“Montague and Garce are long dead. I think you will find your celebrity status to hold sway with Hope City’s finest now.”
I doubted that. Police held a grudge. And I had slighted them too often in the past. They deserved it, of course.
“Fine!” I sighed and stood to shake his hand. Begrudgingly.
The door opened and the aide from earlier appeared.
“Peter, please escort Kat Drummond out. And Kat, it was a surprising pleasure meeting you. I hope that we can both look past our misgivings with each other and help move this city forward.”
“Likewise, Riaan.”
I followed Peter out. The aide buzzed with nervous energy, but also a sense of palpable relief that one of the appointments he had to manage was finished.
“Thank you, Peter,” I said, as we reached the front entrance. “But I can find my own way from here.”
He looked reluctant but thanked me and returned into the morass of governance and mismanagement.
“That went well,” Treth said, manifesting near Dawi’s bust.
“Too well,” I replied. There was no one near enough to hear me. “I can’t help but think there’s something more at stake.”
“Just enjoy things, Kat! The city recognises you as its paragon, the ruler looks to you for affirmation and we have promises of help against the undead scourge. As far as our track record goes, this has been a fruitful day.”
I couldn’t help but smile, just a bit.
“You’re in an awfully good mood, Mr Treth Avicin of Concord. See Gorgo recently?”
Treth blushed, his ghostly white translucence reddening to a vague pink.
“She sent me some information to help with our training,” he lied.
“Oh! Really? Tell me about it.”
“Um, well. It’s not too important. Routine stuff. Eat your veggies, and all.”
“Ugh, I hate veggies,” I chided, letting Treth keep his romantic affairs secret.
I proceeded to my bike, which I was relieved to find was where I had left it. And I knew the reason too, as I saw two Whiteshield guards standing watch. I squinted at one of them as they both looked at me sideways.
“Do I know you?” I asked, examining him curiously. He was young but had blister scars on his cheeks.
“Ah, yes, Last Light. I was at Sanitation before Loviatar attacked.”
“Ah, yes!” I grinned, feeling nostalgic. “You tried to arrest me. Thought you all died.”
He shook his head, as if confirming the obvious.
I patted him on the back. “Good to see you survived.”
“Thanks to you.” No sarcasm.
“I did what I had to do,” I answered, and mounted my bike. I waved the guards my thanks and rode towards more important business.
Chapter 5.
Drinks
I had changed a lot since December. I now saw the need for the Crusaders. There were too many monsters and not enough hunters. And, if no one else was stepping up to command, then it had to be me. But, necessity didn’t make the situation any better. I was a loner by nature, slowly warming to a small group of hunters, and then thrown into the command chair of a growing monster hunting organisation. While we’d never call it one, the Crusaders was an army, and I was its general.
I didn’t like it. I never thought I’d miss the chaos of leaving campus to go hunt a beast half-way across Hope City, sleeping for two hours, slaying a zombie horde and then exorcising a haunted house, all before breakfast. But nostalgia had a way of making the worst things look good.
Still, it beat paperwork. And, as commander, I had a lot of paperwork to process, employees to manage, people to fire and death certificates to deliver. It was draining. It wasn’t how I pictured my life ending up. And in a way, the paycheck wasn’t worth it.
But, what did make it worth it were Friday evenings, when off-duty Crusaders all met at the Gravekeeper Tavern, basically our official drinking hole opposite the HQ, and changed from an army to a group of friends. And, in many cases, a family.
I parked my bike in the Crusader parking lot, noting that Brett’s van was there. He’d be in the pub already. I sighed in relief. Sure, I could handle the Crusaders without him. But it was always good to have him on my arm. Or across the room. I didn’t need to be talking to him or touching him, but just knowing that he was there for me made everything easier.
Who could think that annoying agency muscle-head would end up being the love of my life?
Treth sensed me getting all sentimental and rolled his eyes. I contemplated jabbing at him for being a hypocrite. He was a lovestruck, spectral teenager when it came to him and Gorgo.
