Chapter 4
I’m exhausted. It’s late. I really should be going to bed, but I don’t. I’ll have to deal with my car in the morning, once I’m sure Doyle isn’t around, but I’m not concerned with that. I order an Uber and head to Ye Olde Chestplate, the bar where paranormal creatures hang out. I need a drink. Plus, I’m too wired to actually fall asleep. I know what killed my brother and his wife—a cainian—but I don’t know which one or even what that is. I’ll ask around. Maybe someone at the bar will know something.
A fairy with purple hair is the hostess. She eyes me critically, her tiny nose stuck high in the air. “We’re closed,” she says snootily.
“I may be a human, but I’m allowed in,” I inform her through gritted teeth. Normally, Vinca is the hostess.
“I don’t think so,” she says, her lips pursing.
I ignore her and wave to Vinca’s mom, who comes over and gives me a hug.
“Rebel, how are you?” she asks.
I wink at the hostess, whose jaw has dropped, and then refocus on Vinca’s mom. “There’s only one reason to come to a bar.”
My friend’s mom laughs. “People come to bars for all kinds of reasons, but if you need a drink…”
She wraps her arm around my shoulder and steers me to the counter. “Give her a Mead Lover’s Delight on the house.”
The bartender, one I never saw before, scampers to comply.
Vinca’s mom pats my shoulder. “Just one of those and only that one is on the house. Honestly, you might not need more after that one, so drink it slowly.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“Of course.” She beams at me and turns to talk to other customers.
Vinca’s parents own the place, and they love me since I convinced Aeden to propose to Vinca. Honestly, it wasn’t that hard to talk him into it. He loves her dearly. The only thing that held him back was the desire to have a ring when he popped the question.
Mason had been the same way. Honestly, guys need to stop thinking that we’re all about the bling. Yes, I know the ring is a symbol, but the guys act like it’s all we want. No, dude, we want you. We want to marry you. Just ask.
Of course, Gracie and Vinca could’ve asked Mason and Aeden, but I guess some like to be old-fashioned and have the guy do it.
The drink comes in a large wooden cup that's almost more like a bucket. The liquid inside is green, and bubbles pop at the top. It doesn't smell like anything. With a shrug, I take a sip.
There’s an explosion inside my mouth. I swear there is. I can’t even describe what it tastes like, but I love it. I’m about to chug a few swallows when I recall Vinca’s mom’s advice, so I settle for a single swallow instead.
The woman next to me sighs. I glance over at her. She looks like a human, honestly, but then, for a split second, I see her skeleton. She’s a grim reaper.
“Tough night?” I ask her.
“You can say that. It’s not easy helping people to cross over to the other side. Some resist… But it’s the young ones that make it even harder. I hate it when babies die. They have so much potential!” She chugs the rest of her drink. “Looks like you had a rough night too.”
“You can say that. Say, have you ever helped a cainian cross over?”
“A cainian? No, I can’t say that I have.”
“Have you ever met one?” I press, trying to hold back my excitement.
“That’s a no as well. Why?” she eyes me curiously.
“Can you tell me what you know about them?”
“All I know is that if I were you, I would hope no one tries to hire me to kill one.”
My heart sinks. “Why is that?”
“Because they cannot be easily killed.”
“Of course not,” I mumble.
Warning or no warning, I take a long pull of my drink. By the time I put my cup down, the grim reaper is gone, replaced by a banshee.
I stiffen. Banshees wail, and their presence usually means death.
“I need your help,” she tells me. Her voice is low and deeper than I would have expected. A little raspy too.
“My help comes with a price,” I warn her, “and I’ll hear you out, but there’s no guarantee…”
I stop talking. A banshee knows about death. She might know about cainians and, even better, how to kill them. Information is what I’m after. If I can do a job for some, then I’ll happily sign up.
“I understand.” The banshee’s black sleeve falls down her arm as she places her elbow on the edge of the counter, her elbow resting in her hand. “My love… I keened him.”
My eyebrows lift. “You know that there’s nothing I can—”
“I know you can’t, but he’s going to fight an elf.”
“Why?”
“The elf insulted me. My love is very much bound to tradition, and he will fight for my honor, and I fear…”
“You think this battle will be what kills him.”
“Yes, that is my worry. You must convince him to let you take his stead.”
“In the battle?”
“It’s more of a duel,” she murmurs.
“And if he refuses to let me fight for him?”
“Then you must ensure that he does not die,” she says firmly.
“That’s not very honorable,” I mutter.
“I do not care,” she says stiffly. “And I do not care what the elf said, but he is an archer, and my love is a barbarian paladin…”
Okay, now it seems as if I crossed over into some kind of RPG.
“A barbarian paladin?” I ask. “Isn’t that kind of… How can a barbarian be a paladin?”
“How can a human be a supernatural bounty hunter?” she retorts. “How can there be any half breeds?”
I furrow my brow. “I didn’t think paladins were a species.”
“No, paladins are a separate species,” she says.
“But archers aren’t.”
She laughs. “Of course archers aren’t a species!”
