Contents
Acknowledgments
Disclaimer
Dedication
Prologue - ICG
Chapter 1 -ICG
Chapter 2 -ICG
Chapter 3 - ICG
Chapter 4 - ICG
Chapter 5 - ICG
Chapter 6 - ICG
Chapter 7 - ICG
Chapter 8 - ICG
Chapter 9 - ICG
Chapter 10 - ICG
Chapter 11 - ICG
Chapter 12 - ICG
Chapter 13 - ICG
Chapter 14 - ICG
Chapter 15 - ICG
Chapter 16 - ICG
Chapter 17 - ICG
Chapter 18 - ICG
Chapter 19 - ICG
Author's Notes
To those who supported me, all of you from 20 books.
But Especially to
Cover Design / Illustrator: Deranged Doctor Designs
Final Copy Editor: Kat Lind
Editorial Team: Bree Burrs, Diane Velasquez, Dorene Johnson, Tom Dickerson,
This Book would literally be less than half as good without you. Your support and commentary to a new author cannot be more appreciated
Technical Thing: Kat Lind and her team (and the SCARE program)
Other: The Innana's Circle Game Group
And the 20 Books Crew. We're all on this crazy journey together.
Thank you for your encouragement.
And apologies to anyone I have forgotten. You have my email or facebook, tell me if I missed you and I'll add you for the next edition.
Disclaimer
This book is an Urban Fantasy novel, set in a world like ours in many ways, but very different in many others.
This book is a work of fiction, all the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Similarities to current events can be considered 'timey wimey wibbly wobbly'
Any references or portrayals of religion are not intended to provoke offense, but rather provoke thought.
If there is a God or any Gods they obviously intended us to think - look at the Yapok and the Platypus.
Copyright (c) 2016 Paul C. Middleton
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
This book is dedicated to the Roberts family
Who made Armidale a true home for me
Marnie, for being there to talk to whenever I needed it.
Henry for always being able to make a joke, if sometimes a bad one.
Shaniah and Courtney, for helping me see the world through younger eyes.
Harry and Lewis for reminding me there is still wonders in the world (At least for some people).
I don't know what to thank Max for yet, he's a little young.
(Max was born while I was finishing the book.)
Prologue
When you read a book about supernatural creatures and who fights them it frequently starts from a bar. Or a Church. Depending if the hero is a yahoo or a religious fella. I'm neither. I get work from the booth in an Indian restaurant in country New South Wales, Australia. The owners love me. I saved their children from a smart and vicious Rakshasa last year.
I could say it's the free food they keep offering me that makes me work from here. They paid me for the rescue, I insisted on paying for the food. There might be times I accept a free drink, occasionally. I could say it's because my mentor is the grandfather of those children. I mean he is, but neither of those is the reason. The motive behind this is, I want people to try other ways first. To be sure they need my help before they find me. The place smells better'n any bar or church, too. Being a popular place, the 'normals' rarely notice my business. Heck, sometimes I have to go outside to get the details.
The yahoos and religious types, they can take the jobs for cheap pay, religious duty or good will. If someone is gonna hire me, it's hard cash, half up front, and lots of it. Besides, I'm so much of a mongrel of supernatural beings that no-one can trace what I really am. I've had to fight off a few of the regular hunters just to stay alive when they mistook me for what they were hunting. It has a couple of advantages, but one big disadvantage. No, make that two.
The first is the usual one for half-breeds, only worse. No-one really trusts me. They don't know how to approach me as a fellow thinking being. At least most half-breeds get trust from others in a similar fix. The second is I hit the physical age and stature of twenty when I was five years old. Haven't aged a day physically since then. No-one, and I mean no-one, knows how long that'll last. I could age out of existence tomorrow or live forever as far as anyone knows. Makes relationships hard. I still have the mental flexibility of a child, though. Learning skills and such that take most people months or years, I manage in days.
