Mercy blade, p.1
Mercy Blade, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1 - I Didn’t Know You Had a Brain
CHAPTER 2 - A Fighting Ring
CHAPTER 3 - She Was Wearing a Red Thong
CHAPTER 4 - Yeah. Sure. Strip, Zorro.
CHAPTER 5 - You Can’t Blame a Vamp-Killer for Trying
CHAPTER 6 - You Get to Dress Me
CHAPTER 7 - A Lot of Hooey
CHAPTER 8 - Die Young Then, Sonny
CHAPTER 9 - He Got a Whiff of Me
CHAPTER 10 - You Want Me to Shoot Him, Boss?
CHAPTER 11 - Don’t Beat Yourself up over It
CHAPTER 12 - Katie Ate Dead Meat
CHAPTER 13 - I Intend to Make You Regret That Decision
CHAPTER 14 - And He Ripped off My Shirt
CHAPTER 15 - Good Nose on Ugly Dog
CHAPTER 16 - You Like the Boy Toy
CHAPTER 17 - You Belong to Me
CHAPTER 18 - Woad
CHAPTER 19 - A Fashionista’s Closet Full of Falling Stilettos
CHAPTER 20 - Dang. Brass Knuckles are Cool!
CHAPTER 21 - Killing Teeth Tore Through . . . and Took Me by the Throat
CHAPTER 22 - Dry Cleaning Bills Are Outrageous in My Line of Work
CHAPTER 23 - “Rock and Roll, Legs”
CHAPTER 24 - Pick a Target. Aim. Shoot.
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Praise for the Novels of Faith Hunter
Blood Cross
“Readers eager for the next book in Patricia Briggs’s Mercy Thompson series may want to give Faith Hunter a try.”
—Library Journal
“In a genre flooded with strong, sexy females, Jane Yellowrock is unique.... Her bold first person narrative shows that she’s one tough cookie, but with a likable vulnerability ... a pulse-pounding, page-turning adventure.” —Romantic Times
Skinwalker
“Seriously. Best urban fantasy I’ve read in years, possibly ever.”—C. E. Murphy, author of Walking Dead
“A fantastic start to the Jane Yellowrock series. Mixing fantasy with a strong mystery story line and a touch of romance, it ticks all the right urban fantasy boxes.”—LoveVampires
“Stunning ... plot and descriptions so vivid, they might as well be pictures or videos. Hunter captures the reader’s attention from the first page and doesn’t let go.”—SF Site
“A fabulous tale with a heroine who clearly has the strength to stand on her own ... a wonderfully detailed and fast moving adventure that fills the pages with murder, mystery, and fascinating characters.”—Darque Reviews
“A promising new series with a strong heroine.... Jane is smart, quick, witty, and I look forward to reading more about her as she discovers more about herself.”—Fresh Fiction
Host
“Hunter’s world continues to expand in this highly original fantasy with lively characters where nothing can ever be taken for granted.”—Publishers Weekly
“Hunter has created a remarkable interpretation of the aftermath of Armageddon in which angels and devils once again walk the earth and humans struggle to find a place. Stylish storytelling and gripping drama make this a good addition to most fantasy collections.”—Library Journal
“Readers will admire [Thorn’s] sacrifice [in] placing others before herself.... Fans will enjoy reading about the continuing end of days.”—Midwest Book Review
“With fast-paced action and the possibility of more romance, this is an enjoyable read with an alluring magical touch.”
—Darque Reviews
Seraphs
“The world [Hunter] has created is unique and bleak ... [an] exciting science fiction thriller.”—Midwest Book Review
“Continuing the story begun in Bloodring, Hunter expands on her darkly alluring vision of a future in which the armies of good and evil wage their eternal struggle in the world of flesh and blood. Strong characters and a compelling story.”
—Library Journal
“This thrilling dark fantasy has elements of danger, adventure, and religious fanaticism, plus sexual overtones. Hunter’s impressive narrative skills vividly describe a changed world, and she artfully weaves in social commentary ... a well-written, exciting novel.”—Romantic Times
Bloodring
“A bold interpretation of the what-might-be. ... With a delicate weaving of magic and scripture, Faith Hunter left me wondering: What’s a woman to do when she falls in love with a seraph’s child?”—Kim Harrison
“Entertaining ... outstanding supporting characters ... the strong cliff-hanger of an ending bodes well for future adventures.”