Huh. I wonder how many other paranormal creatures there are that I haven’t seen or heard about yet.
Wait. Did a banshee just laugh?
I eye her. She appears to be rather level-headed, not a tear in sight, but I can also see the worry lurking behind the love in her eyes. She’s so desperate to keep her significant other alive that she’s trying to fight what she knows in her heart is an impossible battle, one she can’t win, and I certainly can’t either.
But I find myself saying, “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask. I know… It’s not likely… Help him to survive.”
“I’ll try to talk him out of the duel first,” I say dryly.
She laughs again. “You can try. I suppose that’s all life is, trying. Trying to learn, and trying to grow. Trying to find happiness, and trying to find love. Once you find love, you never want to let it go. Tell me, bounty hunter, have you experienced love?”
“Love of family.”
The banshee falls silent for a long moment, and a wave of sadness washes over her. “I hope you don’t ever find romantic love. It will destroy me when Dimitri dies.”
I swallow hard. That’s one seriously pessimistic view on things.
“You can find Dimitri in the house in front of the field off the highway exit. If he asks, and he will, tell him Sesse sent you.”
“I will see him tomorrow,” I promise.
“Thank you, Rebel.”
“Don’t thank me,” I mumble. “Not now or later.”
“You have a way of getting things done.”
“Not impossible things.”
“How many humans have survived a battle against a grief-stricken werewolf?”
I gape at her. “Can banshees read minds?”
“Not exactly, but we do have a connection to death, after all. I can sense it on you.”
“That’s not troubling at all,” I deadpan.
Her smile is small.
“Do you see darkness? Like a shroud over a person or�
��”
She tilts her head to the side. Her eyes are unnerving. They’re black where they should be white and white where the color should be. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not so much something I see. It’s another sense. It’s a feeling. I know you have come in contact with death, but your time to die is not in your immediate future.”
“Oh, that’s good to know.” I wait a beat. “The immediate future, does that mean I’m good for like a week? A month? A day?”
“Every choice you make can change your current timeline.”
“Well, isn’t that… reassuring.”
“Some choices will delay your death,” she points out.
“Yeah, like exercise and maybe not being a bounty hunter.”
The banshee laughs. “Some are meant to have shorter lifespans than others.”
“How long do banshees live for?”
“Two hundred years,” she says solemnly.
“Oh.”
“And if Dimitri dies…”
“You’ll mourn him the rest of your years.”
She nods.
“Why can’t you eventually, you know, move on? Some widows and widowers get married again down the road.”
“That’s not possible for a banshee.”
“But…”
She shakes her head. There’s something solemn about the movement that makes me believe it genuinely isn’t possible for a banshee to move on after finding the love of his or her life. At least I assume there have to be male banshees. Do they wail too? Most likely. That’s kind of their thing.
“I’ll do what I can, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
“Understood. To be expected even. I can’t live with myself if I don’t at least try.”
I swallow back a question I want to ask.
She lowers her head. “I know. If I know he has such a short amount of time left alive, why am I here alone?”
I sheepishly nod. That’s exactly what I’ve been wondering but couldn’t bring myself to ask.
“When I am near him, all I see is death. I can’t talk. I can’t think. I can’t breathe or function. It’s impossible for me to be able to last much longer than a few minutes before I’ll break down and start keening again.”
I just shake my head. What can I say? Words can’t help.
Sesse nods to me and slips away. I swear she’s almost turning into a ghost before my eyes. I’ve always wondered if banshees are similar to ghosts. Maybe they even turn into ghosts the older they get. I don’t know. There’s no handbook about paranormal creatures. At least, not as far as I know.
During our conversation, I somehow finished my drink. I feel fine, or so I think until I stand. I’m lightheaded, but I also feel as if I’m on top of the world. Am I walking or flying?
A gnome walks up to me. He’s only as tall as my waist.
“Bounty hunter,” he says loudly. “I need to talk to you.”
“Go ahead,” I say, amused. He’s so short. I’ve only seen a few gnomes before. His eyes. That’s why he looks so funny. His eyes are too big for his head. It makes him look like an anime character.
“I need you,” he continues.
“To do what?”
“My ex stole a very valuable item from me. I need you to get it back.”
“Who is she, and what is this item?”
“She’s a witch,” he spits out, the word almost having the same meaning as a word it rhymes with. “Her name’s Wren.”
“The item?”
“A magical artifact.”
I can’t help being a little suspicious. No, skeptical is more right. I’m not feeling emotions strongly enough to be suspicious of anything, but why isn’t he giving more details?
“Why are you making me pull your teeth?” I ask.
Wait. Is that the right expression? Yeah, yeah, it is. I don't mean pulling my leg or yanking my chain.
The gnome narrows his eyes and runs his tongue along his short, pointed teeth.
“What does the magical artifact do?” I ask.
“Why are you asking questions?”
“I need to know how badly she will try to keep it. Insurance purposes.”
He grunts. “If she knows you’re there to take it, she’ll never let you leave alive.”
“I also need to know what it looks like,” I point out.
