by Jamie Davis
Pulling with all her enhanced might, Quinn pried at the egg. At first, nothing happened, so she pulled in more of the golden energy and channeled the stores from her mana bar into her hands. She willed the redirected magic to support and sustain the young dragon inside, soothing its pain and anxiety.
The jerking motions inside the shell slowed and eventually stopped. Soon, all Quinn sensed from inside was calm and anticipation.
Outside, it was a different story.
The whirlpool of wild magic still spun, but it no longer expanded. Most of those in the room had fled. She wasn’t sure, but the flow of golden energy from the dragon might have slowed. Quinn realized the wild magic was tied into the dragon’s emotions. As long as she could keep it calm, the magic slowed, and the swirling pit of death in the chamber’s center would stop growing.
Quinn’s fingers dripped blood from the wounds caused by the shell’s jagged edges. The slickness made it hard to grip the sides anymore. Her hands kept slipping, slowing her attempts to assist with the dragon’s birth while causing more injury to her fingers.
She pressed forward, using the tapped power she’d accumulated to pry at the egg. It was like trying to bend steel.
Quinn drained the last of both her mana and stamina into one final pull at the shell, and a crack louder than thunder resonated through the room and up her arms. She wrenched the egg wide open and collapsed to the floor beside the halves. Quinn’s hands and arms ached so much she couldn’t bear it anymore. Her consciousness started slipping away.
Through her slitted eyelids, Quinn gazed at the opening. A thin snout appeared within it, and a long forked tongue snaked out, tasting the air. The scaled nose emerged, followed by the entire head.
The tongue flitted out again, this time tickling Quinn’s face and nose. More of the dragon’s long neck emerged, and the nose nudged Quinn’s cheek. The entire head was no bigger than her fist.
Quinn smiled, licked her cracked lips, and said, “Hey, little one. It’s good to meet you in person finally.”
The dragon’s body emerged next, followed by the long tail. The little dragon waddled over on unsteady legs and curled up beneath Quinn’s chin. The tiny emerald eyes gazed into hers.
“I shall call you Sylvie. Is that all right?”
The tongue flicked out again, tickling her cheek twice. The little head lowered to rest against its coiled body. With its vibrating warmth pressing against her, the newborn dragon folded a tiny wing over its eyes.
The swirling magical abyss abruptly shrank and winked out with a snap like a firecracker. Neither she nor the baby dragon noticed. They were both sound asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Sister Quinn, please wake up. I don’t want to stay here anymore.”
Quinn’s eyes fluttered open, and she sat up and looked around. She still lay on the floor of the Crystal Well’s chamber. As soon as she moved away from it, the little dragon crawled into her lap, curling back into a ball.
Tadpole sat on the floor beside her. He’d removed his heavy armor and piled it on the floor nearby. Besides the broken pieces of the shell, the room was empty again. Even the magistrates’ chairs had been removed.
“Where’d everyone go?”
Tadpole pointed to the chamber’s entrance. “They left a long time ago. I tried to go with them, but the old woman told me I had to stay with you. My three brothers turned their backs and wouldn’t talk to me. I’ve been sitting here waiting for you to wake up for hours.”
Quinn started to reach out and pat his arm but stopped, wincing in pain. She stared down at her fingers. The cuts in them had crusted over with scabs, making it so she couldn’t move them from a claw position without breaking the gashes open.
“It’s okay. I’m awake now. You ready to come with me and meet the rest of your new family? They are going to be so surprised when I introduce you.”
“What if they don’t like me or I frighten them?”
“Not a chance. If I vouch for you, they have to like you.”
Tadpole smiled as her kind words sank in and worked their way past his doubts. Quinn knew she was going to have a lot of work ahead of her, helping him adjust to his new clan.
Gathering up the sleeping dragon into the crook of one elbow, Quinn got to her feet. “Come on, Tadpole. It’s time for us to go home.”
“Where’s that?”
“You’ll see. It’s a place where there are lots of magical people like you and me, all different sorts. All you have to do is come along and be their friend like you’ve been to me.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good. It’s settled. Now pick up that spear. I think it’s yours for now.”
The giant orc stood, grabbed the golden spear from the pile of armor, and walked beside Quinn to the room’s entrance. He hunched down and ducked into the tunnel, then followed her back to the surface.
As she left the magical chamber, a familiar voice echoed in the distance.
“Well done once again, daughter. Rest for now. Build your clan. Soon, the world will require all your strength.”
Jamie’s Author Notes
July 5, 2020
I had the occasion to ponder the meaning of family while I wrote this installment of the Huntress Clan Saga. Most of us probably think first of those who are blood related to us. For many of us, though, the word “family” entails much more.
There are those unrelated groups in our lives we call family. Some could have a work family, or maybe a church family. There’s that person in your life who you call a brother or sister even though they aren’t related by blood to you. I grew up with a few aunts and uncles who weren’t my parents’ siblings. They were just really good family friends.
