance suddenly appears next to Johnny, and another blob of entanglement pins his wrist to the wall, the knife still stuck to his fingers. “Not cricket, ol’ chap. Not cricket at all.”

  “Man, will you get the fuck out of here?” Cus, who I’ve totally forgotten about this whole time, calls from behind the bar. “They’re good customers!”

  “Yes, we’re going,” Tym says, nodding to me and Lance. As he does, he looks at Johnny’s girl, who’s cowering in the corner. “You should choose a better class of man.”

  “Fucking—” Johnny growls, but his words are cut off as Tym blasts him with a huge punch, snapping
his head to the side and knocking him out.

  “Come on, it’s nearly dark,” Tym says. “My place is easier to get to in the daylight. We can rest there for the night.”

  Lance’s ‘apartment’ is small, with what seems to be a luxury in Bane, a poured concrete floor. The bed is narrow and barely more than a stuffed bag of rags, I think, and the miniscule amount of food in the storage locker is gone within a few minutes of our arrival.

  “At least there’s water,” Lance says encouragingly as he fills his water bottles. “That’s something at least.”

  “You live in this . . . place?” I ask, feeling like shit as soon as I do. At least my place in Solace has furniture. I sit down on the floor, trying to find something nice to say, but honestly . . . the place is a shithole. Well, except for the concrete floor. At least I won’t worry about the local vermin paying me a visit while I rest my backside in here. “Uhm . . . yeah.”

  “Relax,” Tym says with a small chuckle. “This isn’t my home. I have . . . well, had a place outside of Bane that I much prefer to this. But, this does serve as a temporary base of operations when I have to come inside this city.”

  “Hey, we’ve seen much worse in the two days you’ve been here,” Lance points out to me. “Listen, guys, I’m sorry about the trick. I saw that guy Johnny giving us the stink eye and I just . . . well, you know.”

  “I know,” I reply, pissed at Lance about his method of getting his point across to Johnny but letting it go. “Fuck it. Guy deserved what he got.”

  “Wait . . . you don’t mind us fucking up regular humans?” Lance asks in surprise. “I mean, I figured that with your background and who we were doing this for that there’d be at least a little blowback for that.”