“Get off her!” I sprang forward and stretched my paws at his horrid, ugly face. Strips of flesh came away beneath my claws, with red rivulets of blood dripping to the ground. I was a cyclone, unable to stop myself for fear if I did, he would hurt my beautiful, sweet Rainne.
“Stop, Pora!” I heard her call my name and I leapt away from the damaged boy. She snatched me up and ran, full out, to the castle.
I could hear the boy bawling behind us, and I regretted nothing.
In the safety of her room, a trembling Rainne sat me on a stool and stared at me as if I’d grown horns. I suppose, in a way, I had.
“You can speak.”
“Apparently.”
“How long have you been able to?” She tugged a lock of hair between her fingers.
“Since this afternoon?” I truly didn’t know I could talk. “He was going to hurt you.”
“Yes, I’m aware.” She paced the room several times before returning to sit opposite me. “You can’t speak of this to her. You must promise me, Pora.” She meant the ogress.
I promised, but what good it would do, I had no idea. How could the ogress not know what happened to the elven Rainne? They were the same person, but each pretended the other wasn’t part of them. It made no sense to me, but I was just a cat. A cat who could talk, but still a cat.
I learned the next morning that even though they claimed to live separate lives, they knew exactly what happened to each other. Alona burst into my lady’s rooms with news that a local boy had been found hanged. They believe he took his own life, but he’d been attacked by something vicious. A wild beast, they said.
Rainne gasped and pretended to be shocked, but I saw the glint in her eye. She knew. The ogress had slipped out of the castle the previous night and killed that boy.
When Alona left, Rainne turned to me. “Oh, Pora. What am I to do? She’s too powerful for me to stop her. Most nights, we’re both in control, but last night—I don’t know what came over her.” Her hands shook as she tugged at a lock of hair. “I remember everything.”
I slunk into her lap and headbutted her hand until she petted me. “He deserved what he got.”
“Perhaps, but please speak of this to no one. In fact, you should only ever talk to me. If word gets out that you’re a talking cat, they might take you away from me and do experiments and tests. I don’t know if there are others like you in the kingdom, or if you’re an anomaly, but I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Tears sparkled in her eyes and she held me close.
“If you think it’s for the best.” A wicked idea blossomed in my mind. “But you must promise me that if you’re going to dispense vigilante justice, you at least train with Master Njeeb. And while you’re at it, insist that I train with you. If he questions why a cat would need a sword, tell him whatever story you like, but I go with you on your nightly adventures. Agreed?” I held my paw against her cheek, where her tears rolled over my fur.
She nodded and wiped at her eyes. “Pora, it was horrible and amazing. Not the death of that disgusting pig, but the power I felt. I had no idea how strong the ogress is. She liked it, though—the killing. She truly is a monster, and I’m going to expect you to keep her in line. Patrol the area, keep Duir safe, but don’t let her wantonly murder people.”
“Then I’ll definitely need a sword.”
It took some persuading, but eventually the swordmaster agreed to train me and Rainne. Always at night, and never in the company of anyone else. I suspect Finnick knew of our escapades, but he never tried to stop us.
After the ogress’s first killing, she had a taste of bloodlust. Master Njeeb taught her to control her emotions and channel that lust into her training. Her skills increased daily, and not just with a sword. Njeeb taught her to fight hand-to-hand as well. I kept my promise of not speaking in front of others, but I think the swordmaster knew I could talk. He often tried to trick me into conversation—usually about a nice fat rat—but I caught myself in time. Still, his grin told me he knew our little secret.
The only other person at Duir who I spoke to was the duchess. She would whisper in my mind, and I would answer the same. Just as I didn’t know how I could talk, I didn’t know how she was able to mindspeak. While Rainne read to her mother, the duchess and I would talk about Rainne’s training, her heartache at becoming an ogress—something the duchess was baffled about and felt immensely guilty for—and Rainne’s future. One day, she would be Duchess of Duir, but princes and balls were still a far-off dream. As long as Rainne turned into an ogress, she had to remain at the castle.