I left the Crusader parking bay and prepared to cross the road just as I saw a man wearing a tiger print gi exit the HQ. I caught his eye and waved. He smiled freely, showing teeth. At the back of my head, a small part of me wanted to flee. To shiver. My coat always went a bit hotter when he was around. It sensed danger. And so did I.
Despite Kyong Man’s gaudy getup, he was possibly the most dangerous man in the Crusaders. Sure, Cindy could banish demons and heal almost fatal wounds. Trudie could transform her body at will and regenerate limbs. And Pranish was one of the smartest wizards I knew. But none of them had the raw physical power that our resident Tiger Fist possessed.
He had joined the Crusaders to test how far he could take his powers. And we hadn’t been able to calculate a limit, yet. In the recent outbreaks, he could take down swathes of zombies just by punching the air. The seismic force alone cut them down.
From what I could see, his only limitations were creatures who were non-physical, ambushes, and magical attacks that could not be blocked. In a fight, Pranish could probably beat him. But only from a distance. And with surprise on his side.
“Heading to drinks?” I asked, hiding my instinctual fear of the sorcerous martial artist. He had never done anything to truly make me fear him. If anything, he was one of the Crusaders I was warming up to the most.
He shook his head. “Not tonight, Last Light. An abomination was spotted near Athlone. I’m going to put it down.”
My eyes widened. Abominations weren’t common undead. It took some real skill to combine the corpses and flesh of dozens of victims into one cohesive monster.
“I’ll get some reinforcements! Address?” I spluttered, anxiously. I’d killed a few abominations in my time. None of them easily.
He waved away my concern as if rejecting an offer of tea.
“No need. It is slow. Weak. A first attempt by our shadowy friends. I mean to help their research and development by putting it down myself. A worthy test.”
I resisted shivering. Kyong wasn’t exactly creepy. Most of the time, he was quite likable. But when it came to the hunt…
Well, it wasn’t exactly a game to him. But neither was it the life or death struggle that most reasonable hunters experienced. It was a constant test to him. Striving to push his powers to the limits.
I glanced towards the Gravekeeper and then back to Kyong. I decided to let him have his experiment.
“Fine. Good luck, Tiger Fist.”
Kyong did a casual salute and mounted his own bike.
“He’s strong,” Treth said, feeling my unease. “He will take it down. Better than we ever could.”
I felt that last bit come reluctantly. Treth was still getting used to the idea that we were no longer the most powerful member of the crew. Well, we never had been.
“Strength isn’t everything,” I replied. “If it was, I’d be dead.”
Treth snorted his amusement as we crossed the road and entered the booze-laden confines of the Gravekeeper Tavern.
As I passed the threshold, a dozen friendly faces turned to me and raised their beverages, letting out a cheer in unison. The Gravekeeper had a few non-Crusader patrons, some mingling with Crusaders in and out of uniform. Even some of the civvies saluted me. The regulars here felt they were just as much a part of the Crusaders as we were. Perhaps, they were. This was esse
ntially our bar, now. I’d even leased back Conrad’s old office upstairs. A Christmas present for my old boss.
I greeted a few Crusaders with nods and smiles, my coat glowing and humming warmly as it sensed allies and pleasure. Its fiery glow looked hot, but it wouldn’t harm anyone here. It knew that this was one of the safest places in the world.
The face I wanted to see the most appeared before I grew too anxious, and I embraced Brett tightly. He was wearing his Crusader flak but had showered since his last hunt. While I didn’t really detest the smell of guts and sweat, this freshness was appreciated.
“How’d it go?” Brett asked, pecking me lightly on the lips.
“Surprisingly, not too bad. He wants to help us fight the undead.”
Brett frowned. “Ulterior motives?”
“Maybe. But he doesn’t strike me as the politician type. Far too honest for his own good.”
“Careful, Kat. That may be just what he wants you to think.”
Brett’s face held concern, but then it melted, as I laughed.
“I think I’ve rubbed off on you,” I laughed. “Now who’s going to caution me against conspiracy theories?”
