Faith Hunter: Mercy Blade

To his voice mail I said, as formally as I knew how, “Girrard DiMercy, Mercy Blade to Leo Pellissier, the Master of the City of New Orleans. I owe you this for saving my life the day we met. I know who the were-bitch is. I know why you saved her so many years ago. She was bitten by the wolves in the last vamp war, but unlike so many other females, she survived. And the Anzu feel, what? Responsible for the Cursed of Artemis? Some kind of misplaced guilt?

“Whatever it is, Magnolia Sweets, her grown son, and her werewolves have a human police officer held hostage. She’s tried to turn him, with the help of her pack, against were-law, and according to their own law, there can be no mercy shown. I’m going into the compound, at the place where we first fought them, with paramilitary backup.” I closed my eyes and breathed in. The air stung and tore and my eyes ached. “And if I find Rick dead, I’ll kill them all myself.”

The words felt strange on my tongue, coarse and raw, as if they sucked all the life out of me. The metallic tang of vengeance. Unable to say another word, I ended the call. Emptied another liter of water into my body, drinking it down. My tissues soaked it up, as if the rage and shame that were fighting inside me left my soul desiccated. “‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord,’” I whispered, the words familiar from Scripture. “But not this time, God. You had your chance.”

I raised my bottle to the rising sun and poured several drops of water onto the earth. An offering. Turned to the south, poured another few drops. To the west, and then to the north, anointing the earth. Wishing it was blood I offered to the ancient Cherokee ways.

Tears burned my eyes, stinging like nettles. I sobbed once, all that I believed in like old, ashen pain. I drew on Beast’s strength. She sank her claws into me, sharing her calm, her stalking patience. Her pelt was coarse and spiked just under my skin, raised in readiness. Her claws drew blood from my soul.

We hunt , she snarled. The I/we of Beast .

I calmed, her steadiness like a narcotic inside me. “We hunt,” I agreed. I dialed vamp HQ and told Wrassler to wake Kemnebi and tell him what had happened and what we were about to do. If Rick was dead, I wanted vengeance, yeah, but maybe it could also be legal.

Half an hour later I got a call back. IAW had sanctioned a hunt and a bounty for each were-head we brought them, in human or wolf form. Jodi Richoux called to snarl at me about the were-hunt, demanding the cops be given the coordinates. I hung up on her. Which I’m sure pissed her off, as she called back four times before giving up.

And then, while prebattle adrenaline spurted into my bloodstream with every heartbeat, my hands checked the placement of every blade, inspected every firing weapon, made sure my ammo and extra magazines were secured but easy to pull. While I was examining the M4, Gee called me back. I stared at his number on the fancy cell screen. Fingers ice-cold in the morning heat, I picked up. “Gee.”

“Do you understand why I have protected her for all these years?”

“Leo loved her. Leo hated weres. She was bitten in the vamp war. You tried to protect her from the curse, but on the first full moon, she went furry. So she packed up and left. Because of Artemis’ curse, you went with her to be near her when she died. Only Leo’s Maggie didn’t die. She was one of few females who lived, if you can call being permanently in heat and insane living. And, loyalties divided, you stayed close to her.”

“You know of the curse?” His voice was a whisper.

I could almost feel his shock through the cell phone, and smothered my reaction, which was pity, understanding, compassion. There was no room for those emotions in me today. “Sabina told me the story,” I said. “You followed Magnolia back here, only to be drawn into Roul’s plans to be an official part of the weres again, and into Tyler’s revenge. Tell me, you little feathered creep. Did Tyler know about his mother still being alive?”

“No. He did not; not until he met her after the party. The digital footage you saw of him wasn’t some human mating ritual, it was Tyler recognizing his mother. But learning she lived has not helped. He sees what she is, how she lives, and he blames Leo. Her insanity has made it worse for her son, not better. Hatred dies hard.”

“You saved me from the were-taint when I was bitten. Why not Maggie?”

“I tried. By the time she confided in me, it was too late. There was too much contagion. All I could do was minimize the effect. And so she . . . lived. Though Maggie, my Sweet Magnolia, has, in truth, been dead for many years.”

“Are you coming to help kill wolves today? Or to fight against us?”

“Neither. I have returned to Leo. I will tell him the truth. I will make my peace with him, and his blood will grow sweet again, his and his Mithrans’. They will suffer no more, and the Mercy Blade will abide with them once again.

“For me, you will put Magnolia out of her misery, like an injured wolf too damaged to survive. You will be . . . the Mercy Blade for the cursed. And I will be in your debt.”

“Then, when I bring out Rick, I’ll bring him to you.”

“I will do what I can, little goddess.” The call ended. And I was left, sitting on Bitsa in the heat, eyes gritty with fatigue, waiting for backup, to see that the sentence for breaking the most important were-law was carried out, according to their people’s justice system. And to save Rick LaFleur. If I could. I thought of the photos of Rick and the redhead. It was Maggie Sweets, wigged, in a saner moment, seducing Rick. Who may have already been infected and not thinking like himself. Rick, undercover, using his charm to go after the females. I blinked away tears.

Moments later, Derek Lee and his small army of mercenaries braked their panel van. The side panel door slid open and Derek grinned at me from the dark confines. I glanced over their gear and decided they had enough to win the small war I planned. Derek said, “Sit rep.”

The situation report was brief. “Twelve foot chain link fence, only two exits, one on the front and one into the bar. Ten to fifteen werewolves still survive, if my count is right, likely in human form, likely hungover, and likely still asleep, in tents and a small cabin.”

Derek handed me a pad and I sketched the site. “Bounty is ten thousand a head. Literally. PAW wants the heads. Rick LaFleur, an undercover cop, is with them, but may be infected with the were-taint, not thinking like himself. Him, we want alive. No children seen, no pets, no collateral damage permitted.”

“Not good recon, Legs,” Angel’s Tit said.

“If I’d gone in closer, they would have smelled me.”

“There is that,” Vodka Sunrise said. “Noses on wolves gotta be better than bloodhound.”

I wanted to argue that point, but it seemed silly.

Derek handed the sketch to the guys. “Rock and roll, Legs.” The panel slid shut.

The Vodka boys parked a mile away and—except for the driver, V. Chi Chi, who was working a compact little device: com equipment, to coordinate the action—the soldiers filtered into the trees. I dropped my helmet into the van with a hollow thud and shook out my braids. Knotted them into a single queue. Pulled on fingerless gloves meant for firing. I was going to be the diversion that let them inside the compound. “Semper fi,” Chi Chi said to me. I chuckled, and the sound came out like a growl. After that he didn’t speak, but he shifted in his seat so he could watch me. Smart man.

At the appointed time, Chi Chi pointed a finger at me. I kick-started the bike and sat, feet on the earth. Revved her a few times, letting her snarl and Beast’s scream merge, pound into my blood stream. The daylight grew crisp, sharp. The smells of the heated earth grew stronger, complex. Chi Chi said, “Go.” And I gunned the engine. Shot forward. Head down, into the wind. I roared toward Booger’s Scoot.