Some become part of a family when joining a profession. I’m a retired paramedic. My professional colleagues and I often referred to others in out profession as brothers and sisters from the streets. Firefighters, police officers, soldiers, and others do this as well. Family is a word with broad meaning that changes with time and circumstance.
Quinn learns this throughout the series. She starts off with quite a negative impression of family, at least the blood relative kind or the foster kind. It’s understandable. Many people have experiences like hers. For Quinn these were the people who abandoned her or tried to abuse her.
Over time, Quinn worked to build her own family, her own clan. That started with Taylor, very much a sister to the Huntress. Quinn continued adding people as they proved themselves to her. First Clark and Miranda, then she discovered her mother and Quinn added an actual blood relative to the family she’d built.
As the clan grew, so did Quinn’s role. She started out a lost daughter of the clan, then became a sibling among others like herself. Huntress Adept marks her partial transition from sister to mother, at least in part. As I work on book six, I’ll bring the series to a close and finish Quinn’s journey to discovering her family and its meaning in her life.
I urge you to find your family, whatever that may mean to you. In the midst of these challenging times, it is easy to feel distant and alone now and then. Seek out (safely) those in your life who bring you joy and support you in various ways. Do something to recognize them and thank them for being a part of your various circles of family. Chances are they are looking for a connection to others, too. We’re all in this together.
Until next time, thanks for reading my books. Peace.
Huntress Defender
Huntress Clan Saga™ Book 6
Chapter One
Avery Skelton-Smythe moved through the thick brush at the edge of the compound, crouching to avoid detection. She’d been on the road for over a week, tracking down this lead. It had led her from the Pyrenees in Spain to the foothills of the southern Andes. After thousands of miles, she hoped it wasn’t another dead end.
Her search for women like her, women raised as Huntresses by Gemma, had led here. All those she’d found were either dead or transformed into demon-kinder. Now, Avery was at the last locati
on on her list. She’d found a reference to this remote outpost while going through Gemma’s receipts. They’d been left in a drawer at the castle where Gemma had raised Avery. The collection of financial documents was only a few years old. It mentioned “the little ones” in a written note added to a printed airline voucher.
Avery assumed it was a coded reference to others like her, raised to be killing machines on the model of the Huntress of legend. The thought of the legendary figure brought a smile to her face. Avery had once believed she was the Huntress. Now she knew she had only a portion of the skills it took to do that job. Quinn Faust, on the other hand, was the real deal.
Bringing her hand up to stroke the small silver oval hanging at her throat, Avery smiled. Quinn had sent it to her by special messenger a month ago. She’d had it made for Avery, giving her an amulet of her own.
Quinn had said it possessed most of the protections of the one she wore. She also promised to add the final touches to it once Avery returned to Baltimore.
The amulet grew cold beneath her fingers, drawing Avery’s attention back to the job at hand. She raised her head above the cluster of bushes. Movement ahead froze her in place as a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. The sudden chill of the silver amulet told her it was an enemy, which probably meant another demon-kinder. Avery cursed under her breath. She was tired of facing those enhanced, demon-possessed bodies. The last two she’d run into had fought in tandem. They had almost finished her.
Avery concentrated and summoned her blade to hand. She held the blessed katana down by her side and waited.
The woman walked past Avery’s hiding spot.
Avery glanced up the path, one last check to make sure no one followed the woman. Seeing it was clear, she moved out of her hiding place, shrouded in magical silence and shadows.
Slipping up behind the woman as she strode along down the path, Avery gauged the distance to killing range. The magically strengthened demon-kinder carried a hefty battle-axe, and the heavier weapon would make it a difficult fight if Avery didn’t make the most of this initial strike. Plus, they were too close to the estancia on the map. This was no time for the commotion of a prolonged melee.
Avery needed a few more steps to get into range, so she picked up speed. She raised her blade, preparing to deliver a killing stroke.
The demon-kinder stiffened; she’d detected trouble. Although she was a little too far away, Avery leaned in and took the shot anyway. She swept her long blade around and down, striking the woman’s exposed neck from behind.
The blade’s sharp tip cut cleanly through cartilage and bone. It wasn’t enough to decapitate the guard, but it did sever the spinal cord, dropping the woman to the ground. She lay on her back, struggling to breathe, her mouth moving as if she were trying to say something.
Avery had no time to puzzle out what she was saying. She stepped up and finished the job, removing the head.
To be sure, Avery gave it a deft kick, rolling it into the weeds beside the path. She’d made the mistake of assuming a single blow had done the trick with these demon-possessed things before. That was how she’d found out they had limited regeneration and healing abilities.
It had nearly gotten her killed.
Avery checked the path in both directions. Seeing it was still clear, she stooped and rolled the body behind a nearby bush.
With the guard’s body hidden, Avery crossed the path and ran over to stand next to the first of the estancia’s outbuildings. From the smell of horse manure, it was likely the ranch’s stable. The soft whicker of a horse inside confirmed it.
Gemma had probably kept on a few of the gauchos to keep up the appearance that the estancia’s cattle were cared for. She’d done the same at the small castle where Avery had been raised. The sheep and goats they kept had also served as food for those who’d lived there. Given how Gemma liked things to operate, the servants here probably kept to themselves, too. At least, they did if they knew what was good for them.