“Guy and Cindy are still sane,” Brett offered.
“Seriously? Cindy thinks the English Royal Family are fae and Guy thinks every rock is a vampire plotting his demise.”
“Who knows? They’re probably right.” Brett smiled, leading me to the bar and retrieving both of us a beer.
“Talking about Cins and Guy, where are they?” I asked, surveying the area. Pranish and a recruit named Stephenson were playing pool. Trudie was discussing something passionately with Jane over shots, shadowed by Senegal. Conrad was with them, grinning his too white smile. Too many other faces to list were milling about, discussing hunts, drinking or playing cards.
“Absent with apologies,” Brett replied, holding an ice-cold beer bottle up to my cheek. I didn’t push it away. It was refreshing. “They’re packing up the last of their stuff. Well, Guy is. I think Cins is negotiating with the pixies.”
I sighed but couldn’t help grinning. Pixies were aggravating, entitled and pesky little things. But they were also unfailingly endearing.
“What is it this time? I told Duer that I’d get Hammond to set the Tree o’ Many Gifts aflame if he didn’t play ball.”
“He didn’t get the metaphor,” Brett explained, pulling the bottle away and offering me the one not warmed up by my body-heat. Brett hid his consideration under a veneer of bravado but, behind that hunter exterior, he was a real sweety. “He is trying to argue for extra space to build a sports field.”
“How big could that be?” I asked, imagining a tiny soccer field scaled to pixie size.
“Apparently, feth’uan da’ree, which sounds like rugby for pixies, needs ten square kilometres of clear land or forest.”
I had to take a long swig to process that. My dry throat and remaining nerves after my meeting with Riaan appreciated the alcohol.
Brett smiled, and put his arm around my shoulders. We leaned up against the bar, watching the festivities.
“It’ll be fine. Brivvy will bring Duer to order soon,” Brett explained.
“I know,” I replied. Brivvy wasn’t Duer’s wife, if pixies even had those, but they had been courting for a while. Pixies were immortal, though, so courtship could last decades. Regardless of the status of their relationship, Brivvy usually tempered Duer’s less than reasonable behaviour. “How are they, though? Guy and Cins?”
I hadn’t been able to see Guy or Cindy for quite a while. Since a cyclops destroyed Cindy and my home, Cindy had been living with Guy in his apartment, taking up Brett’s usual spot. Since the Darius debacle, they had slowly been rebuilding her house. It was almost complete.
Brett shrugged. Same old.
“Everything set on selling the flat?” I asked, casually, noting that Heather had joined the girls doing shots. Good. She was less nervous around me when plastered.
Brett hesitated and I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Yes,” he finally answered. With Guy moving in with Cindy, they had no more need for their bachelor flat.
I smiled. “Great! There’s this apartment block not far from here. Want to check it out tomorrow?”
Brett seemed a bit surprised, as he averted his eyes. I sighed.
“Brett…that was long ago. Before we were…you know. Things change. People change. I’m ready for this step.”
He smiled, his apprehension slowly seeping away and squeezed me closer.
“And besides, we’ve been living together for months now.”
“Really?” Brett chided. “I thought we were co-squatting.”
“Pffft. It’s not squatting if you own the place.”
“Tell that to the city zoning laws.”
“To the Void with zoning laws!” I bellowed, attracting some odd looks. Brett laughed and I caught myself smiling.
There were undead threatening the survival of the city, evil lurking around every corner, and a shadowy organisation wishing me the gravest harm. And, for all those reasons and more, I reminded myself, I deserved times like these. Where I could just enjoy myself alongside those I loved.
As if on cue, two Crusaders approached us. The first was a young man with almost golden, tanned skin and a mop of blonde hair. I caught myself calling him young. He was my age. Maybe a year younger. He wore the Crusader black and grey, but I always pictured him in khakis, socks and sandals. Henri Pretorius was our resident sniper. A crack-shot and unfailingly polite.
He locked his feet together and gave me a formal salute, awaiting my leave to go at ease. He’d never been in the military, apparently. Could have fooled me. I permitted him to relax, knowing he would stand like a wraith was pinching his spine otherwise.
