Hunter's Revenge: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Rebel, Supernatural Bounty Hunter Book 2)

by Nicole Zoltack

  “Does she know you’re a zombie?” I ask.

  The undead man says nothing.

  “Do you plan on turning her?”

  “She deserves it,” he hisses. “She’s the reason why I’m like this in the first place!”

  My eyebrows rise. Revenge. He wants revenge against her, but instead of just killing her, he wants to turn her into a zombie. I have no idea why she played a role in his being turned into a zombie, and I don't know what he had been before he died and came back. Maybe it's wrong for me to, but I feel bad for Amber. After all, she might be the true villain and not just in the zombie's point of view.

  “If you want her found to turn her, you should find her yourself. Do not involve others in your quest for revenge.”

  His face twists into something grotesque and hideous. “I’ve heard about your asking around for cainians. That’s not for a job, is it? It’s personal. You want revenge yourself, but you’re allowed to ask for—”

  “Asking for information is different than asking for delivery. I will not play an active role in your revenge. Judge me all you want. You came to me for a reason. You know I can deliver results. There are others out there who will be willing to help… or will they? It doesn’t take a paranormal genius to know that most everyone avoids zombies.” I lean back in my seat and make a point of glancing around. Whether consciously or subconsciously, those around us have shifted away or moved entirely, giving us a wide berth.

  “Others will hear of this,” he threatens.

  "Go ahead. Who will listen? I have given years of my life to do whatever paranormal beings want. They know this, and they will consider using my services."

  “If you think you’re infallible—”

  “I don’t, but I do think that I haven’t always accepted every single job previous to your request, and I won’t accept every single one after. I have always only accepted jobs on a case-by-case basis, and I don’t accept yours. Are you going to attack me for it?”

  He flares his nostrils, which is freaky considering part of his nose is gone.

  “We’re done here,” I declare.

  I push off the table, stand, and look around. Darius is talking on the phone. He’s pretty animated about it too, his expressions comical, his one arm flailing about. It’s a deep conversation by the look of it.

  I’m only human as the paranormal types like to point out, and humans tend to be curious creatures.

  Curious and nosy creatures.

  Darius shifts in his seat. Now his back is to me, and I start toward him. The zombie mumbles something, and I hesitate.

  "I loved Amber's sister, Rachel, and Rachel loved me. I knew Amber first, though, and I never realized until too late that she had feelings for me. She thought she had dibs on me, but Rachel and I… We were meant to be together, but Amber's unstable. When she found out, she flipped out and killed Rachel. As for me, well, you see what she did. She was bound and determined to keep me apart from Rachel, even in death."

  “And turning Amber will do what exactly?”

  “Bring her misery.”

  “It won’t bring Rachel back.” I wince because that’s the kind of thing Darius would say to me about Mason and Gracie.

  “No, it won’t bring Rachel back, but zombies are basically the lepers of the world. No one wants to be one or be near one. Amber knew exactly what she was doing.”

  “I understand that she’s mentally unstable. If what you said is the truth, then you need to let the good people at HEX U know about what happened.”

  “HEX U?”

  I nod.

  “Do you honestly think they’ll do anything about it?”

  "I honestly have no idea, but they're a better bet than I am. We humans might not have powers and abilities and magic and all of that, but we do have a justice system, and as far as I know, HEX U is yours."

  The zombie opens and shuts his mouth. “I suppose,” he grumbles.

  "What? They'll either hunt her down and throw her into prison, or they'll kill her. Maybe not as satisfying as turning her, but she won't be able to bother you anymore."

  “You’re frustrating, do you know that?” he mutters.

  “That’s a new one. Most people call me reckless.”

  “My name is Karl Davidson.”

  “Rebel Reckless.”

  He almost smiles, and maybe there’s a bounce in his step as he lumbers away.

  I shake my head and return to my mission. Darius is still on the phone. There’s no way I can get much closer without him noticing, and I’m too far away to hear him.

