Harvest Hunting

by Galenorn, Yasmine

  But this time, as I surveyed the enemy, I felt a quiet confidence. Fear, yes, but confidence. Lysanthra hummed in my hand, and I felt her shiver of anticipation. She loved a good fight, and when her edge cut into our opponents and she tasted blood, Lysanthra sang. And her song boosted my energy.

  And then someone—perhaps it was a goblin, perhaps it was one of us—made a slight move, and the tableau crumbled and we were into the battle.

  I raced forward, straight toward one of the biggest goblins I could see. Our policy was to start with the toughest, which generally scared the weakest ones into submission or to run away.

  The brute was at least my height, but he outweighed me by fifty pounds. A surge of adrenaline flooded my body. Goblins were butt-ugly, their leathery skin protecting them like good armor. His hair hung in makeshift dreads, and he arched one eyebrow as I moved in, a sick look of pleasure crossing his face.

  Camille let out a scream—a battle cry of sorts—and joined hands with Morio. They were weaving a web of magic impossible to ignore. Smoky slipped past them, rumbling like an earthquake, and as he met one of the goblins, his nails grew into long, razor-sharp claws, and his hair lashed out like a bullwhip, striking the creature in the face with a loud snap. He swiped a long gash along the demon’s torso and then leapt back before the creature could touch him.

  My opponent engaged me, and we circled one another. I noticed an entry—he’d let his guard down by a fraction, just enough for me to dart in and thrust. I lunged at him, Lysanthra singing in my hand, and landed a stab to his lower torso. He bellowed as I pulled back, my blade bloody.

  The goblin brought his hands up, clasping them together overhead. I looked for his weapon, then realized too late that he was casting a spell. Oh shit—a goblin mage, and I didn’t have anything to counter magic!

  I darted away as he thrust out his palms and a lick of flame shot toward me. Dodging the fire by mere inches, the heat singed me as the column of fire passed by. Now I had the upper hand. I took advantage of his position, bringing Lysanthra down across his forearms. He screamed as I slashed long gashes across both arms and, as he staggered back, I pressed on to drive Lysanthra into his chest, through a gap in his leather jerkin.

  The goblin fell back, yanking me along as I held on to my dagger. I landed atop him and promptly slid the blade out of his body. His eyes were flickering—I could still see life—and grimly, I brought my blade across his throat, severing from side to side. Confident he was dead, I leapt up to gauge my position.

  Camille and Morio were spreading something through the goblins—I could tell that much, though I wasn’t sure just what they were doing. A web, a net of shadow seemed to be gliding over a group of five of them, dark and thick, oozing like poison. The goblins stared at my sister and her husband, petrified.

  The looks on their faces shook me, and I wondered what the hell Camille and Morio were up to. But there wasn’t time for more than a fleeting thought. Smoky had downed another two and was onto another.

  I turned to the next and tapped my blade against my thigh. “Come on, boy, let’s get it on.”

  He said something in Calouk, but I didn’t bother trying to translate. I raced toward him full-tilt with a loud shriek. The goblin swung to meet me, his short sword parrying my attack.

  Our blades whistled, singing as they cut through the air. I managed to deflect his blows each time, but he was getting the upper hand.

  Just then, a noise startled me, and I turned to see a goblin who’d been hiding behind a tipped-over table careening my way, his serrated blade outstretched. I threw Lysanthra at him and dove out of the way. As he stumbled past, my blade lodged in his stomach.

  I whirled and gave him a massive kick on his backside. He went plummeting to the ground, driving my dagger through him.

  The smell of blood was thick and nasty as I quickly kicked him over and grabbed the hilt of my blade, yanking it out of his body. Turning, I was just in time to meet another goblin, but his blade was already whistling down. As I ducked, trying to roll out of the way, I heard the clang of metal against metal, and for a moment, found myself staring at eyes gleaming at me, out of a dark shadow. The goblin’s blade had been deflected before it could reach me and, with a grunt, he fell to the ground, bleeding from the heart.

