The Hunt is On
by
Natalie Herzer
“The Hunt is On”
by Natalie Herzer
Copyright © 2012 by Natalie Herzer
All Rights Reserved
Kindle Edition
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover Art by Natalie Herzer
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of my imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to business establishments, or actual persons, living or dead or even undead, is entirely coincidental.
eBooks by Natalie Herzer
Snapshots – A Collection of Short Stories
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The Patroness Novels
Blue Moon Rising
The Hunt is On
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Acknowledgements
Despite what most people think, a book is a team effort, and even certain of my team members don’t realize what a help they are to me. Here’s to my unsuspecting crew!
Olivier, when I first told you that I wanted to write, I expected a smile and a clichéd tap on the head. No, you took me serious and said, “Sure, give it a try. Even if it’s just a page, at least you’ll know you’ve tried. If it’s a book, all the better. I know you can do it.” But most importantly, thanks for being there when doubts sneak up on me.
Anne-Katrin, who quite suddenly found herself appointed as my guinea pig, proofreader and motivational therapist – who did the work calmly, without any protest and that despite the fact that she was quite busy doing her doctorate at the time. Congratulations, Doc. You are a strong and absolutely incredible woman. Thanks for the honest criticism and every counsel and “You can do it!” along the way.
My family, for being there and supporting me. Especially my Dad, for reading my stories and then trying to translate them for Mum. I know you are not that much into fantasy and I promise one day I’ll give suspense a try.
Finally I like to thank my readers, for struggling through my grammar and punctation – which I’m really working on to improve – and for staying with Maiwenn and the rest of the bunch.
Thanks to all of you.
Table of Contents
THE HUNT IS ON
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
ONE
Paris, France
December 2012
Lightning struck, splitting a tree that was a little too close for comfort. Immediately another blinding flash followed to the right. The noise of tearing wood and cracking thunder deafening, and the scent of ozone was thick in the air.
The rogue vampire I had been following cowered, frantically searching the sky with glowing red eyes as if frightened he might be grilled next - and quickly decided to take off. Running for his life and obviously more terrified of the capricious weather than at the idea of being offed by the Patroness of Paris. Go figure. He wasn’t the first, and if this kept up I would have to put in more training sessions to keep in shape. My shoulders slumped and a sigh escaped my lips at the incredible truth of that thought. But that’s what it was like these days. If it had started to rain frogs, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
I snorted, shaking my head as I remembered the words of the US president when he had talked to the citizens of the world about the upcoming Turn. ‘We live in interesting times, full of change’, he’d said. Really nice way of sugarcoating impending doom.
I looked at the pitch-black sky above me that was boiling with a rage and flaring with violet-blue forks of lightning, and which seemed even more eerily as it stood in stark contrast with the orange halos coming from the streetlamps, flooding the otherwise dark and empty street below.
The Turn, the earth’s shift into becoming a place of magic, was only three weeks ahead and mother earth was either very thrilled or annoyed about it. Really hard to tell. The weather was a major force and going haywire. Storms, rain, or an incredibly warm sun – it all could change in the blink of an eye. Three days ago a tornado, which was a rare thing on the European continent to begin with, had nuked an entire small town in the north of France. And it hadn’t been just a whirlwind, but a full-blown F5. The people had been totally unprepared and not forewarned.
It wasn’t just the weather, though. Earth itself was in an uproar. The ground trembled all around the world, in California and the usual spots, but also places where no plates were tectonically active, like some parts of Europe, Russia and the heart of North America. Tsunamis and lava rolled over land, and if the ash clouds were anything to go by, air traffic was about to become a thing of the past. Interesting times indeed.
I was finishing up my daily, or rather nightly, patrol through Paris a little earlier than usual since there had been annoyingly little for me to do. The steady buzz of cars that never completely faded away had dimmed, and the streets were empty except for those searching oblivion at the bottom of their glass. Just like the other nights. One would have expected quite the contrary, but no, it seemed that even the magical creatures had holed up, waiting for the Turn and chaos to pass. Well, I certainly wouldn’t complain, though I had to admit it somehow made me restless and edgy. In my experience such draughts ended with a big, messy boom.
Which made me think of the letter I had received a week ago. It had been from the police. No one liked to get letters from the police and I wasn’t an exception, especially if the letter was an invitation. Tomorrow the new special unit investigating magic-related crimes was to be officially introduced. And I was invited. Yay.
The job of leading that unit had been offered to me after the Council had come out of hiding and explained the facts of magical life to the human governments and other higher institutions. But I had politely declined since I was quite happy in my position as a private detective and had a long and not so good history with Paris’ finest that all too often had ended with me twiddling my thumbs behind bars.
