by Faith Hunter
Have Stakes Will Travel
( Jane Yellowrock )
Faith Hunter
Four stories from the world of "smart, sexy, ruthless" * heroine Jane Yellowrock — plus bonus material!
In Have Stakes Will Travel, readers get a chance to go deeper into the thrilling world of skinwalker and vampire hunter Jane Yellowrock. In "WeSa," the Beast who lives inside Jane watches as her hunting grounds become prey. In "Haints," Jane and her best friend, witch Molly Trueblood, are hired to investigate mysterious paranormal phenomena — and the evil they find brings a new meaning to the words "haunted house." "Signatures of the Dead" tells the story of the vampire massacre that made Jane Yellowrock a household name. And in "Cajun with Fangs," Jane makes a new friend who turns out to have old enemies, and finds herself drawn into a vicious blood feud, fueled by dark magic and ancient grudges.
Have Stakes Will Travel
(A book in the Jane Yellowrock series)
A collection of stories by Faith Hunter
A NOTE TO READERS
Hi, everyone,
With the last short story compilation, Cat Tales, I wrote a letter to you all, and frankly, except when it comes to making up stories, there isn’t a lot left to say (grinning). So today I want to talk a little (very little) about the new shorts.
I’ve always said that when I first envisioned Jane, I “wanted a character who had no past, with seemingly only the future open to her. I wanted a character who was a bit repressed socially, sexually, and emotionally. I wanted a character who was a singularity—the only one of her kind in the world. I wanted a loner in the truest sense of the word.” (Yes, I just quoted myself.)
But seeing Jane from the inside, from her point of view (POV), leaves us seeing Jane only as she sees herself. I wanted to explore how Jane is viewed by those outside her own head, her friends and lovers, and that is what so many of these shorts, some from her past, allow me to do.
For Have Stakes Will Travel, I wrote a piece from Beast’s POV from the years just before the Hunger Times, a piece I titled “We Sa and the Lumber King.” WeSa is Cherokee for bobcat. The Appalachian Mountains were heavily deforested in the late 1880s to the early 1920s, resulting in severe erosion, loss of habitat, horrible flooding with tremendous loss of life, and destruction of the lifestyles of the hardy farmers and the few Cherokee who still lived there. I wanted to show how Beast felt about the men who came in and destroyed her world. “We Sa and the Lumber King” gives you a short-short from Beast’s perspective, with her values and honor system.
“Haints” is a story from Molly Everhart Trueblood’s perspective, which allows us to see Jane as Molly saw her, early in their relationship. Molly, being the earth mother type, feels sorry for Jane in a lot of ways, which was a surprise to me! Until I wrote this story, I had no idea how deep her worry for Jane went. “Haints” allowed me to let their relationship grow a pace or two.
“Signatures of the Dead” was previously published in the anthology Strange Brew, headlining Charlaine Harris, so if you missed it then, you get the chance to read it now. And if you read it then, here is your chance to reread and get a taste of Jane, now that you know her better.
“Cajun with Fangs” was a total blast! It’s from Jane’s point of view and takes place shortly after the ending of Raven Cursed and before the start of Death’s Rival, which is out in October 2012.
Following the shorts, you’ll get a special extra-long preview of Death’s Rival, only available here. Yes, it will be out on October! (Cue the flashing lights and the pom-poms. If you feel like dancing, I suggest a merengue beat and—for the ladies—a full skirt to swish around! For the guys, I have to say, you will look splendid in a tux.) Okay, blatant plug is done.
If I have totally confused you, I’ve also included an updated timeline of stories in Jane’s world to help. I hope you enjoy all the shorts. I thank you for being fans of Jane and Beast.
—Faith
www.faithhunter.net
facebook.com/officialfaithhunter
P.S.—Don’t miss Beast’s Advice Column to humans, which is at her Facebook Fan Page: https://www.facebook.com/faith.hunter#!/pages/Beast/135860763157310 or do a Facebook search for Beast.