“It’s a black stone with red lines marking it.”
Interesting. A totem, maybe? A talisman? What might it do, though? Why doesn’t he want to say?
“Oh, and you’ll need a witch for this job,” he adds.
“Why?”
"She has her own business. It's a club for witches, and only witches are allowed in."
“So how am I—”
“You figure it out.”
“Why come to me when you need a witch?”
“Because I’m done dealing with those vile beings.” He gives me the address of her club, Aurora. “When you have it, come here and ask for Penkip.”
“Penkip,” I repeat somehow without laughing. His name is hilarious.
He nods to me and starts to walk away.
“Ahem.”
I actually say that instead of clearing my throat. Whoops.
“We haven’t discussed payment, and if I’m not happy…”
“What do you want?”
“Do you know about cainians?”
“About what?”
I sigh. Of course not.
We go back and forth before deciding on a price. It’s higher than he wanted to spend, but considering he still won’t tell me what the artifact does, I have a feeling this job will be a highly dangerous one.
The banshee and the gnome aren’t the only one to approach me. A woman with leaves in her hair and walking rather drunkenly heads my way.
“Hello, bounty hunter,” she says. She’s out of breath, but her words aren’t slurring.
“The name is Rebel,” I tell her.
“I am Cinnamoris.”
“You’re a…” I can’t think of the word through the haze in my mind. “A… the plant, forest person. A… I’m sorry.”
“Maybe you should not indulge in so much drink,” she says.
“Who are you to judge me when you’re walking as if you’re… You’re not comfortable walking on tile?” I guess. “If it were wooden, would that be better? Or no because it used to be a tree…”
Her nostrils flare. She's a beautiful woman, tall and stately, her hair the color of chestnut, her eyes the same shade of green as grass that drunk plenty of water.
“I’m sorry. I had only one drink. I’m not…”
"I have to suppose that this is not the norm for you, or else you would have been killed long ago," she says dryly.
I nod. I can’t deny that I’m not myself right now.
“The edge of my forest has slowly been burning away. Salamanders are infringing on my space, and they must be removed.”
“Removed,” I repeat slowly. “Do you mean relocated or…” I draw a line across my throat.
“Whichever you prefer,” she says mildly, “but I want them gone.”
“Fine. I want information on cainians in exchange.”
She eyes me.
“If you don’t know about them, I suggest you start asking around.”
“I suggest you not talk to me like that,” she says.
Her tone is even, and even though she’s stoic, I can tell I’m upsetting her.
But I can’t back down. Well, I physically can back down, but I won’t.
“Do we have an accord?” I ask.
She sighs and shakes her head. “If I weren’t so highly flammable, I would get rid of them myself. Do be careful you don’t get burned.”
“I’m so touched you care.”
Cinnamoris purses her lips, nods, and leaves.
I spend another hour at the bar, walking around, talking to people, but no one knows anything about the cainians. I do hear a lot of unimportant gossip, though. By the time I crawl into m
y bed, it's almost morning, and I'm wondering if accepting the three jobs had been smart. Then again, I can hope my success will help spread my name, help gain me more allies, and help broaden my reach. Maybe things will start to turn in my favor.
Nah, I doubt it.
Chapter 5
When I wake up, I feel refreshed and energized, as if I slept well for months and months, but when I glance at the clock, it’s only been two hours. That drink must’ve had some kind of magic component to it. I’m certain it did.
Thirty minutes later, I’ve eaten breakfast, hired a guy to tow my car to my mechanic so I can get the tire replaced since I sincerely doubt the tire can be saved, and even have a rental dropped off.
It's a no-brainer which job I have to do first. Dimitri, the barbarian paladin who loves the banshee Sesse, doesn't have long to live, and I have to try to delay his death as long as possible.
The house in the field is a quaint little place, and I knock on the door.
“Go away,” an angry voice calls.
“No can do,” I say cheerfully.
“I don’t want what you’re selling.”
“I’m selling days,” I inform him.
“Days?”
“Minutes, hours, days…”
“Sesse sent you.” The door opens.
I’m not sure what I expected a barbarian paladin to look like, but he is more muscle than man. His legs are like tree trunks, his arms nearly as thick, and even his neck is huge. His armor has a fair amount of fur attached, but his chest and a good portion of his legs lack any kind of protection. His boots nearly reach his knees, and he’s holding a grotesque-looking helmet complete with two horns.
“Yes, Sesse sent me.”
He inhales. “You’re human. What good can you do?”
“Honestly, I don’t know, but I will do my best.”
“Your best won’t change a thing.”
“You know that. I know that, and so does Sesse, yet she still wants me here. When is the fight?”
“It’s a duel,” he grumbles.
He walks back into the house but doesn't shut the door so I follow him. The house is clean but a little on the barren side except for the pile of weapons in one corner. He picks up and discards many options before opting for a shield that is the length of his legs with a massive spike protruding from the center as well as a spear.
Hunter's Revenge: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Rebel, Supernatural Bounty Hunter Book 2) Page 3
