Hunter's Quest: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Rebel, Supernatural Bounty Hunter Book 1)

by Nicole Zoltack

  But then he backwings me with his other wing.

  I slam down hard to the ground, right on my knees. My palms ache from falling onto my daggers, but at least I don’t hit my head this time.

  A flash of white descends. His open mouth. His sharp teeth. He wants to swallow me whole.

  I want the stomach. I don’t want to be in the stomach.

  The stench of meat and blood tells me the dragon’s eaten recently. I hold my ground as the head comes closer and closer…

  I jump and slash, dragging my dagger against the dragon’s gums. The dragon goes to pull back, but I grab his tongue and give him a dagger piercing.

  The dragon lets out a wail, drawing back. I've brought along four daggers on this venture, and I take out another one. Using the twin blades as leverage, I scale up the dragons' torso. Each jab gets the blade in a little deeper. The dragon tries to use his wings to brush me off, but my death grip holds me in place. When he tries harder, he actually causes one of the daggers to tear a large gash into him. Blood gushes from the wound, coating my hand, and my fingers slip off the dagger. I have to grab the second one with both hands. All of my weight on the hilt has the blade carving through the scales.

  Infuriated, the dragon lets out a roar that has me glancing upward. All I see is yellow and orange. I drop to the ground and race underneath the dragon’s legs. The blast of fire doesn’t hit me. I’m safe here.

  Only the dragon moves and lets out another blast.

  The fire, though, is weak. The dragon is wounded, bleeding, dying.

  Rain gushes from the sky. In seconds, I’m drenched. The dragon tries to take to the skies but can’t. He lumbers a bit and falls back to the ground with a terrible thud. His groan even sounds more like a whimper.

  I can’t say what possesses me to run up to his side. He barely lifts his head to look at me, his eyes only half-cracked open.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, tears mixing with the rain pouring down my face. “I’m so sorry. Maybe… Maybe I shouldn’t have. I could’ve just brought her back the two and been done with it. I… I…”

  What is wrong with me? I’m becoming a sap, far too soft. It’s a dog eat dog world, and the humans are at the bottom of the food chain. All I have to do is think about that vampire I killed for the genie. There’s a very good reason why the dragons are dying out. They’re destructive creatures even toward paranormals. Vampires, werewolves, and others have hunted dragons to keep them in check.

  Still, I don’t want the dragon to die alone even though I’m the one to kill him. He’s hardly moving now, barely breathing, but he opens his eyes again.

  “Go ahead and char me,” I whisper.

  Through my tears, I like to think I see him smile before he breathes his last.

  Chapter 12

  The witch seems so very happy to see me, which I guess is a good thing considering how much money is on the line.

  “I knew I could count on you,” Morena Moriarty says.

  “My reputation precedes me, huh?”

  “Something like that.”

  I scowl, not liking her tone. She definitely doesn't mean anything good by her remark. How did she know she could trust me to get the job done if not for my reputation? Hmm. She did read my palm. Just what did she discover about me?

  “You haven’t even seen the items yet,” I remind her. “What if I only brought back two of the three?”

  “I know you better than that, Rebel. You do not walk away from jobs you’ve accepted, and you do not ever concede failure. You would not have returned yet if you had not acquired what I desired.”

  “Why do you desire them?”

  I flinch as soon as I ask the question. That’s not my normal policy, but there’s something about the witch that sets me on edge. I don’t know why.

  ‘That business is my own unless I decide to share.” Her lips purse and then relax into a smug little smile. “I do not wish to share at the present time. Now, may I see my items?”

  “May I see my cash?” I counter.

  "You do not trust me, and yet you went and collected my items." Morena shakes her head. "That is what is wrong with the world. No one trusts one another."

  “Considering humans can be walking alongside a witch and not realize it, I don’t think witches should be considered the most trustworthy.”

  “Ah, but there are some witches who do not operate in secret and all because humans are not willing to believe in the possibility that magic is very real.”