Avery started around the building but warned once again by the amulet, ducked back just in time to avoid detection. A man in a broad-brimmed hat left the stables.
She followed his progress with her eyes, watching him cross to a long single-story building that was likely a bunkhouse of some sort. A thin plume of smoke rose from the tin stovepipe in the building’s center.
She waited until he entered and pulled the door shut behind him. As soon as the door closed, she darted from the corner of the stable for a clump of shrubs planted beside the estancia’s main house. A broad porch circled the building, with a low roof over it to keep off the elements. Several wooden chairs had sat on the porch allowing the big house’s residents to sit there and survey the land. The porch was empty now, allowing Avery to move past and check the windows on the first floor.
If the women held here were still alive and not converted to demon-kinder, she should find them either in or near the main house. Gemma would want to keep an eye on their progress while she was here.
Of course, that assumed that Gemma hadn’t already killed or possessed these candidates, too. She had no idea how many girls Gemma had taken over this way. All Avery knew was she didn’t like being one step behind the other woman and getting there too late every time. It had been months of this cat and mouse game, chasing around the globe.
Avery found herself weary and travel-worn. She was glad this was the final location on her list.
Rising from her crouch by the porch railing, she started toward the nearest set of steps up to the porch. She decided to check the big house first.
Stopping by an open window, Avery froze as a voice came from inside. It had the resonant tone of the possessed ones, like two voices talking at once from the same mouth.
“Did Beckingsly say why she wanted them all dead? Not that I’m complaining. The little runts are a pain to keep track of, underfoot one instant, and hiding from you the next. I’ll be happy to be rid of them.”
Another demon-kinder voice, this one male, said, “I didn’t ask. I don’t need a reason to kill little ones. The way a child’s fear lights up their auras when they die is delightful.”
Little ones?
The term confused Avery. Were they talking about actual children? All of Gemma’s potential candidates so far had been around Avery’s age. They’d all been babies or toddlers at the time of the Hunter clan purges years before.
Where had Gemma found young children suitable for her purposes so many years after the last of the Hunters were tracked down and killed? It irked her that she didn’t have an answer.
Avery gathered herself. None of it mattered. If there were children important to Gemma’s plans here on the estancia, she’d find them. These were the first survivors she’d found. There was no way she’d let the demon-kinder kill children, not on her watch.
The owners of the voices came closer. Avery slipped over the railing to hide in the bushes lining the porch. The male and female demon-kinder took the nearby steps down into the estancia’s courtyard and headed to a small square building opposite the gauchos’ bunkhouse. Each carried a machete.
They planned on killing the children now.
Avery rose, stepping with care to avoid any noise. She cleared the shrubs and followed the pair in a crouch, keeping her sword ready. She needed to kill both with as little noise as possible. She had no idea how many more like them were located in the home, or what the ranch-hands in the bunkhouse would do if a fight broke out.
The woman shifted the machete to hold it under her arm while unlocking a heavy iron padlock on the door. She flashed her companion a wicked grin as she retrieved the heavy blade and stepped inside.
Screams rang out.
Cursing, Avery sprinted the last few steps and lunged with her katana, taking the man from behind. Her sword pierced his throat before he could croak a warning. Blackened froth fountained up from his mouth instead of blood as he pitched to the dirt outside the door.
Avery leaped over his twitching form.
She’d have to remember to come back and finish him. He might possess the ability to heal himself.
The screaming inside intensified.
Avery charged into the small single room. The female demon-kinder advanced on a cluster of little girls huddled in the corner. There weren’t two or three as expected, there were six. None of them could be over the age of ten.
“Hey,” Avery said. “Why don’t you try out someone your own size?”
The woman spun, her eyebrows raised in surprise.
Avery didn’t give her a chance to prepare for an attack. She hacked down, aiming to cut at the arm holding the machete.
With impossible quickness, the woman dodged backward.
Avery’s blade missed by a millimeter between it and skin. The move left her stretched out in a lunge and exposed.
The machete snapped out with unnatural speed.
Avery pulled her sword around, parrying the heavier blade. She grunted at the force behind the woman’s blow. It twisted her wrist back at an awkward angle that threatened to loosen her grip on the hilt.
She gritted her teeth and held on despite the pain and numbness in her fingers. Shaking her head, Avery snarled in defiance. These hunter-trained women, now turned into demon-kinder, were tough to defeat. That was especially true if you didn’t have the jump on them.
Avery danced backward to avoid a swipe at her midsection and regrouped. She was running out of time. Someone was going to hear the commotion or spot the body flopping on the ground outside. Either way, if another of these hell-possessed people showed up, she and these little girls would be dead.
She looked around for some advantage as she parried a pair of incoming blows.
The demon-kinder woman flashed an evil grin. “You’re her, aren’t you? Beckingsly’s first failed experiment to breed a Huntress of her own for the prophecy.”
“I prefer to think of myself as her only success. Though these little ones might be added to that number once I kill you.”