But it also means I have no apparent weakness. I know I have a weretiger in the family tree. Tazzie Tiger that is. But I have no problems with silver. I probably have some fae blood, but I can touch iron, no worries. Might have vamp or demon heritage, but holy water? Not a problem, apart from getting my clothes wet. I don't think I have any ghost in me, but that's about all I'll say for sure. I can see, hear and touch them. Very few people, supernatural or otherwise, can.
Oh, and you might ask what I look like. Another problem of my heritage. I have a different twenty-year-old male body every time I wake up. Means I have no photo ID of my face. It changes too often. I have an Australian SSC ID with a picture of the tattoo on the back of my hand. That's Supernatural Special Consultant. That same picture is on all my other ID. I have a Tazzie Tiger head, mouth fully agape. Only constant in my life I feel sometimes. Being alive tomorrow certainly isn't.
If things get weird, sometimes anywhere in the country, the local Sergeant knows where to find me.
So, someone seems to need me about once a week I for a job. About the only place, I won't work now is a couple of southern US states. Word got ' round the Baptist hunters I took out a few of their preachers and the tattoo. All true. The preachers were possessed at the time, and I don't mess around with exorcisms. If you have a problem with a supernatural and want me to deal with it, you had better want it dead, not just banished.
The Catholic church hired me for that job after losing their best two exorcists to a mangy pack of possessed. You could be cynical and say it was to remove the competition, but really, those preachers needed to die. They gave me a Vatican passport as a bonus. Not as useful as you'd think, some ways. Gets my gear across most borders, though. Traveling by plane, I now go in three hours before the flight leaves, call one of the Supernatural Hunter liaisons for the destination or, less commonly, the local Bishop or High Priest. Word has gotten around about me, over the years I've been operating as a hunter.
About the only thing I'll help people solve, apart from killing a monster or supe that needs to be put down, is a curse. Now, frequently enough that involves bloodshed, but just as often it's a puzzle. I hate curses. Most times they are unwarranted, placed only because of spite or jealousy. Other times, a curse was deserved by the family for the first three or four generations, but it kept running. With my heritage, I really understand how crap like that can make you feel.
I don't play favorites. But I get the job I'm paid to do done, and if you get in my way, you might as well be hit by a tractor trailer. The end result will be less painful. My name is Thalias Jardine. Either call me Thal or Jardine. I don't know what my parents were thinking either.
Chapter 1
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nbsp; I hate this time of year. Just after they reach adolescence, they can become aggressive little shits. This year was particularly bad. There were reports of livestock being taken near every river, lake and marsh in the country. By 'they' I mean Yowies. A semi-amphibious appetite with stubby legs at that age. Worse than a teenage boy trying to pick a single naked woman from three in front of him, and dumber than swamp grass. Once they get past puberty, they tend to be okay. They need less meat and generally eat fish.
Why I am stuck in the middle of bum fuck nowhere is because three different teams of hunters had been decimated, quite literally, by this pack. Most hunters of the supernatural, even the ones that are supes themselves, think I'm stark raving mad for the way I hunt. Solo whenever I can. But the bottom line is you need trust to be part of a team, and no hunter actually believes me.
I also charge more than a team of twenty and get the job done.
So here I waited, watching over a herd of cattle near the last sighting by a bunch of local hunter yahoos. Professional in their way, but too willing to take unnecessary risks and jobs no-one should accept. Oh, and I'm waiting in the form my Grandfather gifted me. A Thylacine. Or a Tazzie Tiger, whichever you want to call it. That way - aha! That's the odor I was waiting for. Swamp water and mud stench on a dry plain. Shifting back, I grab up my rifle. Obsidian and steel laced lead usually works well against the ones in this region, but I have an axe if I need to take their heads off. Spotting the pack I see a small problem.