  "I guess it helps because there are a lot of charlatans too, scammers, con artists who profess to have magic but really don't. You know, fake witches who can't be trusted," I point out.

  “Always seeking the negative, aren’t you? Tell me, how did you get your eye of cyclops?”

  "I'm not here for storytime."

  She nods slowly.

  I scowl. “Don’t think you can just grab my hand and read my palm again. If you want trust, you have to earn it, and I’m afraid you’re already in the red.”

  “Again, you still collected my items. The allure of money is high with you. Why is that? What do you need the money for? Not to retire, no.”

  I say nothing. For one thing, it’s none of her business. For another, she might very well know already. I don’t know if reading palms is like reading minds or not, but I have no idea what info she has already gleaned from me.

  "You want something," she says, "something that can be bought but at a high price, and I'm guessing that price will demand far more than just significant money."

  “Right now, what I want is my money and for you to stop pretending you’re a psychiatrist, or maybe I’ll find another witch to sell these items to. I might be able to make more from someone else.”

  The witch scowls. “I am doing you a favor.”

  I scoff a laugh. “How do you gather that? You hired me, yes, and the price tag is high, but not just anyone will go up against a dragon.”

  Unnerved, I swallow hard. The dragon's fires all drew to his body when he died, burning him, charring him until nothing was left. The wind took the ashes. By the time the firefighters arrived because someone must've reported the fire, all signs of the dragon's presence were long gone, and I retreated to my car to avoid any questions. Is that the way all dragons go? Does their magic help to preserve their species' anonymity even after they've died? What a way to evolve. That and other depressing thoughts plagued me the entire ride back.

  Without another word, I hold up the bag I’m carrying. The eye and the stomach are both far too large to fit into the small pouch I carry on me at all times. I stroll forward and place the bag on the table. Carefully, I open it and remove the vial and the cooler. Inside rests the stomach and the eye.

  She moves forward, and my hand falls to my dagger’s hilt. If she even thinks about touching them before she’s paid me…

  “Well done,” she says, clasping her hands behind her back as if to say, relax. You can trust me.

  My hand falls away. “Your turn to show the goods.”

  “Very well.”

  She bends down and straightens. The witch places a briefcase on the table, and I roll my eyes at the absurdity as she opens it. There are five stacks of twenties. The briefcase has so much empty space in it I want to laugh.

  I close the briefcase. “A pleasure—”

  “Do not leave yet.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I want to make certain the ingredients work.”

  “Look, if they work, great. If they don’t, that’s on you.” I pick up the briefcase and head toward the door.

  “If the ingredients do not work, I will want to hire you again,” she says.

  Ignoring her, I stroll to the door. I’m out of here.

  But the doorknob won’t turn.

  I glower at her. “I do not appreciate being kept against my will.”

  “I would rather not have to hunt you down,” she says. “When word spreads that you killed a dragon, people are going to want to hire y
ou more and more, and I do not want you to be too busy to get the ingredients.”

  I cross my arms, the briefcase banging against my hip as a result. “You really think you’ll need something else?”

  "It's possible. Hopefully not, but I may need a dragon's heart instead of one's stomach."

  I narrow my eyes and stalk toward her. “I could have gotten the heart when I got the stomach!”

  “Yes, but then the cost would have been so much more.”

  “If you need a heart or any other part of a dragon, the price is going to be so high you aren’t going to be able to afford it,” I spit out.

  “I understand your anger. As I said, this is just a precaution.”

  I grin my teeth, but I can’t help being intrigued and watch her. She doesn’t duck into the back to make the potion. She’s slicing the dragon’s stomach into tiny pieces and adding them into various vials, some empty but others filled with various liquids. In one, the piece of stomach floats. In another, the piece turns solid, and yet another, it instantly turns a dazzling white color.