On my first birthday, Rainne held a party for me in the garden outside the large glass windows where her mother could hear the festivities. There were music and dancing, even drinking, which I hadn’t been allowed to do because I was underage. But on that day, in the privacy of Rainne’s rooms, she and I toasted cups of mead to each other and proceeded to get very, very drunk.
Milk was fine for kittens, but mead was a cat’s drink. And yes sir, did this cat like it.
The next night, I wore my fancy new birthday gifts with a newfound sense of pride: a sassy cape made of fine black silk with a matching vest, leather boots that were as soft as my mother’s fur, and a jaunty black hat. I admit, I looked resplendent, but the best gift of all was the razor-sharp rapier custom made to fit my paw.
“These are exquisite, my lady.” I flourished my weapon and bowed like a proper gentleman. My stomach twitched at the sudden movement and I fought off a wave of nausea. Mead might be a cat’s drink, but the headache and upset belly that came with it were horrendously cruel.
“I thought you might like them. Now that you’re of age, I suggest we extend our patrolling to other towns and cities. There are crimes afoot and you’ll need your kit to fit in.” She tugged a dark hood over her curls with a grin. “Shall we be off?”
She looked every inch a lady, even though she wore leather garb and was as green as a spring vale. Master Njeeb’s training had spilled from the physical to emotional and mental. I might’ve grown a year older in my time with Rainne, but she had matured as well. The headstrong ogress I first met was still defiant, but more disciplined and controlled in her actions.
For our first outing, we chose a village just through the forest from the castle. I’d not been in the forest since Finnick found me. In fact, I’d avoided it. My past was in there. My pain. My family.
I stayed close to Rainne as we hurried through the trees. Instead of hampering my ability to walk, the boots made quick work of my steps. Where the frass Rainne found someone to cobble boots for a cat, I had no idea. She never ceased to amaze me.
“Perhaps we don’t need to be quite so hasty.” I held my head and trudged forward. The trees in my peripheral danced and swayed as if mocking my dizziness.
“Too much fun last night, eh cat?” Rainne poked me and giggled. “I should’ve gone soft on you, but you kept asking for more.”
“Because it was delicious. But I might have some regret.”
“You’ll grow into your drink. It took me ages to realize elves don’t metabolize spirits as quickly as an ogress. I suppose there are some benefits to being me.” She grinned, and I was jealous of her ogress blood.
The village was quiet as we entered. A sliver of moon cast scant light for us to see by, but that mattered little to a cat and an ogress. We were made for prowling at night. A lone light shone from the village green, and we wandered into the pub as if we were frequent visitors.
If the villagers were shocked to see an ogress and dressed cat sit at a table, they didn’t show it. Not at first.
“Evening, fellas.” Rainne inclined her head to three men who leaned against the bar as if it were the only thing keeping them upright.
“Is she green?” one of them slurred. The other two peered at us hard.
“I am indeed green. Very well done, kind sir. Now, if someone would be so inclined, my friend and I would like a flagon of mead and two cups.”
“It drinks?” The men jeered
and pounded the bar with jolly laughter.
“You got coin?” the barman asked, and Rainne produced a piece of silver. This seemed to appease the man and he brought us a pitcher and two cups. A large one for Rainne, and a smaller one for me. At least the man was considerate.
One whiff of the mead set my belly right off, and I pretended to sip my drink while Rainne downed several cups. I scanned the room, noting the couple in the corner who tried to hide their illicit kisses, and the man at a table opposite us who wore his hood low.
The men at the bar grew quieter with each cup Rainne emptied. When she upended the flagon and nothing more came out, she grunted. I, however, was relieved.
“Well, so much for our first adventure. I suppose we should head home.” Her words weren’t even slurred.
We bid farewell to the pub and meandered through the village on our way back to the forest. Rainne stumbled and careened as if she were drunk.
We were nearly to the road that led to Duir when I heard the men. They’d followed us from the pub and by the look of glee in Rainne’s eyes, she’d been expecting them.