  But not for long.

  From inside my pouch, I remove a tiny vial and dip a tiny bit of the solution onto the tip of my finger, which I then put into my ears. Nectar of bat.

  “Have you tried talking to her?” Mirella asks.

  I’m not at all surprised to learn he’s talking to her. They seem to be close friends. She’s great. We hit it off right off the bat, and I trust her with my life. There aren’t many people I can say that about.

  “I have, but you know how she is. She’s like you,” Darius says bitterly.

  “You have a type then,” Mirella says.

  Hmmm. I thought he had a crush on her before. He does seem to be over her, though.

  “Don’t start, Mirella.”

  “I’m just saying,” she protests. “Anyhow, Rebel is hurting. She’s lost so much. It’s amazing how strong she is, but no one can be strong all of the time.”

  I knew I was the topic of their conversation, and now, I have to keep listening. I shouldn’t, though. I should walk away or even leave because honestly, how can something good come from me eavesdropping?

  But I’m a sucker, and I listen that much harder.

  “At least you learned that,” Darius is saying. “You ask for help when you need it.”

  “Rebel doesn’t?”

  I narrow my eyes. Darius knows I ask for help when I have to! Didn’t I just ask him for help? And he hardly helped at that? Although that case had been really interesting, and I’m not happy at all about owing people a favor. What choice did I have, though? Stealing an artifact from a witch when I didn’t know where it had been kept would have been difficult. To try to steal it in the presence of all of those witches would have been even harder, and then after I made my presence known, it was either agree to their terms or risk a fight that would’ve left me dead. Honestly, it almost felt as if I walked into a trap.

  “She does sometimes,” Darius admits begrudgingly, “but she’s going to get herself killed.”

  I scowl. I really don’t like his tone or his judgment. I had been doing just fine before I had agreed to kill him for a job, thank you very much.

  And, yes, I do realize how insane that sounds, but seriously, I don’t have to have him around. I don’t need to have him in my life.

  “Some things don’t change,” Mirella says.

  “What’s that?”

  “Your hero complex.”

  Mirella and I so are on the same wavelength all right.

  “You’re always prying, always pushing. She’s only going to push you away.”

  “I’m not going to let her continue down this path,” he protests.

  As if he has a say in how I live my life.

  I’m fuming, shooting daggers at him with my eyes straight into his back. Maybe he feels the heat of my gaze because he turns around and meets my gaze.

  Busted. Him or me, it doesn’t make a difference.

  He doesn’t say anything and just hangs up. Rude. Yes, I know eavesdropping’s rude too, but that doesn’t excuse his behavior.

  I lift my chin, square my shoulders, and march over to him. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “I just want to help.”

  “Then go ahead and help by staying out of my way,” I snap.

  “I’m not in your way,” he protests.

  “You keep trying to force your way into my life,” I fume.

  “You’re the one who texted me
for help.”

  “Oh, so I don’t do everything alone?”

  His cheeks turned red. “How much did you hear?”

  “Not a lot, but I’m sure you gave Mirella a real earful about how weak I am, how stupid I am, how—”

  “I said nothing like that.”

  “But I’m a weak human, right? I’m a damsel in distress, and you have to save me from myself. Isn’t that right?”

  “You can go ahead and twist my words—”

  “But that’s just it. That is what you mean. You don’t want me to have my revenge—”

  “Revenge won’t bring your brother and his wife back.”

  “And your precious paranormal executioners aren’t doing anything about the cainians so someone has to!”

  “We don’t know that they haven’t done anything about them,” he protests.

  “Unreal. They kick you to the curb, but you still defend them. Seriously, there has to be a better way to do things. You guys don’t have your own justice system. HEX U just does whatever the hell it wants. How are you all okay with that? Paranormal executioners. You act like you’re gods. You act like you are the only ones who can have a say in who lives and who dies, and who decides which creatures are evil enough to be jailed or killed? Do you know the names of those in charge?”

