Viper Moon (6 page)

“You know Flynn?”

“I know his mother. She came to me for help. The Earth Mother directed me to send him to you.”

She set the plate and cup in the sink and headed for the front of the house, then stopped. She came to me, grasped my cheeks in her hands, and kissed me on the forehead. “You’ve been the Huntress too long. I love the Mother, but . . .” She released me and wiped at her eyes. “Does she think I don’t see what’s happening? You’re the best Huntress in my lifetime. And because you’re so good, she’s using you up like a disposable tool. A weapon. Then she objects when you do what’s necessary to stay alive.” She shook her head and left the room.

Abby had always been the sanctuary in my haphazard life, and I couldn’t remember a time when I’d seen her so distressed. I suspected she was right. The Mother was using me, but it was up to me to call a halt.
I should probably do that before someone—or something—kills me. Maybe this should be my last hunt. I could get a regular job
,
and . . .
What? Give up all the excitement, the death-defying feats of valor? The pain, the broken bones? I shivered at the memory of the burns. Who was I kidding? I’d become an action junkie, living on the edge, and it would probably kill me.

I let myself out the back door, strolled around the house, and, sure enough, a shiny red pickup truck rolled down the street toward me like a scarlet tank. It stopped at the curb beside me, and the passenger window slid down. I leaned against the door. Flynn appeared only a little less weary than he had this morning.

“I need a ride home,” I said.

He nodded. “Get in.”

I opened the door and pulled myself up into the fullsized truck cab.

Flynn stared at me. “You look like shit again. Only worse. Who did that?”

“I’m okay.”

“Bullshit.” He flipped my windshield visor down to expose a mirror.

My face looked like someone had slapped it with a brush of purple and black paint under my eyes and slashed a line along my jaw.

“A professional disagreement. That’s all.” I drew the seat belt over my shoulder and fastened it.

“Who won?” he asked.

“Won what?”

“The professional disagreement.”

I shrugged. “It was sort of a draw.”

“Then you won’t mind going to the station and filling out a report.”

“It wasn’t
that
much of a draw.” The seat belt clicked when I pushed the button to release it. “I’ll catch the bus.”

Flynn grabbed my arm when I reached for the door handle. “No. I brought you Selene’s rabbit.”

He reached across me to take my arm. The weariness that slowed him earlier remained, but he’d showered and shaved. He smelled faintly of citrus and his dark hair still needed a trim. It fascinated me and I forced myself not to run my fingers through it. Professional distance, Cassandra. Keep it cool and under control.

He released me and leaned back.

“I don’t like to be forced into things,” I said.

“Neither do I. And here I am, forced by my mother to rely on the accomplice of a psychic fraud.” He sounded resigned to the situation.

“The accomplishments of the psychic fraud and said accomplice don’t impress you, I suppose.” I tried to sound arrogant, but the words came out angry instead.

“They might if I knew a few details. Results are fine. It’s how you get them that concerns me. I read your file, remember?”

Flynn the cop believed in law and order. The Guardian, the Earth Mother called him. I dealt with chaos and tried to make some order of things. Mostly I shied away from, or totally ignored, the law. At least his rules-onpaper version of the law.

Rush hour traffic had come and gone, so we rode easily through the streets. The sun had dropped below the horizon, taking some of the unbearable heat with it.

“What were you doing driving by Abby’s house?” I asked.

His mouth tightened. “I don’t know. I went home to get the damned rabbit. Then . . .” He shrugged.

I’d long since stopped believing in coincidence and luck. Everything in my life seemed to have a purpose, even if I didn’t recognize the reason at the time.

“What’s that?” Flynn pointed at the bag I’d carried from Dacardi’s house.

“Dirty jocks. Where’s Selene’s toy?”

“Under your seat.”

I reached down and grabbed the plastic bag containing a well-worn, probably well-loved stuffed rabbit.

We rode in silence back to my apartment building. When we arrived, he asked, “Do you need some aspirin? I’ll go get some for you.”

His sudden compassion touched me. “I need a new face. But thanks anyway.”

“Your face is okay,” he said. “Kind of pretty. Even if it is purple.”

“Thanks for that, too.”