“You set this up, didn’t you?” I was more than a little annoyed that she hadn’t told me her plan.
“I wasn’t entirely sure how it would play out. I mean, you’re a cat dressed in boots, I’m green.” She fluttered her hand. “It could’ve gone either way.”
“Why this village?” My suspicions were now running at full steam. “Were those men intentional targets or did you get lucky?”
“I might’ve heard some rumors about three men who weren’t as respectful of women as they ought to be.” She hunched her shoulders and grimaced. “Sorry?”
Time for apologies and forgiveness would have to come later, because just then, the men caught up to us. They made a loose triangle, with Rainne and me in the center. The leers on their faces reminded me of the pimply-faced kid from a year earlier and my stomach roiled—and not from drink this time.
“You oughtn’t be out here on your own, little lady. We’d be happy to escort you back to your place.”
“No thanks, I can find my way.” Rainne twirled a lock of hair and thrust her hip out suggestively.
The man who spoke grinned and lunged for Rainne. She easily side-stepped him, giving his backside a solid kick. He went down hard with a grunted curse.
“Now you’ve done it.” A second man reached for her, but she evaded his grasp.
The third man turned his attention to me. I drew my rapier and swiped at his outstretched hands. With a few flicks of my paw, he was yelping and hopping around, holding his hands close to his chest. It wasn’t the glorious victory I’d imagined, but at least I wasn’t dead.
I gave him one last poke of my blade to his privates and jumped to join the fray with Rainne and the two other men. She held her own against them, but my blade, even as little as it was, gave us the upper hand. By the time the men scampered off into the darkness, Rainne and I were doubled over, half laughing, half gasping for breath.
Training with Master Njeeb wasn’t anything like a real fight. Adrenaline spiked our blood and truth be told, I wanted more.
“We must do this again,” I huffed as we turned toward the forest.
Rainne nodded and glanced over her shoulder at the empty road. “Now I know how men fight. We might have skills with a sword, and Njeeb taught us how to throw punches, but he’s too reserved. These men, they were wild and unpredictable. If we’re to protect Duir, we need to constantly be improving, to study our enemy so that we’re never surprised.”
On the surface, it sounded logical, but I saw the gleam in her eyes. I knew the ogress’s bloodlust lay just below her jade skin.
Our enemy. I knew who my enemy was—the beast that slaughtered my family—but who or what was Rainne’s?
“Pora? Do you think I’m a monster?”
“I do not.” Then I thought about the fight and how much I enjoyed scratching that lad’s face. “Perhaps we’re all monsters, but as long as the punishment is justified we’re not terribly bad?”
“I must confess, I enjoyed myself immensely, but there is more to this than scrapping for the sake of it.” She chewed the end of a lock of hair. “We find wrongdoers and dispense justice. Yes. I like that.”
“Where you go, I go. You have my sword, my lady.”
Rainne snorted and swatted my butt with her foot. “You’re ridiculous, you murderous little imp.”
We took the same path through the forest and hurried as fast as we could without actually running. The moon had moved on and left only darkness to keep us company. Daybreak would soon arrive and with it, my elven lady.
As we neared the edge of the forest that buttressed the castle’s lands, I stopped. My whiskers twitched.
“What is that scent?” I knew that smell, but couldn’t place it. Still, my heart beat recklessly beneath my ribs.
Rainne sniffed the air and frowned. “Wolves. Come, they’ll kill us if they catch our scent. We must be quick and hide.”
Wolves. Yes. The memory I’d tried to block since Finnick found me forced its way into my mind. Wolves had attacked and murdered my family. They would’ve killed me too, but I’d hidden too deep. I remembered black noses filling the burrow entrance, sharp fangs gnashing at the dirt to get to me. They were the monsters of my nightmares.
We raced from the forest to the safety of the castle walls. I hated having to flee from my mortal enemy, yet I knew it was for the best.