  With a sickening sound, the witch cuts into the eye. I wince, my stomach churning. I can handle most everything, but anything to the eye gets under my skin. It looks like she’s taking out the pupil.

  Morena adds some other ingredients to a large cauldron. Then, she adds the pupil and some of the dragon pieces, the ones that aren’t in solutions. A few other ingredients and then the rest of the stomach, some with the liquids in the vials, the rest just the stomach pieces. Finally, she adds the mermaid’s tear.

  A flame bursts out of the cauldron, the fire a bright purple, the smoke a deep red. Once the smoke turns white, Morena blows it out. She lifts the cauldron and pours a blue liquid into a vial.

  Her lips move, but she doesn’t speak aloud. The liquid takes on a golden hue, and the witch smiles.

  “Come here.”

  I comply, only stopping when I can peek into the cauldron. It's empty. The fire burned everything off, so only this tiny amount in the vial remains of the potion despite so much going into its creation.

  “Go ahead and take it,” Morena says warmly.

  Instantly, I’m wary. She’s trying to trap me, to force my hand. I have no idea what this potion is or why she would want to create it and then give it to me. Her using her magic to keep me here makes me all the more alarmed.

  I shake my head but refuse to show any sign of being suspicious of her motives. “But I didn’t—”

  “Take and drink.”

  “No,” I refuse.

  No way am I going to just drink some random potion I didn’t ask for. Who knows what it’ll do to me, especially with such potent items comprising it.

  “I did not think someone with the name Rebel would be such a coward,” Morena says calmly, still holding out the potion.

  “I’m not the kind to do what I’m told,” I inform her dryly.

  The witch narrows her eyes, her features contorting with slightly repressed anger. “Do it, Tiffany Rose.”

  Chapter 13

  I turn to leave, but suddenly, I’m not in the room with the witch.

  I’m in my head, recalling events I don’t want to remember.

  “One day, you’ll get married,” my mom says, twisting around to look at me in the backseat.

  “Yeah, yeah. Maybe.”

  “Maybe?” Dad laughs.

  He’s driving. He’s always the driver. It doesn’t matter how many times Mom offers to drive, Dad always does. He knows Mom doesn’t like it as much as he does, and she flat-out hates driving at night. I’m fifteen, and although I have my permit, I know better than to ask if I can drive. Mom has to be the one to teach me how to. When Dad’s in the car and I’m driving, he cracks way too many jokes. I end up laughing so hard that I almost plowed into the back end of another car at a stop sign. It would’ve been his fault, not mine. He cracked a joke, I don’t remember it, but it made me laugh so hard I was crying and couldn’t see anything.

  “Wasn’t Mason so handsome?” Mom asks.

  “I guess so.” I shrug.

  Dad laughs. “It’s okay to give your brother a compliment now and again.”

  “Especially when he can’t hear it. Okay, yes, he made a dashing groom. I don’t understand, though.”

  “Understand what, honey?” Mom asks.

  “Why they had to get married so quickly. You don’t think—”

  “I don’t,” Mom says quickly.

  "But he always made such a big deal about buying her a diamond ring, that he couldn't afford it so he wouldn't ask."

  In the back recesses of my mind, I remember that Aeden felt the same way with Vinca. Maybe that’s why I like Aeden so much. He reminds me of my brother.

  “Maybe something did happen to spur them to want to get married. Sometimes, grief can cause a person to completely change their way of thinking,” Mom says.

  “Grief? But no one died on either side,” I protest.

  “I just mentioned grief because it’s a powerful emotion. Who knows why they decided to get married after being engaged only a month, but they have been together a long time, and everyone who met them would comment on how deeply they love each other. A love like that is rare. You can’t stop a love like that.”