  I scrambled up, startled, feeling a rush of chill wind pass by, the scent of graveyards and bonfires riding high on it. Hi’ran? His energy lingered around me, a comforting embrace, and yet . . . and yet . . . it was not him. I whirled toward the dark cloud, but in that moment, it dissipated.

  “What the . . . who are you?” I shouted at the vanishing shadow, but it was gone, as if it had never been.

  “What did you say, Kitten?” Camille’s voice sliced through my thoughts.

  I wiped my blade on the dead goblin’s tunic, realizing the room had become silent around us. Camille, Smoky, Morio, and I were the only ones standing. The air reeked of blood and death, and a shiver ran down my back. I wavered a moment, feeling Panther rise. She wanted to hunt, to join the fight, to follow whoever it was who had killed the last goblin, but there was no one left for her to battle. I pushed the desire down, whispering to myself, soothing the big cat trapped within.

  As the others joined me, I saw that Smoky, in his white and pale blue, was spotless as usual. Morio and Camille were as blood-spattered as I was.

  “Aren’t we all just a delightful mess?” I asked, glancing at them. “Except you, Dragon Boy. Someday you have to tell us your secret. You’re family now.”

  He merely grinned.

  Morio slid his arm around Camille’s waist. “At least we took care of this mess.”

  Camille nodded but glanced at me. “Who were you talking to a minute ago?”

  Kicking the goblin, I shrugged. “I . . . don’t know.” For some reason I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. “Let’s go see if the others need us.”

  Smoky frowned. “I suggest we advise Exo Reed to dispose of the bodies. Permanently. Lately the undead seem to have had a thing for Seattle, and we don’t want a bunch of goblin zombies—or worse—running around.”

  “Reanimation,” Morio said. He glanced at Camille. “Not that we’d know anything about that.”

  She stifled a laugh that sounded mildly hysterical, and we headed out of the room. Exo was standing there beside Chase, who gave me a tight smile.

  “All done,” I said. “Exo, you’d better burn those bodies unless you want trouble. Don’t chance them ending up on their feet again. Ash them.”

  The werewolf nodded, his face serious behind the Elton John glasses he’d taken to wearing. “I’ll call my cousin. He’s got space on his land for a bonfire.” He glanced at the double doors. “I guess it’s too much to hope that the room’s in one piece.”

  I stared at him, feeling sorry for the hotel owner. He was just trying to do his job. Goblin invasion had not been on the menu. But my thoughts kept running back to the strange shadow who had saved my life. Who the hell had it been, if it wasn’t Hi’ran?

  “Um . . . no. I’m sorry. Not a chance.”

  He sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

  A noise on the stairwell announced Menolly, Roz, and Vanzir as they came trooping down the steps. They were covered with blood, and Menolly’s mouth was slick with the red stuff. Looked like she’d had an after-dinner snack. Or maybe it was her dinner. It was then that I noticed she was dragging somebody behind her. One of the two Tregarts—all trussed up and nowhere to go.

  “You captured one? You think they have any information worth knowing?” Camille hurried over to her.

  Menolly grinned, her smile all too scary. “Who knows? But I’m going to find out.”

  I turned to Chase, who was gazing at me, looking . . . somewhere between lost and angry. “Looks like we’re done here,” I said. Then, because I couldn’t stop myself, I added, “Won’t you come back home with me? It’s been so long . . .”

  He chewed on his lip, which was looking terribly chapped. Af
ter a moment, he shrugged. “I suppose we should talk.” He didn’t look overjoyed.

  Keeping my hurt feelings to myself, I forced a smile. Enthusiastic much. Not. But best to keep my mouth shut. I glanced over at the others. They were trundling the demon out to Menolly’s car. I turned back to Chase. “Are you going to ride with me or—”

  “I’ll follow in my car,” he said abruptly. “Just in case . . . you know, I get a call or need to leave or something.”

  “Yeah, fine.” Again, I forced a smile and leaned in for a kiss, but he turned his head, and my lips slid off his cheek. I headed out to my Jeep.

  Menolly took the demon down to the Wayfarer. She, Vanzir, and Rozurial told the rest of us to go straight home.