As I turned to face the forest, I flicked the tip of my rapier. Defiance coursed through my blood.
Though I may be little—soon, wolves will hide from me.
Tameri Etherton is the USA Today Bestselling author of dangerous fantasy and magical ever afters. It’s been said she leaves a trail of glitter in her wake as she creates new adventures for her kickass heroines, and the rogues who steal their hearts. She lives an enchanted life with her very own prince charming and their mischievous dragon Lady Dazzleton.
Find out more at TameriEtherton.com.
64
Rules
by Yudhanjaya Wijeratne
Together we are Art and Gary, Gary and Art, Demon Hunters and Dispellers. Our latest case is in Little Wattle, a crap hole. Gary is the muscle and I’m brains of the operation. Of course, I’m the brains, I’m a cat.
Picture a small, seedy, run-down little town, the kind that sort of lurks in the mist. The kind of place that you don’t ever really want to go to, except as a stop on the way to some place that actually deserves mentioning on a map. The kind of place where roads and tourists are a sort of hazy bourgeoise concepts and inns...well, any self-respecting inn would just look at the supply-and-demand curve and bugger off right down the road.
There’s loads of these places in Little Wattle.
If you’ve ever visited Little Wattle, you’ll be wondering what I’m talking about. Surely it can’t be that bad, you say. Little Wattle is known for its villages. Heck, you might actually have stumbled across a hidden village or two on a trip here. The cottages were beautiful, the maidens were fair, the blacksmith strong as an ox, the wheat golden and lovely in the wind, and maybe there was a wizard’s tower on a hill, sparking all sorts of mysterious sigils into the air. But take an old cat’s word for it, partner. Each and every one of those villages is a set location, a theme park, staffed by highly-paid actors, custom-built to the latest seasonal ideals by the Scrying Wizards and the Rural Council, and all those maidens and blacksmiths are card-carrying members of the Maidens and Blacksmiths Union. Little Wattle takes its tourism seriously.
The kind of village I’m talking about is the exact opposite of the kind of village Little Wattle wants the world to see. The general protocol for dealing with these places is to find a level bit where you can pitch camp and try to wait until morning and hope the town witch doesn’t shank you in your sleep.
Unfortunately, we couldn’t do that, either.
Because we had a demon to deal with.
At this point I s
uppose I should explain who we are and what we do. Very well. I’m Art, short for Artheus. You might have heard of me. The Dark Art? Art of Magic? The Hellcat? Yeah, that’s me. Associate magician, investigator, thief, assistant demon hunter. Seen the world, picked its pockets, all that. Consummate professional. I’ve even been the sous chef in the kitchen of the Duchess of Daub herself, and if you don’t believe it you can go ask her what she thinks of my Seared Croque-Monsieur avec Stuffing du Fromage, Boeuf et Herbes. Top stuff, that was.
And then we have my business partner, Gary.
Gary is theoretically a demon hunter. I say theoretically because yes, he is God-touched. The lad can debuff a blight and all that, and demons and fell beasties do find him a bit off-putting, but as far as I know he’s also the only fellow to ever fail the entrance test to the Knights Pandaemonium, and all he had to do was swing a sword and scribble his name on a piece of paper. Instead, he ate the paper, accidentally chopped off the recruiter’s head, and set us on a bit of a cross-country marathon with the city guard on our heels.
He’s a good lad. He’s trying. It’s just that some days one must imagine Artheus to be happy, if you get my drift. Together we are Art and Gary, Gary and Art, Demon Hunters and Dispellers, and if you happen to live in the shitty middle-of-nowhere we are exactly the people you call, not because we’re famous, but because we’re cheap. We have set fees and operate on volume. Bulk discounts over ten jobs.
Look, I’m not too happy with the situation, either. My plan is to work enough jobs and save enough dough and get us on a boat to Sinhapura, where the weather’s warmer and they might have the type of wise masters who can make something of an idiot like Gary. Ah. A few years of retirement and stretching out the paws, what?
Hellcats: Anthology Page 117