—Publishers Weekly
“The cast is incredible.... Fans of postapocalypse fantasies will appreciate this superb interpretation of the endless end of days.” —Midwest Book Review
“Hunter’s distinctive future vision offers a fresh though dark glimpse into a newly made postapocalyptic world. Bold and imaginative in approach, with appealing characters and a suspense-filled story, this belongs in most fantasy collections.”
—Library Journal
“It’s a pleasure to read this engaging tale about characters connected by strong bonds of friendship and family. Mixes romance, high fantasy, apocalyptic, and postapocalyptic adventure to good effect.” —Kirkus Reviews
“Hunter’s very professionally executed, tasty blend of dark fantasy, mystery, and romance should please fans of all three genres.” —Booklist
“Entertaining ... a promising new series.... Steady pacing, dashes of humor, and a strong story line coupled with a great ending neatly setting up the next adventure make this take on the apocalypse worth checking out.” —Monsters and Critics
“Enjoyable ... a tale of magic and secrets in a world gone mad.” —Romantic Times
ALSO BY FAITH HUNTER
The Jane Yellowrock Novels
Skinwalker
Blood Cross
The Rogue Mage Novels
Bloodring
Seraphs
Host
ROC
Published by New American Library, a division of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, January 2011
Copyright © Faith Hunter, 2011
All rights reserved
REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
eISBN : 978-1-101-47677-2
http://us.penguingroup.com
To my Renaissance Man,
who plays guitar and sings me to sleep, never says no to a
challenge, and brings me chocolate
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
(in no order whatsoever)
Mike Pruette, Web guru for www.faithhunter.net and fan.
Rod Hunter, as always, for the right word when my tired brain was stymied, and for making the research trip to Louisiana so much fun.
Joyce Wright, for reading everything I write, no matter how “weird.”
Kim Harrison, Misty Massey, David B. Coe, C. E. Murphy, A. J. Hartley, Stuart Jaffe, Tamar Myers, Greg Paxton, Raven Blackwell, Christina Stiles, and all my writer friends, for being our own unofficial writers support group.
My Yahoo! fan group at www.groups.yahoo.com/group/the-enclave/.
The Puddy Tats fan group.
My cowriters at www.magicalwords.net.
Lucienne Diver, for doing what an agent does best, with grace and kindness.
Last but not least—
My editor at Roc, Jessica Wade, who has helped to sculpt the multisouled Beast in Jane.
Y’all ROCK!
CHAPTER 1
I Didn’t Know You Had a Brain
I rolled over, taking most of the covers with me as I stretched. I felt like a big, satisfied cat—well fed, well loved, and nearly purring with contentment. Beside me, still snoring softly, was Rick LaFleur, my boyfriend. Crap. I had a boyfriend. I was still trying to get used to the idea. We’d been together for more than a month, when he wasn’t disappearing into the underbelly of New Orleans investigating—well, investigating something he had yet to share with me. Or when I wasn’t tied up with vamp HQ security systems. The Master of the City had ordered a total upgrade of the grounds; I was earning my retainer.
Our jobs meant stealing moments when we could.
The relationship with Rick was still new. Still scary. I wasn’t yet sure when to push the barriers of conversation, or sharing of info, and when to hold back. Rick is a cop, so some things he can’t share; my job means keeping clients’ secrets, so ditto on the not sharing. It puts a barrier between us at times.
Worse, part of me was still fighting having him around. It wasn’t that I resisted commitment. Really. Part of me just resisted sharing my territory. I mean, I already shared my body with another soul, and having another person around so much had seriously affected my lifestyle, stealing time from the other half of my dual nature. I hadn’t shifted into Beast in two weeks, and while she had nothing but good stuff to say about my sex life, my big-cat was pacing unhappily at not being allowed out to hunt.
I sat up on the side of the bed and retied my hip-length hair into a sloppy knot at the back of my head, tucking silver-tipped stakes into the makeshift bun. For a rogue-vamp killer, it was an action similar to a cop carrying his weapon with him to the potty. Overkill, paranoid, but once it had kept him alive, so it became habit. Stakes twenty-four/seven had become my new habit.
I eased out of bed and padded naked—except for the gold-nugget necklace I never took off—to the bathroom of my tiny one-room apartment in the Appalachian Mountains. I had given my landlady notice on the place, and Rick and I had motored up from Louisiana on our bikes—his Kawasaki and my bastard Harley—rented a small truck, and cleared out my stuff. All that was left to load was the TV, the bikes themselves, and the last of my linens and clothes. Even the bed had come with the furnished apartment, and I didn’t own much except things I could carry—clothes and weapons. My job usually required a lot of travel, and I wasn’t in a position to own or keep a lot of stuff unless it helped me stay alive.