  He stays silent.

  “Hmmm. It seems clear to me that you would go crawling back to them if they would give you your position back.”

  “Maybe I would.”

  “Good. Then you would be out of my hair. I don’t need you or anyone else to judge me.”

  “It’s not a matter of judging you. I don’t want you to die.”

  “So it’s a matter of you think I’m incompetent. Noted.” I’m so furious that I have to cross my arms so I don’t whip out a dagger and hold it at his throat.

  “You didn’t even need me for the witch nightclub.”

  “I know. I regret asking for your help. I can do things by myself. The only reason why I did ask for help is because my client said I would need a witch to get in. Besides.” I shrug. “You were the only witch available. All of the others I asked had been too busy with their lives or their professions to help.”

  Anger creases lines on his forehead and around the corners of his mouth, making him look much older than his early twenties. It’s like a glimpse into how he’ll look when he’s older, and he’ll still be hot, which, for whatever reason, infuriates me all the more.

  “I wasn’t the only witch you reached out to?” he asks.

  “No. Sorry. I hate to break it to you, but I’ve been in this business a long while, so yeah, I do know other witches. I actually had fun that night, talking and hanging out with you, but you had to just be one of those infuriating guys who thinks a woman can’t handle herself.”

  “It’s not because you’re a woman or because you’re human. I did the same thing with Mirella. You know that.”

  “A repeat pattern of not giving women enough credit. That’s not exactly an argument in your favor.”

  “I just…” He runs a hand through his hair. For once, it doesn’t look perfect. “I don’t want you to die. Is that such a terrible thing?”

  “You don’t trust me to not get myself killed.”

  “Oh, come off it, Rebel. The thought has to have crossed your mind that you might fail in your attempt to have your revenge.”

  Of course the thought has occurred to me, but I’m not about to tell him that.

  “Go ahead and act like you’re in the right,” I inform him, “but you’ll be doing so alone.”

  And I walk out of the bar without looking back.

  Chapter 11

  All I want is to be alone. Isolation has been my way for so long that returning to the quiet is almost refreshing. I’m an extrovert when I have to be, but deep inside, I might be more of an introvert. Maybe I should stop hanging out at the bar so much. All of the liquor isn’t helping any, and I haven’t been quite as diligent about lifting weights and going to karate lately. Things have been insane lately, yes, but that doesn’t mean I should let everything slip away.

  But that’s kind of how I feel, as if everything is slipping away, or maybe it’s more that I am what’s slipping away. Am I entering a cocoon and changing? But what am I changing into? Will I even like this new Rebel?

  These thoughts plague me as I head to the gym, but my tumultuous emotions serve to make my workout one of my best ever. I even hit a PR with my squats. Once I go home, I hit a speed punching bag hanging from the ceiling until my arms feel like jelly. A hot shower, a snack of mixed nuts, and I’m ready for bed.

  I swear I'm dreaming as soon as I close my eyes. I'm in the field with Mason and Gracie. This time, they explain about a guy named Blake Damon who saved them from vampires only to die by the fanged villains and how they took up his legacy and became vampire hunters. It was why they had me take karate, practice at the shooting range, and lift weights. Now that I was sixteen, they wanted me to become a vampire hunter.

  It’s perfect, so very perfect. This is what should’ve happened that day five years ago.

  The dream continues as Mason brings me to a small shed. He nods to Gracie, who opens it. Out rushes a vampire too quickly for me to react. Mason has to kill it so I’m not bitten. He yells at me, belittles me, and then, there are hundreds of vampires around us, too many to fight off, and one by one, Mason, Gracie, and I all die.

  No. Wait. I’m alive again. I’m transitioning into a vampire, but Mason and Gracie? They’re dead dead.