  I roll my eyes. I've never had a boyfriend, never been kissed, and I don't know what love is. It's not that I don't like boys. I do. I just… I don't know. Simply put, I'm a little bit of a loner. Mason and I were always close, but he's been gone for years to college in Boston. He's a physicist, and his wife—man, is it strange to say that!—went to college for business. They refused to move back home after they graduated even though neither graduated with jobs. He told me that they moved into her car but made me swear not to tell Mom and Dad. I didn't. The bond between siblings is sacred.

  Hmm. His wife is now my sister. I do like her, but I haven’t confided in her like I have my brother. Maybe that’ll change now that she’s family. Then again, she’s been family since they started to date. She’s the only girl he brought home even though he did date a few girls in college. He fell for her hard and fast.

  Is that the way love always is? Hard and fast, like a tornado or a whirlpool? But what if the fire burns out just as quickly as it started? Nah, I don’t see how that’s possible for them. Mom’s right. Their love is special.

  “How long do you think they’ll wait to have kids?” Mom asks.

  I open my mouth.

  “Don’t you dare, Tiffany Rose,” Mom says.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” I say, “and why ask a question you don’t want me to answer?”

  “I was asking your father.”

  “Who me? What did I do now?” Dad asks.

  “Very funny,” Mom says.

  “Knowing my boy, he’ll want a job first,” Dad says. “He has a bunch of interviews next week.”

  “I can’t believe they aren’t going on a honeymoon,” I say. “I know they don’t have the money for it, but still. That’s a shame. The honeymoon’s the best part.”

  Mom coughs. “What did you say?”

  “What? The wedding is important, but the reception isn’t for the couple. It’s for everyone else. The honeymoon is the couple celebrating their union. That’s why it’s more important. If I get married—”

  “If?” Mom asks, sounding heartbroken.

  “I’m going to spend more on the honeymoon then the reception,” I finish.

  “You told me when you were four that you wanted to get married and have six kids,” Mom says.

  “I was four.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “All of the best life-altering decisions should be made by four-year-olds,” Dad jokes.

  “I suppose that’s better than a seventeen or eighteen-year-old deciding her fate for college. Oh, wait, how many college students change their majors? And multiple times at that usually. And that’s to mention all of the midlifers who go back to college because they hate their jobs…”

  “You two
.” Mom shakes her head. “She looked so beautiful. You have a second daughter now, hon.” She reaches over and squeezes Dad’s knee.

  “My favorite daughter. No offense, Tiff, but since she doesn’t live with us, I don’t have to deal with her mood swings every month.”

  “Yeah, because I have wild mood swings,” I deadpan.

  Dad snickers.

  Mom sighs. “You two,” she repeats.

  I swear she says that fifteen times a day.

  “Can I help it if I have the world’s most amazing daughter?” Dad asks. “I’ll never forget the first time Tiff asked me for pads. I had no idea what she was talking about.”

  “A total deer in headlight moment.” I giggle. “Dad didn’t realize I had my period for an entire year already.”

  “I am the luckiest father in the world.”

  “You really are, and since you are, can I borrow sixty bucks?”

  “For what?” Mom asks.

  “For a video game. That new RPG came out, didn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know if you wait—” Mom starts.

  “I don’t want to wait,” I say.

  “If you would get a job—”

  “You’re the one who won’t drive me or let me walk in the wintertime so… I can’t get a job and save up for it,” I point out. “So, Dad, can I?”

  “We’ll talk about it,” Mom says.

  “Yes, we’ll talk about it.”

  "But I don't know. You play those games for months, and school will be starting up again soon."

  “It’s the end of June,” I protest. “That gives me plenty of time to log in hours.”

  “Those games take you one hundred hours!”

  Geez. She really does pay attention.

  “I like to do all of the side quests and everything,” I mumble. Then I brighten. “Besides, it could be drugs.”

  “She does have a point,” Dad says. “It could be drugs.”

  And that, my friends, is dramatic irony. I've never done drugs, never even puffed a cigarette. I doubt my mom's done anything, and Dad says he hasn't, although once in a blue moon, he'll puff on a cigar.