Well, well, the man liked my face—and my hair. I smiled, and drew one from him in return. My, what a luscious mouth. Bad for me, bad for him. I can’t be involved with a cop. So why did I feel a sudden surge of pleasure when he called me pretty? I made a ruthless effort to squash the feeling and forced it down.

I climbed out and he waited in the parking lot until I went inside.

Nefertiti, Nirah, and Horus waited for me. Nefertiti stretched across the back of the couch and Horus crouched on a cushion with Nirah draped around his neck like a red and black necklace. I sat on the couch and Nefertiti slid down and over my shoulders. She lifted her head to look me in the eye. I rubbed her under her lower jaw with my thumb.

“Okay, guys. I’m sorry. I let you down last night. Dangerous strangers invaded our home. Abby warned me. No alcohol for at least another month until I’m finished with the meds.”

I didn’t ask why they didn’t warn me. They couldn’t communicate on that level. Maybe they instinctively understood that I had been truly unconscious and lacked the ability to respond.

Horus jumped on my lap and I knew that meant he forgave me. I guess the girls did, too, because they wanted to cuddle. While we did, I let myself examine my life and why I lived in such a haphazard manner.

I grew up on a farm in north Arkansas with the best parents in the world. We lived with the seasons, worked hard, and enjoyed life in general. We weren’t religious, but we weren’t atheists. We believed in God, considered the land a sacred trust, and tried to be good stewards. Neither Mom nor Dad ever mentioned the Earth Mother, but I suspect they wouldn’t be surprised to know she existed.

My world changed on my eighteenth birthday.

Mom had smiled hopefully when she gave me the details of Grandpa’s trust fund for his only granddaughter. She reminded me that my good grades almost guaranteed me a scholarship, too. Go to vet school since I had such a strong affinity for animals. Horse whisperer? Cow whisperer? Pig, dog, cat—I understood them all, not in words but in feelings, and they listened to me when I spoke. When that facet of my personality appeared, my wonderful parents became vegetarians for my sake. No animal died around us except of natural causes.

I don’t know if it was auspicious to turn eighteen on the full moon, or if something predetermined my life before my birth. I went to bed late that night, fell right to sleep, and woke up lying in the middle of the farm’s pear orchard. Silver light misted the world around me to soft gray and black sculptures and the moon herself floated high against the black ceiling of the sky. I stood, not frightened, thinking I’d been sleepwalking, when a woman’s voice spoke softly behind me.

“Will you accept the call, Huntress?”

I turned and faced a shadowy figure cloaked in white. Instinct, intuition told me the figure was female. She hid her face in the folds of her cowl.

“Who are you?” I asked.
Dreaming, I had to be dreaming.

“I am the guardian of this earth. This is no dream, daughter; you are the Huntress. The little ones, the lost, call you. Will you find them?”

That’s when I became afraid. I became a lost child, terrified, alone.

“Danger waits, Huntress. But I will give you strength and you will stand for me.” The woman’s voice grew inside my head—and the child’s terror grew in my heart. “You were born on this night. I heard your first cries, saw your strength and courage. You were raised by good parents, taught right from wrong and respect for my lands. Now
you
must choose how you spend your life. I offer you pain, fear, and danger, but in turn you will be compensated.”

I suddenly knew the joy of a child found, and the relief of a parent prepared for the worst. I swore I’d do what she wanted. In hindsight, it’s always struck me as a little unfair to give a naive eighteen-year-old girl such a choice—a decision between an ordinary life and the opportunity to be an extraordinary heroine. Guess what she’s going to choose.

When I woke in my bed the next morning, an address came immediately to my mind. Missouri, two hundred miles north and another state away. Abby’s address. On my nightstand, underneath the lamp, was a significant bronze knife. The knife I carry today. To my mother’s dismay, I emptied my savings account and left the next day.

Abby taught me about the Earth Mother, the Darkness, and the Barrows. I met Nefertiti in the Barrows one night when she generously bit a monster that had me pinned down. She followed me home. Not long after that, Horus arrived with Nirah. I knew, of course, they weren’t animals or reptiles in the truest sense. I consider them precious gifts. I guess the Mother sent them, though she never said. All three have a limited ability to reason and override animal instinct. That was ten years ago.