The pack is being led by an adult Yowie. Adolescents, at four to five feet tall, look somewhat like a cross between a clawless bear and a man, with wet foliage hanging off 'em. The adult has dry fur and is twice the size. His claws were also fully grown. At least it's breaking the Taboo. Adults know not to hunt this far from a river so the few friendly ones I know won't bat an eyelid when it goes down.
Yes, I can speak Yowie. They aren't great conversationalists, though.
I fire off all seven shots from my rifle at the adolescents injuring one, killing five and missing with the fifth shot completely. Fuck! This will get messy. The remaining teens charge me, covering the ground on all fours, the injured one leading the onslaught. I consider using the pistol. No, not yet. There's five of them and an adult. Six shots in the .45 magnum and it'll take three to slow down the adult. Best to get chopping. As they get closer, I see the adult take one of the cattle and run. I hate days like this.
I counter-charge the five adolescents, sidestep the injured one and take its neighbor's head. Another tried to bite my ankle. Tactically sound, it means the adult has been training them. I didn't know they could. Wouldn't help this one as I cleaved through its neck with a two-handed blow. The others had passed me and, without claws yet, were having the usual problem of not being able to stop quickly. I ran after the adult, following the blood from either it or the cow.
Probably the cow.
As I close in on the Yowie, I see a noticeable scar. I know this fellow. He's not friendly and has often moaned about the treaty. I called him Mark, the few times we spoke.
"Mark, why are you pulling this shit? Of all the cock-ups you could have made, this one is gonna get you killed. By me." I could sorta see his viewpoint, but rules were rules. Leading a pack of Adolescents wasn't against the rules. Going outside the treaty zone was. It's not like I enjoy the killing part of my job.
Mark turned and spoke. "Farmer trash spawning spots. Few young hatch and grow this year. We need young. Our people dying."
I knew for a fact that Yowies weren't dying out. I'd been one of those who helped take a census the previous year. Their numbers were increasing. I also knew Mark blamed the 'white man' for what he saw as fewer numbers. The idiot couldn't count past five. And he only counted those who were from his spawnings as 'Real Yowies.' I'd heard few of the females were willing to mate with him. His preferred spawning spots were farmer's dams right on the border of the allowed ranges for a Yowie.
I sighed and pulled my pistol as I heard the adolescents catching up. I turned and shot two times, taking down two. 'Mr injured' was the survivor until my axe took his skull.
I spun back around to see nine and a half feet of fur and claws charging me with a roar of anger. Firing my remaining four shots I rolled. I dropped the empty pistol and completed the turn with the axe in both hands. I swung for his knees. No way I could get his head. There was a shock up the haft as I hit his shin, numbing my hands. Mark swung around and mauled my shoulder.
My axe fell to the ground, dropped because of my now completely numb arm. This guy was pissing me off. I mean it wasn't a potentially crippling injury to me like it would have been on a human. It hurt like hell, though.
This was a clusterfuck and a half. Fortunately, I didn't flash my other abilities around unless I had to. I muttered a spell under my breath. There was the smell of burning flesh as suddenly my wound was cauterized. In the same moment, Mark's hand-paw was alight. Making your blood incendiary based on the distance it is from your body is a useful trick, kids. With Mark distracted, I had time to pick up my axe and come up with a plan.
That was when he bent over, trying to stamp out the flames with his feet. Not his brightest move, but like I said he wasn't a smart fellow.
Perfect. With the first blow, I knocked him out. About eight or nine hacks later I had his head off. The Yowie's head must have weighed fifty plus pounds. If I wanted to claim a bounty, I need his head. It wasn't often an adult left the territory. This was probably the fifth time this decade, and three others times had been attempts to work out problems caused by humans.
The bounty wouldn't be worth the trouble. The proof that the original contract needed amending would be, though.
Chapter 2
On the edge of town, I messaged the Sergeant. Told him the contract was done, with some issues. It needed an amendment, or I'd hunt down the remaining members of the three teams. Meet me in the usual spot.