Starting to wake up, moving in the murky light with ease, I put on water for tea and turned on the coffeemaker. As I worked, I checked on the weather through the window to see a very dark, gray dawn, with lowering clouds and intermittent rain. The thermometer on the tiny porch read seventy-two, not bad for summer in the mountains, though it might hit ninety by noon. We had arrived last night, and had only today in the high country before heading back to New Orleans, where I was living for the next six months, thanks to the retainer I had accepted from the Louisiana vamp council. When that gig was over, I’d have to make a decision where to live, but the past few months had been profitable enough to make that much less worrisome than during my once-upon-a-broke-and-destitute time. And with Rick in my life, it was nice to be sticking around one place for a while.
I sat in a pink painted chair at the kitchen table, waiting as water burbled in the coffeemaker and the flames hissed under the pot. Pink was my landlady’s color, not mine. The shade had never bothered me, as I wasn’t here often enough to care one way or another about the decor, but Rick had teased me unmercifully about the frills, ruffles, tucks, buttons, and florals that Old Lady Pierson had thought appropriate for the rental space under the eaves of her house.
I clicked on the TV to check the time, muting the sound. CNN was on, showing a still shot of a good-looking man with fierce eyes, very black skin, and short-cropped hair. The words “Breaking News” lit the bar at the bottom, followed by “BBC claims existence of were-creatures.”
“Crap,” I whispered. Beast awoke inside me with the instant attentive awareness of the predator, and focused through my eyes at the screen. I eased up the volume one notch and drew on Beast’s excellent hearing to listen to the commentator, whose voice-over spoke about the picture of a reporter, blond-haired and fair-skinned, holding a microphone.
“Though no independent confirmation exists, BBC investigator Donald Cooper, seen here in the center of the screen, has released an interview with an African man referred to only as Kemnebi, pictured in the upper portion of the screen. Kemnebi claims to be a were-cat, a black leopard. In the footage that follows we see Kemnebi remove his clothing and shift into a jungle cat. We caution our viewers that the BBC footage is graphic and depicts partial nudity common to his culture.”
I leaned toward the screen and watched as footage began to roll. The man from the still shot, who was carefully filmed above the lower hips for decorum’s sake, began to remove his clothes, dropping them one by one to the floor. He bent, most of him disappearing from the screen as if to remove his pants, and then crossed the room. He was tall and thin, muscles well defined, his skin stretched over a frame without an ounce of fat. He moved with a lissome grace uncommon in humans other than dancers. Still silent, the man knelt on a cushion on the floor, the camera viewing him from the side, the long, lean length of his body gleaming—a lot of skin for an American cable TV network.
Tension raced through me. It could be a joke. No new supernatural being had appeared on the world stage since the vamps and witches came out of the supernat closet after the Secret Service staked Marilyn Monroe while she was trying to turn the president in the Oval Office. No elves, no pixies, no trolls, no brownies, no nothing. Certainly no weres or skinwalkers—or there wasn’t since I killed the only one of my kind I’d ever met. That very old, very nutso skinwalker had stolen the form of a vamp and taken to killing and eating humans and vampires, so it had been a sanctioned kill. Since then, as a shape-shifter in hiding, I was a singularity in the world of humans, vamps, and witches. No longer, if the BBC’s claims were real. If.
I closed my fingers on the arms of the chair, digging in with my nails. I’m a skinwalker, not a were; I didn’t know if the magics would be the same, totally different, or only subtly dissimilar. If it was real.
The man began to lose focus. A pale fog seemed to sift from his skin and surround him, blurring him, the mist moving slowly, as if caught in a breeze. Dark lights sparkled through the haze, looking like black crystals on the digital footage. It wasn’t exactly the way I looked when I shifted, though a lot of things might affect what I was seeing, from the digital processing software to my cheap TV. But it was familiar. Very achingly familiar.
The black lights surrounding Kemnebi increased as the mist above his skin darkened, deepened. His bones popped, a sickening sound, as they shortened or lengthened and the joints reshaped. He threw back his head, mouth open in what looked like a silent scream, like gut-wrenching pain. Black hair sprouted all over his body. His spine bowed and arched. Canines grew up from his gums, an inch long on the bottom jaw, longer on top. His jaw and skull took on different contours, flowing into a catlike form. I could see the effort and agony as his flesh rippled, stretched, and restructured into something else.