  “We’ll find out anything he has to say. Don’t wait up.” Her eyes were frosty gray, and I took one look at her set jaw and nodded.

  I knew that no sounds would penetrate out of that little safe room we had hidden there, and no magic could make it in or out, no demon or anything else could teleport through the barriers. It was our end-of-the-world room, essentially. And once in there, with Menolly and Vanzir especially, the Tregart would give up his secrets.

  I arrived home before Chase and rushed up to my room, where I swept all the dirty laundry into the closet, made sure my kitty box was clean so it didn’t stink up the place, and stripped off the bloody clothes. I tossed them. Blood and skunk pretty much guaranteed their demise.

  Hopping in the shower, I hosed myself off and then decided to sacrifice a Victoria’s secret forest green chemise. It had lace around the bust, and even though I wasn’t anywhere near Camille’s size, I filled it out nicely.

  I wandered over to the window, staring out into the blustery night. Maybe once we were alone, in bed, Chase would loosen up, lose some of the worry that had been plaguing him. Maybe he’d reach out to me. Or let me reach out to him.

  Leaning back against the headboard, I pulled the blanket up to my neck. The room was chilly, but I loved it. My bedroom was normally a mess—I fully admitted to being a slob—but it had charm. I’d filled it with cat toys and Hello Kitty posters and stacks of magazines and my computer desk where I spent a lot of my time poring over the Net. I’d bought a personal TV but still preferred watching my shows downstairs where I usually could snag Menolly or Camille into joining me.

  My hair felt odd, and I shook my head, again wondering at how light and angular the new cut made me feel. And what would Chase think of it, when he had time to really look at me? What would he think of my tattoos?

  Strangely enough, I realized I wasn’t too concerned. If he didn’t like them, it wasn’t the end of the world. My hair would grow back. And maybe I’d decide to keep it like this. Or maybe I’d grow it long again, like it had been when I was younger. And the tattoos were already a part of me, delineating my calling. They were here to stay and it felt like they’d always been there.

  After awhile, I heard a car outside and caught my breath. I peeked out the window, and sure enough, there was Chase. He was staring up at the house, hands in pockets, standing next to his SUV. The look on his face was pensive.

  After a good five minutes, he began to move toward the porch, and I backed away from the window. Iris was still up, making soup for the next day, and she’d let him in.

  As I waited for the doorbell, I ran through the possible scenarios in my mind. Chase would come up, and everything would work out—the tension would melt away, and he’d take me in his arms and we’d make love.

  Or maybe . . . he’d be too nervous and push me away. Or he’d find me unattractive, my hair and—oh gods, the skunk stench! I still smelled like skunk. I’d grown accustomed to it over the evening, but now, horrified, I realized that Chase was going to walk through that door, and I’d smell like rotten eggs. What the fuck to do?

  And then there was a tap on my door, and it opened slightly. Chase peeked through, and I forgot everything—hair, skunk, all the tension of the past month, and rushed into his arms, crying.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Delilah—what’s wrong? Why are you crying? What’s . . . what’s that smell?” Chase kissed my nose chastely, then pushed me back to stare in my eyes. We were the same height, which made it pretty nice when we needed to have heart-to-hearts. Though we hadn’t been doing much of that for the past month.

  I stared at him. How to start? How to say, What the fuck has been going on with you? without sounding accusatory? I stepped back, and he gingerly sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I smell like skunk. I got skunked. That’s what happened to my hair, too. Iris tried to wash me in tomato juice in cat form and the juice dyed it . . . bad. Then we tried a peroxide formula to get the scent out and it made it worse. So I told her to punk me. The cut will grow out faster, and we’ll be able to trim the bad color off easier. Do you hate it?”

  For the first time in a long while, he laughed. “Oh Delilah, leave it to you. No, I don’t hate your hair—it’s different but kind of pretty. Edgy, I’d call it.” He stopped. “But what’s going on with your arms?”

  “I had my first lesson with another Death Maiden tonight. These are the results. They’ll darken and change as I go along.”

  “Then I was right,” he said softly.

  “Right about what?”

