Michele Hauf - The Vampire Hunter

Plucking out a silver pin from the nearby pin box, he poked it in place in the eighteenth arrondissement.

“Zoë,” he muttered. A smile was unstoppable.

* * *

“Will you find the source of the Magic Dust, little one?”

Coyote flinched at Riské’s use of the possessive moniker. Yes, she was small. But she was anything but little.

“It’s tainting our supply,” Riské continued. The faery elder’s feather headdress listed in the summer breeze that always surrounded him, even on brisk winter nights. “The idiot bloodsuckers are selling on our turf. This mortal realm is convoluted with lacking intelligence and those who would sell their very souls for another coin in their pocket.”

“I’ve Whim sniffing out the trail,” she answered, preening her left wing over her shoulder. Living in the mortal realm zapped her vitality, and she was ever concerned about her faded wings. “He’s an excellent tracker.”

“And what about the other one who is often stumbling about in your wake? Ever? Sever?”

“His name is Never. And he does not stumble. He’s an ace marksman. My secret weapon.”

“I thought you were my secret weapon?”

“I am, mon Grand Sidhe,” she said, using the respectful title. Lately, Riské had been ignoring her for his many other consorts. She was fine with that. The sidhe lord was a fickle lover. She preferred those with a bit more devotion— and vita, which could restore the color to her wings that living in the mortal realm had drained. “I suspect the dealer is a vampire.”

“Of course.” He said it as if admonishing her for stating the obvious.

“I don’t want to unsettle the fragile balance we have with the vampire community,” she said.

“See that you do not. But do not allow this one who deems to step on my feet one moment longer of triumph. I will not accept failure from you, Coyote.”

Meaning, he’d strike her dead with a look that could stop her heart if she returned without the vampire’s head. Easy enough. Coyote always got her man. Or vampire. She just had to let loose her hounds, Whim and Never, and follow the trail.

Chapter 3

The knock at the front door was accompanied by a yelp.

Zoë smiled with self-satisfied glee. “I do love a well-tuned vampire ward.”

She grabbed the plastic kid’s lunchbox from the living room table and strode to the door with the usual spring in her step that the yelp always produced. The autumn sky was dark, promising imminent rain. Most vamps could handle the sunlight for a short time, though they did tend to grumble about it whenever anyone would listen.

A flash of pink swept before the narrow window that paralleled each side of her front door.

“Fashion nightmare,” Zoë muttered before she swung open the door to grant her visitor a Cheshire Cat greeting. “You again, and looking so bright and cheery.”

“Witch, your wards hurt.”

“That’s the purpose. You have my phone number. You can call when you’re walking up the sidewalk and I’d meet you at the door.”

The vampiress, tall and lanky, and built like a rock star with a permanent heroin hangover, cocked a hand to one hip, and swept back the pink half of her hair with a tilt of her head. Sunglasses concealed what Zoë guessed was a dagger gaze. She held out a waiting hand.

She was annoying, but also strong, and Zoë had no intention of pissing her off. The woman had visible muscles revealed by a sleeveless plaid shirt spattered with black ink and skulls. She wore enough silver jewelry to kill a werewolf just by being in his vicinity. And besides the head of hair that was half fluorescent pink and half Hell black, she sported a chain of earrings along each ear, henna tattoos all over her arms, a thick silver ring that looked like—and probably was—brass knuckles, and a visible knife blade sticking out her hip pocket.

Despite her many vampire friends, this one wasn’t a vampire Zoë wanted to meet in a dark alley anytime soon.

Passing the lunchbox over the threshold, far enough to cross over the wards, Zoë held it there until the vampiress snatched it. Then she reached behind her leg and wheeled around one of those small, hard case travel suitcases. It was black, save for the white outline of Hello Kitty with a bright pink bow cocked above one ear. The vampire was into the iconic cat for reasons Zoë would not question.

“What’s that for?” Zoë asked. “You going on vacation?”

“It’s for you. The big guy wants more next pickup.”

“More?”

“Dust. He said business is booming.”

“Business? Well, that’s...”

Awesome that her blend was being so well received. But that much more? The suitcase was six times the size of the lunchbox. She’d have to work on the blend every day until the next pickup.

Business? She’d thought Mauritius was distributing her blend free of charge. Well, perhaps he had to charge a small price to cover expenses. Ichor wasn’t free—at least not in the form she required—and he did pay her for her work.

“There’s cash inside to cover any additional expenses you might incur,” the vampiress said. “Can I tell him you’re on board?”

“Uh...” She’d hate to disappoint. And she had developed an amazing blend. It felt good to be in demand. For once in her life, Zoë had accomplished something important. Her father would be proud. “Certainly. I, uh, I’ve never made such a large batch. But I’ll give it a try.”

“You do that. Same time next week. I’d say it’s been a pleasure, witch, but that would be a lie.”

Lunchbox tucked under an arm, the vampiress strolled down the sidewalk and across the street toward the waiting car. She always arrived via the backseat of a fancy limo. Zoë didn’t know her name. Only that she truly needed a stylist, because with a little work—and heavy metal removal—the woman could be stunning.

“Vampires,” she muttered.

But she didn’t follow with a scathing remark. She had many vampire friends. The very reason she made these Sunday morning meetings was for vampires.

“They need me. And I won’t disappoint.”

* * *

The Order of the Stake headquarters was situated in an old cathedral that offered tours of the nave during the week to tourists who had no clue a secret order devoted to extinguishing vampires existed just beneath their footsteps. An Order employee had been hired specifically for the tours and to handle the affairs topside.

While the Order dated back four centuries to inception, this building had been in use for a little over two centuries, and they’d had no problems with civilians discovering the truth bustling about beneath the stone floors.

Kaz swiped his key card and entered a secret door a few buildings down from the cathedral. He descended the stairs to the underground passageway that led to the main Order rooms.

It always gave him a shiver as he passed through the limestone passageway. It was cold down here and smelled like death, always reminding him of the labyrinthine network that ran beneath all of Paris. Hundreds of miles of tunnels that plunged down as far as seven stories. So much took place beneath the city proper it would stun, bemuse and even frighten most mortals.

Here on the lower level were Rook’s office, a gym and training area and lockers. As well, the research lab offered computers that linked other worldwide Order posts with a massive database of the paranormal breeds. While vampires were their focus, they did like to keep tabs on other breeds, because interaction often led to discovery.

The lab was quiet today. Kaz usually only ran into Tor down here. The Order’s spin master did a lot of research because his job required he know the breeds inside and out—as well as how their legend and myth had been formed in the minds of the mortals. Turning truth back into myth was a tricky job, but someone had to do it to protect the integrity of the organization.