Word was, I wasn’t the only one invited. I shook my head at that, pretty sure that the rest of the police didn’t like the idea of having the Parisian leaders of the two biggest magical factions in one place at the same time either, especially given the fact that the undead and shifters didn’t like each other that much. It made me curious indeed to see who had taken on the job of leading that new unit. The invitation was either a proof of utter stupidity or cunning.
The sky flashed white and thunder boomed, leaving no place for any other sound. Heavy rain started to fall. The last souls that had had the courage to walk these streets scattered away, hiding out or giving up. I liked the rain and loved the roar of this downpour.
Drenched I reached my building, punched in the security code and got in, where I shook myself like a dog before heading up the stairs to the sixth floor. As quietly as possible I opened the door and got inside, slipping out of my coat before noticing the flickering blue light coming from the TV in the living room.
When I walked into the room, I found Pauline snuggled up on the couch with my orange tiger-trapped-in-the-body-of-a-cat Malo beside her. “Hi, already back? Calm out there, I take it?”
Pauline was a German faery with violet eyes, flaxen curls and pointed ears. She was also my roommate and friend. “Yeah, just like the other nights. What are you watching?”
�
��Pretty Woman.”
As she continued to watch the movie, I sat down beside her, stroking a happy Malo under his chin, and studied her. We had met three months ago while I was patrolling the Jardin de Luxembourg where I had found her dancing naked in the fountain before the Senate building. I had been nearly dead broke, Pauline more or less homeless thanks to some unfaithful jerk, and so it had seemed logical and kind of natural to start apartment-sharing right the next day. And however crazy Pauline seemed to be on a first glance, there was more to her, a kindness and warmth that made me feel grateful for letting the fresh breeze (tornado, cough) she personified into my life. My eyes drifted to her lavender wings that still seemed a little too thin and delicate, but had finally reached their usual size after a mad scientist had ripped them out a few months back. My stomach clenched. Pauline might not see it that way, but I knew that it was my fault. He had mistaken her for me.
“I don’t need a knight. I just want the right one, he’ll do just fine.”
My gaze drifted back to the TV to see Richard Gere swinging his umbrella instead of a sword.
“You’ll find him. I’ll go get some sleep, tomorrow might be interesting.”
Pauline looked up, grinning. “The meeting, right. God, let’s hope they didn’t pick a human as the leader. You have to tell me all about it when you get back.”
I smiled back. “Will do. Good night.”
The walls were cold, white tiles. It stank of fear and death, covered by the sharp smell of disinfectant. Even behind closed eyes the light was blinding. I was cold. I knew I lay on a steal operating table in the lab.
“You should have been there,” a hard voice accused.
My eyes snapped open and focused on Pauline. Pauline, cut and probed, with blood running from her back where her wings should have been and down along her legs. “They wanted you, not me. You should have been in your office, not me. Look what they did to me.”
The leather straps around my wrists and chest snapped tight, making it hard to breathe. Instead of panic, guilt and regret swamped me.
“I’m sorry.” Silent tears, hot against my cold skin, ran down the sides of my face. I couldn’t breathe.
The next moment I was in a dark room, where a hooded figure stood in front of an altar. The priest I hadn’t been able to save. The man I had killed. His only mistakes had been ignorance and the fear of change, both of which had turned quickly into madness when a god had taken his mind prisoner.
But the madness was gone now and the hooded figure turning to face me was only human. A kind man I had met in a church, with warm yet painfully sad eyes. “You could have saved me. There must have been another way.”
The pain was back in my chest, a heavy weight. I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t cry. Then blackness surrounded me and I was alone. Utterly alone
“You failed. You will fail again.”
Suddenly cruel, feminine laughter rang out, echoing from the invisible walls and rising to a piercing cacophony. Louder and louder, inhuman. I covered my ears that felt like bursting, but to no avail.
I woke up, a whimper escaping my throat, and covered in cold sweat. It wasn’t the first time I had this dream, and I didn’t need a shrink to understand what was going on inside my head.
I rubbed my face and just sat in my bed for a moment, darkness surrounding me. It was difficult to remember the ones you saved, when you kept seeing those you couldn’t, wanting to change that one moment it went wrong. Like me being in the office, instead of Pauline. Sweet Pauline who came here to live with me, not knowing she would soon be abducted and tortured. I told her to leave after we got her out. I wanted her to leave, and yet I was selfish enough to want her to stay. Which she had. She had stayed, without ever voicing a reproach. She had stayed because she had wanted to. Because somehow in that short time we had become a family.
The night and its understanding silence were comforting and yet as I watched the gray and black shadows that were my room, there was a painful tug inside of me. A tug of loneliness. Out of their own accord my eyes drifted to the pin board hanging on the wall above my desk, where even now I could make out the drawing a lovestruck and thankful demon had made for me.