TIMELINE OF STORIES IN JANE YELLOWROCK’S WORLD
“ We Sa and the Lumber King”
A brand-new short story from Beast’s POV, set in the Hunger Times.
“The Early Years”
Short story about Jane just after she left the children’s home. Available as part of the Cat Tales e-book.
“Cat Tats”
Short story about Rick LaFleur. Available as part of the Cat Tales e-book.
“Kits”
Short story about Jane Yellowrock with Molly Everhart Trueblood as a secondary character. Available as part of the Cat Tales e-book.
“Haints”
Short story from Molly Everhart Trueblood’s POV, with Jane Yellowrock as a secondary character. Available as part of the Have Stakes Will Travel e-book.
“Signatures of the Dead”
Originally published in the anthology Strange Brew, “Signatures of the Dead” is reprinted in Have Stakes Will Travel. It is a short story about Molly Everhart Trueblood, with Jane Yellowrock as a secondary character.
Skinwalker
The first Jane Yellowrock novel.
Blood Curse
The second Jane Yellowrock novel.
Mercy Blade
The third Jane Yellowrock novel.
“Blood, Fangs, and Going Furry”
Short story about Rick LaFleur, with Jane Yellowrock as a secondary character. It picks up just after the ending of Mercy Blade. Available as part of the Cat Tales e-book.
Raven Cursed
The fourth Jane Yellowrock novel, available January 2012.
Easy Pickings
The crossover novella written by C.E. Murphy and Faith Hunter. Jane Yellowrock and Joanne Walker are pulled into a different reality where they have to fight a big bad ugly. This novella stands outside of the Skinwalker series, but slides nicely into this spot. Available as an e-book.
“Cajun with Fangs”
A short story from Jane Yellowrock’s POV, set soon after Raven Cursed and before Death’s Rival. Available in Have Stakes Will Travel e-book.
Death’s Rival
The fifth Jane Yellowrock novel, available October 2012.
Blood Trade
The sixth Jane Yellowrock novel, available 2013.
We Sa and the Lumber King
Author’s note: This story takes place in the Hunger Times of the late 1800s–early 1900s.
I/We climbed stunted tree, sat in twisted limb. High on ledge at top of gorge. Hidden by smoke from man-fire far below. Man-fire burned limbs, leaves cut from trees. Smoke filled air. Sound of axes echoed across gorge. Sound of train whistle split air. Hurt ears. Bad sound. All sound of man was bad sound, but sound of white man was worst sound. No sound of birds. No sound of prey on ground. No good sounds anywhere since white man came to mountains. Below, in gorge, limbs and trees and branches were dropped into water, dropped there by human men. White men.
We sa, little bobcat, said into back of mind, Yunega tsiluga tala tlugvi, tsiluga totsi tlugvi. White man kill white pine trees, kill white oak trees. Asgina. Devils.
Alpha devil is there, I thought at her. White man in gray pelt. Do you understand his words?
Yunega talk is not Tsalagi talk, she said in mind speech. I do not understand.
I flicked ears, twitched tail, and said to her, Alpha devil points with paw to other white men which trees to cut. With paws and tongue, tells them to load dead trees onto flat thing that moves, flat place ca
lled train car. Tells them to throw dead limbs and branches into river below. River is full of trees and does not run. Fish die. Animals run away and die. Birds fly away and die. Smoke fills air and I cannot breathe.
I/we had talked in mind-den about this. I said to We sa again, White devils must die. If white alpha devil dies, then all white men will stop killing earth. Yes?
We sa did not answer. We sa shivered in back of mind, in cave-den of mind, in place she had made her own. We watched white men in gorge. We had watched them for two days. We knew where the den of the alpha devil was. We knew he went there at night, always by the same path. Just as deer once used to take same path to water in gorge below, alpha devil took same path to his train-car-den. I had been ambush hunter even before We sa came to me. I knew to study prey.
After long time, shadows began to stretch upon ground. We sa stirred and asked, We will kill yunega asgina? We sa knew this, but still she thought, silent in mind as we watched white man. I do not like to kill humans.
White humans are devils. They kill the earth. I/we will kill them.