  No. I sit up in bed, my body drenched in a cold sweat. What? No. No! I refuse to believe that Mason and Gracie would've died either way. No. It was just a dream, a nightmare. Nothing more. After all, I'm not a witch, but the past can't be changed, and you can't figure out what might have been because there are countless permutations of possibilities that exist. Every single decision sets off a new course for the future. Any single change could have spared their lives. If we had eaten faster, maybe we would've had our talk earlier enough that we would've had our weapons out when the cainian came. Maybe if I overslept, we wouldn't have gone to the field at the same time. Maybe…

  There’s no point in wandering the land of “maybe” and “what if.” The landscape leads to the road of insanity, and if I’m to have my revenge, I need to be sane.

  Even though I’m tired yet, I force myself to get out of bed. I quickly whip up some cheesy eggs and scarf them down.

  Let’s see. I still need a weapon yet and, of course, to find a cainian. It’s clear to me that no one who hangs out at Ye Ole Chestplate knows anything about them, so it’s time for me to get in touch with some of my contacts into the supernatural world to see what they know.

  First up, I call El, a goblin informant who is absolutely absurd but tends to know just about everything about everyone. Although I wasn’t sure, I thought he might work for the FBI, but he would have to disguise his appearance somehow. Can goblins use glamor or some other magical means to make a person see them as looking non-goblin-like?

  He picks up on the second ring. “Rebel, darling, how are you? El is so very happy to hear from you and so quickly after the last time! Before that, El was afraid you were forgetting about him.”

  “Who could ever forget you?” I mumble. “And I’m not exactly anyone’s darling.”

  “Ah, but that is only because you will not allow El to show you—”

  “I don’t need to be shown anything,” I say quickly, so grateful this conversation is happening over the phone and not in person.

  “But if you would just let El—”

  “I called for a reason. Do you want to make me change my mind and hang up?”

  El's always this way. I don't even think he actually wants to be with me for me. He's just so enamored with the idea of a human being brave enough to do what I do. Sure, there might be a few other vampire hunters in the world who are human, but they obviously keep on the down-low. I'm out in the open. I'm vulnerable to some extent. When
I first started, I had been a little worried that someone would try to take me out. So far, at least, no one has. Once, an ogre even told me that he considered it but decided not to because he might want to use me in the future. Spoiler alert: he did.

  “No, don’t hang up, my dear. What is it that you need?”

  “What do you know about cainians? How can they be killed?”

  The goblin laughs. The sound is grating, high-pitched but nasally. “They’re a myth.”

  “No, they aren’t. One—”

  “Trust El,” he says. “If one were real, El would know. Whoever told you differently is lying.”

  “Impossible. A genie can’t lie.”

  “Djinn can and do lie.”

  “Not when making a wish.”

  There’s a pause.

  “You made a wish and lived? You are no ordinary human! El knew it! You must be some kind of special paranormal creature then, an extremely rare one who—”

  “Has no paranormal abilities and is therefore human but smart enough to garner two wishes,” I interrupt.

  "El doesn't know what to think about this. A djinni should not lie when giving a wish, but El truly believes cainians are a myth. Cain and Abel are a myth themselves!"

  “So you do know the linage of the cainians,” I say dryly.

  “It does not take a genius to make the connection,” he says, “although El is a genius.”

  “Yeah, sure. So, do you know of any conspiracy theorists out there who do believe in cainians?”

  "El does know of one."

  Finally! Maybe this entire conversation won’t be pointless after all!

  “You,” he says gleefully.

  “Seriously?” I growl. “Do you know of anyone else who believes in them or not?”

  “Not, but El can—”

  I hang up and call up some of my other informants. Most of them answer, but none of them have the answer I need. It’s so frustrating that everyone thinks they’re a myth. It’s almost as if the cainians have purposely kept under the radar. Kind of like the whole thing about Satan—the greatest trick he ever pulled off was to convince the world he didn’t exist.

  But the cainians are real. I know they are. And they have to be able to be killed. They have to die.