I wish I could say the Mother gave me superpowers like a movie character. The old X-ray vision and a nifty fang-and-claw-proof suit would be nice. She did, however, give me physical strength, endurance, and rapid reaction times. Not fantastic, but I’d put myself up against an exceptionally strong weight lifter or distance runner any day. She has never given me anything of a material nature; hence my poverty. Unless you count her occasional nagging, she rarely interferes with my life.

I don’t regret the decision to become the Huntress; the search fits my nature and feels right. But I sure wish I had read the small print in the contract before I signed on. At nine o’clock, I showered and dressed in jeans and a sky blue T-shirt. Back when I had money, I’d purchased a bottle of expensive concealing makeup. Since I now had a little funding courtesy of Carlos Dacardi, I applied the cream liberally to my face. It covered most of the bruising. Then I cleaned my gun and sharpened my knives.

The gun, the source of Abby and the Mother’s irritation, was black and heavy in my hands. Would my patroness and guide be more comfortable if I carried a broadsword and shield? Maybe. My ammo dealer makes my bronze bullets by hand. He calls it his magic formula and charges twenty times the cost of regular ammo. I pay his price and ask no questions. I don’t know why the Mother hates the gun so much, unless it symbolizes what men have done to her lands and she longs for the old days.

I slid the gun into a shoulder holster under my arm near my waist. The belt that held the holster in place also carried extra clips of ammo. One bronze knife went in a sheath on my left forearm and a smaller one slipped into a pouch on the side of my lace-up boots. Once I twisted, adjusted and readjusted, and everything fit right, I covered my arsenal with a light sand-colored jacket and headed out.

A pervert with a video camera and kiddie porn aspirations had kidnapped Maxie Fountain. The pervert gave me the details as I convinced him of the error of his ways and adjusted his attitude.

I’d also found kids snatched by a noncustodial parent who thought the Barrows made the perfect hiding place. But these were isolated incidences. The majority of children were taken for a far darker purpose. They became what Abby called acolytes, little soldiers of shadow, taken and trained to grow into service of the Darkness. She made it sound like some great conspiracy, some evil underground movement.

I found serious crime in the Barrows, but no major criminal organization—or any special evil underground movement—yet. Potential was there, though, and only lacked a leader. With the sudden infusion of a massive amount of arms and explosives, anything could happen. Someone may already be making plans.

Kids Selene and Richard’s age were usually runaways, but it didn’t take long for them to fall in with the others. The common thread of the notes and the Goblin Den, and the warning about the dark moon, didn’t change the odds they were runaways. Many of my lost sheep were not lost at all. They were where they wanted to be. They were drawn by the thought that no one would find them among the derelicts along River Street. If they lived on the coasts, they would be drawn to New York or LA. Not much I could do except try to talk them into going home.

Usually I hunted those in the cheap diners and cafés where kids hang out trying to bum a meal, and in the three street missions that ministered to the dregs. Tonight, I’d start my search at the top.

My POS was running well for a change, and the day’s steaming heat had partially drained away. I stopped at a drugstore with a photocopier and made copies of the two pictures. I’d probably need to hand them out. Cooler air slid over the rolled-down windows as I crossed Copper Creek and drove down River Street and into the Barrows.

The inhabited Barrows spread on both sides of River Street, the main road that led to the prosperous docks along the deep channel. A thin line of businesses, no more than two blocks deep, lined the roadway. Beyond that, it fell into a twilight zone of partially abandoned ruins that the Bastinados used as home base for their operations. Their turf boundaries changed often as they continuously battled one another for supremacy over the square miles of urban ruins.

After that, you entered—if you dared—the Barrows’ relentless, evil heart: the completely deserted Zombie Zone.

The Zombie Zone. Thirty square blocks of empty, crumbling buildings steeped in the rancid odor of dead industry. Deep in the center of the ruins, old articles in the
Chronicle
hinted that a total infrastructure collapse created the Zombie in 1929 and again in 1948, but it’s hard to determine exactly when bad things happened there. I’ve found so little history. It’s as if someone went in and erased the place. No one, not even the Bastinados, spend much time in the ruins, especially not at night.