With a sigh and a mental shake of my head at myself I forced my gaze and thoughts away from it and threw the covers to the side and pulled on my sweats, before grabbing my sneakers. Dawn was hours away but I knew sleep wouldn’t come again and didn’t like the idea of wasting time – or brooding. So I would use it to keep me in shape, and to keep myself out of my head. To hell with the beauty sleep and the dark circles under my eyes.
Warm rays of sunlight had finally made their way through the thick cover of dark clouds and patches of an icy blue sky peeped through here and there. The invitation had said to come to the police station of the 11th arrondissement which was just a stone’s throw away from my apartment. Nevertheless I enjoyed the sun on my face and the stony scent of evaporating rain in the air as the streets and sidewalks slowly dried.
The police station was nothing fancy, neither was the alley where it was situated. I really think their favorite color was gray, and it started at the outside. Rain and exhaust fumes painted walls that were supposed to be the color of sand in an imitation of the sandstone that was so typical for Paris and steel-gray bars blocked the view, inside and out. Really cheery.
Suddenly a passing shadow caught my attention. I looked up and saw a breathtaking and rather giant-assed silhouette with spread wings against the clear blue sky. A woman in the street noticed it too and ran away, her eyes wide in horror. I only sighed and waited for the shadow to land beside me.
Gabin was a tall, sharp featured raven and had blue-black hair that, when rays of the sun or moonlight hit just right, was streaked with a subtle green. The magnificent wings spreading from his back were made out of feathers that held the same play of colors.
I chided him, though I couldn’t hide a smile, “Was that drama really necessary? What about keeping a low profile for the fragile humans’ sake?”
He rolled his eyes. Gray eyes that held shadows, a quiet sadness that never really went away even when he smiled. “That from the woman who has a sword strapped onto her back.”
“At least they don’t know that, since they can’t see it.”
“Kylian didn’t want me to be late so there was no other way.”
Why did I always feel that sharp prick of pain at the mention of his name? Inwardly I sighed, something I had done often lately and really needed to stop. It came to close to pining, and now that was a word I really didn’t want my name to be associated with.
Kylian Tremaine, the Council’s former assassin had been sent to help me out a few months back. We had killed a rogue and a divine serial killer, and he had ended up killing and then taking the place of the Chef de la Meute, the leader of the Parisian shapeshifter pack.
Technically Gabin wasn’t a shapeshifter, but he could change into a nine feet tall battle version of a raven and therefore he was living with them. In contrast to shapeshifters, who could change into complete human shapes, the pair of giant and angelic wings always stayed on his back, never disappearing whichever form he took. Biologically we were related. His father, the god Mordred, was the dumb serial killer we had to go up against back in August and he was also my cousin. But only my mentor and the ravens knew that tidbit.
“So you drew the short straw, or what?”
“The boss just gave it to me, to save us both the time and trouble.”
At some times it still staggered me how easy and normal it was to talk with him. For someone who had only stepped into existence less than a year ago he certainly knew how to adapt and fit just right in.
I laughed drily. “Of course he did. Well, shall we go inside?”
The police stations in Paris seemed to be either made out of a depressive gray cloud, or were a weird and failed attempt to reflect modernism and design. This one belonged somewhere in between, with touches of color that some might call art but that
weren’t capable of distracting from the obvious: gray. In the end it was just another police station and the people working here either liked their job too much or not at all. But all of them were a lot heavier armed than usual, thanks to the police forces and army working together and planning on how to retain the pre-Turn panic.
Television and radio were endlessly talking about The Turn, of the magic breaking through and of the things to come. Totally ordinary humans, little grandmas or nerds or whoever, might suddenly be able to set people on fire or grow wings; everything imagination could come up with and more would be possible. The Council and the governments and other human institution could talk about preparations all they wanted, but once the magic hit, people in this world would panic. Even if it were just a few, panic was like a nasty virus and if we were out of luck, it could spread in epidemical proportions.
Gabin and I didn’t go unnoticed. There were careful stares and watchful glances out of the corner of the eye. The last time I visited I stayed the night, so walking up to the reception desk instead of coming in handcuffed through the back door felt rather refreshing. We made the woman behind the desk jump as she looked up at us. Though I was sure it was mostly Gabin’s fault. I looked normal, sleep-deprived maybe but normal none the less. He was the one with the big-ass wings.
Unfazed he pulled the letter that held his invitation out and so did I, grateful we weren’t shot on the spot for the hand-sneaking-suspiciously-in-the-jacket gesture alone.
Gabin tried the charming smile he must have discovered was a lethal weapon against everything female.
It worked.
“Gabin Corbeau, acting in place of Kylian Tremaine the Chef de la Meute.”
Though unseen and ignored I added, “And Maiwenn Cadic, Patroness of Paris, acting for myself.”
The woman didn’t even take her eyes off the yummy raven beside me to study the invitations. “Of course. Commandant Moulin awaits you upstairs. Second floor, third door on your right.”
The Hunt is On (The Patroness) Page 1