  Chase shook his head. “Never mind. Leave it for now. They’re pretty. Lovely, really. You are growing more and more into your father’s side of the family, aren’t you?” Before I could answer, he continued, “I’m sorry about the skunk, but the smell will go away, won’t it?”

  “Luke—from the Wayfarer—has a deodorizer he’s going to give me, and that should take care of the problem. Won’t bring my hair back, but what the hell.” I flashed him a slow smile. Now that I’d gotten him to laugh, maybe the tension would back off. “So, do I smell bad enough that you don’t want to touch me?”

  He frowned. “No . . . no . . . though I don’t dare get that scent on this suit. Too expensive.” He paused, then added, “Oh hell. I’m sorry, Delilah. You deserve an explanation for why I’ve been so aloof . . .”

  My heart caught in my throat. If he’s been lying to me again . . .

  “Is Erika back?” I whispered.

  He looked up at me slowly, then shook his head. “No, she’s not. And I haven’t been sleeping around. I wouldn’t lie to you again. But we need to talk. We promised to be honest with each other.”

  The look in his eyes made me want to cry. Haunted, alone, nervous—I could read him like a book. But there was something else, something that I couldn’t pin down. And I had a strong feeling I wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

  “What is it? What’s going on?”

  Fumbling with the hem of his jacket, he shook his head.

  “You know I’ve been going through all this stuff, trying to sort out what’s happening to my life, right? But what you—and your sisters—don’t know is that the Nectar of Life opened me up. I’m feeling things, sensing things on such an intense level that I don’t know how to deal with them. It’s like a door opened up, and I stepped into a whole new world. Sharah says that the potion catalyzed my psychic senses and that I’m starting to evolve some sort of power. She thinks I’m going to end up a pretty strong psychic.”

  Whoa. I hadn’t expected to hear this, and part of me was hurt that he hadn’t come to me with it first, but I pushed away the feeling. At least he’d gone to somebody with it instead of hiding it. Crossing to his side, I sat next to him and took his hand in mine.

  “I don’t know what to say. Camille speculated this might happen—she’s sensed something in you over the years. A glimmer of power . . . we just have no idea where you got it from. Maybe your parents or grandparents?”

  He nodded. “I’ve wondered now and then . . . and I don’t know where it comes from either. I guarantee you it wasn’t my mother, and I really don’t know any of our relatives—she saw to that. Can you understand that I’m just . . . there are so many things . . .”

  “Shu
sh . . . I understand. I really do. But maybe, if you’d let me help you, I could release some of that tension.” I reached for his shirt and begin to unbutton it, but he caught my hands in his, pulling them away from his chest.

  “Delilah, there’s more. I thought it was too early to say anything, so I’ve been staying away, examining my feelings. I wanted to wait, wanted to see what if I was just afraid. But I guess I’d better just tell you.”

  Puzzled, I stopped. More? Okay, so I knew that he’d been having a difficult time with the transition, but what else was hiding behind those limpid pools of chocolate that passed for eyes?

  “What’s going on, Chase? Did you . . . are you . . . gay?” That was the only thing I could think of that might account for him putting distance between us.

  “Gay?” He blinked. “No, sweetie. Trust me, I’m not. The thing is . . . here’s the thing . . . you see . . .”

  “Just spit it out.” Whatever it was, knowing had to be better than facing uncertainty.

  He let out a long sigh. “During the past month, I’ve been thinking about so many things. I need to take some time. Get to know myself now that this has happened. Now that I’ve got far longer than another forty or fifty years to spend with my own company. I need space and time to adjust to . . . well, my new life.”

  I didn’t like where this was going. The expression drained off my face. “You want to break up? Are you sure there’s no one else?”

  He stroked my cheek, smiling sadly. “I haven’t cheated on you; I haven’t lied to you. There’s no one else. I just honestly don’t think I can cope with any relationship right now and deal with everything else, too. For now, I need space.”

  Boom. Godzilla hit dead center, and I toppled like Tokyo.

  I forced myself to stare at the floor. If I stared at the floor, then I’d be okay. “When you say for now . . .”