I had a big freezer on the tray of my Ute for a reason. I guess Americans call 'em Pickups. Anyways, heads stink after a day or so if you don't freeze them. It had been a challenge fitting Mark's skull in. In the end, I'd been forced to squeeze his ears into place. I was still thinking of having it stuffed and mounted.
At least it hadn't been Drop Bears. Those vicious bastards were on the extermination lists. Kill one, you shut up and get a bounty, a decent one. Registered hunter or not. If you didn't shut up, you ended up being disappeared. There were powers on both sides of the supernatural fence that didn't want the boat rocked. Letting the general public find out the supernatural reality was definitely on the list of things that could rock the boat, right below failing to avert an apocalypse and the return of the Old Ones.
So I sat outside my Ute waiting for the Sergeant. I always chuckled a little when I thought of why so few officers, either in the police force or the military that knew what SSC, in either field, meant. Unless they had started as an enlisted member of the SSC, they couldn't give a Supernatural Suppression Command member an order either. Thank the lights. And the shadows, now I consider it.
The Sergeant pulled up in a beat-up Ute with a similar freezer to mine. Damn. That meant I wouldn't get the option of stuffing and mounting the head.
Ahh well. Them's the breaks sometimes.
"Thal, you haven't offered a threat like that since the damned Reformationists went on that unsanctioned killing spree of Imps." He waved his hand at me to show he felt I'd been justified then. There were the Treaties for a reason. If humans just went out and broke them, there wasn't a point to having them. Then I'd have to pick a faction. In a twenty or thirty sided war. Not my idea of a good time.
Besides, I had a soft spot for Imps. They might be from hell, but they weren't demons or devils. They were pranksters, and I often needed a laugh. I still have a half-dozen or more in my black book too. They're good in the sack and enjoy a romp. Also, about the only species, I got along with as a whole, and you gotta back up those you can get along with in my situation. They thought I
was the ultimate prank, one of them told me after some horizontal gymnastics. A being that couldn't be defined.
I jumped up onto the tray and opened the freezer, pulled the head out and raised an eyebrow. "Mark here was the problem, Sarge. A blind man within a hundred meters of an adult Yowie can tell the difference between them and adolescents. And he was running the pack! So either you were lied to so that I didn't get the right pay or because they hoped he'd do me in. You will de-register the leaders of all three teams. Pay me both bounty and an amended contract. I'd have taken a damned elephant gun if I'd known about him. Fucker mauled me. Had to use my abilities, and you know that's a pain in my arse if I don't prepare. Anyone else - any group of others - not knowing would have had deaths."
Sergeant McGuire nodded. He was one of the few fellow hunters I'd trust at my back, and still couldn't work with him. Not with him on a prosthetic leg. Sarge also knew about me being a wizard of no small talent. But every ability had a price. For me, it was a splitting headache. If I used a powerful enough spell, it also meant a restriction in my other abilities if I didn't prepare to cast it in advance.
He'd also tutored me in magic, being a middling wizard himself.
McGuire sniffed the air around the head. "The Burning Blood spell I see. Nice choice. Of course, if an adult Yowie had hit me I'd be just plain dead, so I'd have chosen something more pro-active, but for you..." his voice drifted off. He paused and looked at me consideringly.
"Just say what you wanna to say, Sarge. It's not you I'm pissed at," I said with a shrug. He nodded.
"Someone's looking for you. Something up your other alley, from what the church told me. They won't let her near their people, and the usual hunters are below her radar on this curse. I'll get the contract amended, but if I spot her should I send her your way?"
Thinking about it, I was getting rather sick of the Yowie game. The only group that had caused other hunters a difficulty I'd just dealt with. I'd also handled four other packs on the way home. A change of pace, an excuse to avoid other contracts for the rest of the month sounded good. A female client seemed better. With curses, you had to keep the client close, in case the curse triggered and you had to counter it.
A Mongrel's Curse (Breed Matters Book 1) Page 1