But not eat them, We sa said. Elisi, grandmother, say man-flesh makes us sick.
We will not eat him. But I/we will kill killer of hunting territory. Killer of trees and killer of prey.
Man was not good hunter, man was stupid. But man was winning and I/we were losing. After killing alpha male human, I/we would leave this place for deep gorge, many days walk away. We sa knew this. She did not like it, but she understood. We sa had once been human, but not white man human. Tsalagi human—Cherokee. Tsalagi understood how to live with earth and not kill it. Some Tsalagi did not protect the earth, some killed her, but not most. All white men killed earth. White man was evil.
I stood up on paws on tree limb and watched as night dropped darkness over all of earth. When shadows were long and human men left from killing trees to go eat food, I leaped to ground. We sa hid in dark of mind-den, afraid.
I raced down from ledge and trees on sheer part of gorge, place where white man could not get to easily, place of stunted trees and snakes and rock. I leaped straight down, thick tail whirling for balance. Half way down gorge-fall, I twisted like snake, and whipped tail. Changed direction, and landed on tiny ledge. There was small cave in back of ledge. Had once used this place for den to have kits. Liked this place long ago. White man had ruined it. Killed it. I did not go to den now, but pawpawpaw down across tiny ledges, leaping from ledge to ledge, which white men called outcropping, until I reached bottom of gorge. Then I moved in shadows for train car of white man, den of white alpha devil.
Night vision came as sunlight left. Earth turned into silvers and greens and grays. Liked this time of day/night. We sa called it beautiful. I called it safe. Shadows were dark and deep and We sa had explained that humans could not see in dark. I padded through dark over rutted bare earth to den of alpha devil. Curled into darker shadow beneath train car. I waited. I/we are good at waiting. Time passed. Night was dark. No moon stood in sky. Moon had died and would be reborn as kit-moon in one night, tiny and shaped like thin claw. I/we had chosen this night for this reason. We sa closed her eyes, afraid.
When night was full, I alone crept up stairs and leaped high, onto roof of train car. It was warm from sun of day. Was good place to ambush hunt. Looked over edge of train car, to path white man took for food. Was like ambush hunting on ledge in high hills before white man came and sent prey away.
Heard man-paws on earth, loud and scuffling inside dried skin of cow—boots. Man was not balanced and graceful and should not walk on two legs. Would be more quiet and graceful on four legs. But I was happy that white man was stupid and noisy. Listened and watched as he came closer. He carried in one paw much meat. It was cooked, which was bad, but it was meat and I/we had not eaten in two days. We hungered. White man came closer.
I gathered paws close under belly, balanced and steady as rock on flat land. White man came closer. He put one foot on step, one foot still on ground. Was unbalanced on one foot. I leaped. Landed on white man. Hard! Tumbled to ground, tangled in his upper legs. Landed on top of white man. With killing teeth, I ripped out his throat. Then held him by throat as he thrashed. He died. His blood was hot in my mouth. It did not taste good, but I hungered! Wanted to drink!
But We sa put her mind on top of my mind. Tlano! She said. Do not eat!
I snarled but I did not drink blood or eat white man meat. We sa was smart. Blood tasted like blood of buzzard, full of dead things. I took his cooked meat and carried it into night. In shadows, I ate. And listened to sounds of white men when they found my enemy. They gathered together like wolf pack. Like pack hunters. They shouted into night, many white man words. They grabbed white man sticks and made loud noises.
Guns, We sa whispered.
When all the white man’s cooked meat was in my belly, I turned and walked into hills. But that night, the foolish white man pack let man-fire go free. The hills began to burn and burn and burn. Hunger Times were upon us.
I would not come back to my old hunting grounds for many, many years.
Haints
Author’s note: This story takes place after the short story “Kits” and before the short story “Signatures of the Dead.” Molly Everhart Trueblood is the narrator.
“Nothing unusual here, Molly,” she said.