The second Crusader wore a Sufi taqiya and was currently stroking his greying, black beard, thoughtfully. Ismail Abdullah had friendly eyes. And an unquenchable curiosity. He was an odd member of the Crusaders as he wasn’t really suited for monster hunting. Sure, he was a wizard. But even when he memorised combat spells, he was more likely to stop and analyse a monster than put it down.
He had been serving in the Crusader’s non-combat division mostly, providing healing to the wounded. But that wasn’t his primary role.
Ismail truly shined when it came to researching magic and monsters. Between Pranish and him, the previous orthodoxy of fighting blind and just hoping you guessed the monster’s weakness in time was basically over. Ismail had an encyclopaedic knowledge of mysterious monsters from beyond the In Between.
“Commander,” Henri addressed me, then glanced at Ismail as if asking permission to speak first. Ismail smiled and nodded, taking a step back.
Brett laughed, as some more Crusaders started moving towards us.
“You’ve got a lot of admirers, Ms Popular. Don’t let me get in the way.”
“Don’t leave me…” I whispered, maintaining a strained smile.
Brett laughed again. “Alas, I see Pranish getting ready to incant something nasty at me. We’re playing doubles and I’m his neglectful partner.”
Brett fled, leaving me at the mercy of my doting comrades.
“Commander,” Henri repeated. “I have some notes I would like to go over from the last operation. Do you think my angle of attack…”
Some of Henri’s words became a drone, and I let my subconscious answer him. Henri was a skilled sniper. He didn’t need advice. Especially from me. I wasn’t a marksman. But Henri always wanted my approval in these things. I wished he’d spend more time with Hammond. The one-armed pyromancer’s healthy disrespect for me needed to rub off on him a little.
Finally, I satisfied Henri’s questions and he thanked me, almost bowing, before retreating to watch Brett’s game.
“You have a lot of patience, Prof.” I sighed, as Ismail took a seat on a stool next to me
“No more than you, Ms Drummond. You have grown well into your position. Reluctant as you might be, you have
embraced this duty.”
“Thanks.”
“No, thank you. My analysis of the interaction of the human soul with the In Between has proceeded immeasurably thanks to you. And, as is tradition, I have some more questions for you tonight.”
I called the barkeep for a refill, adding a soft drink for the unusually devout Ismail.
“Nothing heavy tonight,” Ismail consoled me, chuckling. “Just an observation from the last battle. Did you know that, at the height of combat, the inferno that erupts from your coat glows gold?”
I must have visually shown my surprise, as I had never noticed that before.
“Salamander flames can be orange, white or blue,” Ismail explained. “Never gold.”
“A trick of the light? An illusion under stress?” I suggested.
Ismail shook his head. “Others noticed it too. And, another thing…I completed my research into salamander coats. While many people have bonded with them before, there is no record of any wearer having the bond that you do with yours. In fact, almost no one else can wear a coat and come off unscathed.”
“Tom McLoughren used to wear a salamander coat,” I mentioned, referencing Conrad’s old star hunter and Cindy’s lost love.
“And he had scars to show for it. His coat was tamed, but on a short leash. It rebelled against him. Well, I say all this, but it’s all inappropriate personification. Salamander hide isn’t alive. And its soul does not remain with it. The hide itself is just enflamed and reacts unconsciously to its environment. That is…except yours. Your coat, even now, thrums with a sort of intelligence. As if it still lives.”
When thinking about my coat, I had always thought of it as being alive. A character in its own right.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
I shrugged. “It’s news to me that this isn’t normal.”
Ismail seemed excited by that.
“Far from it! I have my suspicions about how this is possible, and also how it may be causing the golden fire. I still need to do some research, but I think it has something to do with your…condition.”
Ismail was one of the few individuals who knew about the Vessel, a quirk of my soul that allowed me to draw connections with spirits and call upon their powers.
The Silver Star (Kat Drummond Book 11) Page 5