I watched Jane Yellowrock as she crawled across the floor of the old house on all fours. Most adults looked foolish or ungainly when crawling, but Jane was graceful, her arms lifting and moving forward with feline balance, her legs raising and lowering, toes pointed like a dancer, even in her western boots. My friend moved silently in the hot, sweaty room, easily avoiding the bird and mouse droppings, the holes in the old linoleum, and avoiding the signs of recent reconstruction—the broken plaster walls, large holes in the floor, and the shattered remains of the toilet, tub, and kitchen sink in the corner. Her shoulder blades lifted up high with each crawling step, visible beneath her thin T-shirt, her head lowered on the thin stem of her neck, moving catlike. I envied her the grace and the slenderness, but little else. Jane was more alone than anyone I had ever known.
Now she breathed in with a strange sucking hiss. Flehmen behavior, she called it, using her hypersensitive senses to smell things the way a cat would, the way a mountain lion would, sucking air in over her tongue and the roof of her mouth, her lips pulled back and mouth open. Mostly, she did it only when she was alone, because it sounded weird and looked weirder—not a human action at all. But because I had asked her for help, and because no one but me would see her, she did it now, scenting for the smell of… of whatever.
As I watched, Jane crawled out of the half-renovated kitchen and into the dining room beyond. We were both dressed in old jeans and T-shirts, clothes that could get filthy and be tossed into the washer, and already Jane looked like something the cat dragged in, which was funny in all sorts of ways. Jane Yellowrock was a Cherokee skinwalker, and her favorite animal form was a mountain lion. She called it her inner beast, which I still didn’t understand, but I figured she’d tell me someday.
I’d met Jane in the Ingles grocery store, when a group of witch haters caught me in the frozen foods section and harassed me. None of us Everharts were officially out of the closet then but most townspeople were okay with my family maybe carrying the witch gene. It was the out-of-towners who had the problem—a group that wasn’t from the religious right, but were just as rabid. I still don’t know what Jane did—she stepped in front of me so all I saw was her back—but the haters departed. Fast. I gave her my thanks and a card to my family café and we parted ways.
The next morning Jane came into the Seven Sassy Sister’s Herb Shop and Café, and nearly cleaned us out of bacon, sausage, and pancakes. The appetite of that morning was because she had just changed back from an animal form and needed calories to make up for the shift, but I didn’t know that then. I just thought it was a crying shame that a woman who was so skinny could eat like that. If I tried to shovel in that much
food, even half that much food, I’d weigh four hundred pounds. I think I gained three pounds just watching her eat, that first day.
And then the group of witch haters from the day before started picketing out front. I guess they were in town and figured they should make the most of it. They were carrying signs about not suffering a witch to live—the usual crappola—and chanting, “Save our children! Save our children!” Two cars pulled by and slowed, as if to turn in, and then pulled on away. Such attention was going to be damaging to business.
Jane paid her bill, went outside, and revved up her bike. And revved up her bike. And revved up her bike again. At which point I realized she was doing it on purpose. Then she did something to the engine, and revved it up again. And black smoke came out. So Jane rode in circles around the parking lot, shouting to the witch haters, “So sorry about the noise! I have engine problems!” After about ten minutes of noise, the witch haters left. It was so cool. I thought the twins, Boadacia and Elizabeth, were going to have twin cows.
That’s Jane. A loner with a cause. Any cause, as long as it’s protecting someone.
She sneezed, bringing me back from my daydreams to my friend crawling around on the floor of a deserted, possibly haunted house.
The dining room had little floor left, and I could see the ground and the foundation beneath the house, between the struts. Still on her hands and knees, Jane moved into the foyer, circled its perimeter once, ignored the stairs leading to the second story, and crawled into the parlor beyond. I followed, watching from the foyer, which had been exposed when the construction crew pulled off the old boards covering the entrance. Oddly enough, though every other room in the house showed the results of men with mallets and hammers and crowbars, the parlor had still not been touched. The finish of the original handmade woodwork below the chair railing and the moldings at the ceiling were dark and filthy, the plaster between was cracked and split with water damage, and the last bits of old, red wallpaper curled, hanging loose, covered with spiderwebs and the dust of decades.
