Harvest Hunting (2 page)

 

 

 

Dedicated to
the spirit of the autumn,
the Autumn Lord,
and all of those who walk the path of the Harvest.

Thank you to my agent, Meredith Bernstein, and to my editor, Kate Seaver: the best team I could have. To Tony Mauro, the most talented cover artist
ever
. To my husband, Samwise, and my friends Maura Anderson and Jo Yantz, all of whom help me hold on to the edge of sanity! To my assistant, J. L. Anderson, without whom I’d be frantic. To my little “Galenorn Gurlz”—Meerclar, the senior, and our newest babies: Calypso, Brighid, and Morgana. To the fur babies we lost to old age and illness: Pakhit, Tara, and Luna. Most reverent devotion to Ukko, Rauni, Mielikki, and Tapio, my spiritual guardians.

Thank you to my readers—both old and new. Your support helps keep us writers in ink and fuels our love of storytelling, and believe me, I appreciate each and every wonderful note you send, whether it be via Twitter, MySpace, e-mail, or snail mail. You can find me on the Net at Galenorn En/Visions:
www.galenorn.com
. I’m on Facebook, Twitter, and MySpace—the links are on my site. If you write to me through snail mail (see website for address or write via publisher), please enclose a self-addressed stamped envelope with your letter if you would like a reply. Promo goodies are available—see my site for info.

 

Bright Blessings,
The Painted Panther
Yasmine Galenorn

You cannot run with the hare and hunt with the hounds.

–FIFTEENTH-CENTURY PROVERB

All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travellers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken.

–THOMAS WOLFE

My nose quivered. Something smelled wonderful. I followed the scent through the crowded hall until I found myself standing next to the buffet table.

My sister Menolly and I had just stood beside our sister Camille as she married her third husband. Three—count ’em—three husbands. Simultaneously. Trillian had been decked out as the best goth groom ever, wearing black leather pants that matched the obsidian gleam of his skin, a black mesh tank, and a velvet cloak the color of blood.

Morio and Smoky were dressed in what they had worn to
their
wedding with Camille: Smoky was in his long white trench with a blue and gold vest, a pale blue button-down shirt, tight white jeans, and his ankle-length silver hair coiling around him like dancing serpents. Morio wore a red and gold kimono with a dress sword hanging from his side, and his hair rippled down his back.

And of course my sister looked good enough to eat, her raven hair glistening against her gossamer priestess robes, so sheer I could see her bra and panties through them. Now that she was an official priestess of the Moon Mother, she was expected to don ceremonial garb for most important occasions.

The four of them had gathered before Iris, who again presided, and together they underwent a variant of the Soul Symbiont ritual designed to bring Trillian into their fold. Menolly and I were wearing gowns—hers of black with shimmering crystals, mine of gold—and stood as witnesses again.

Now we were into the celebration part of the affair.

I glanced at the calendar on the wall. October 22, and we were well on our way to Samhain, the festival of the dead. It had been a month, almost to the day, since we’d unsuccessfully raided Stacia Bonecrusher’s safe house.

Thinking about Stacia forced me to face another thought, one I’d been trying to avoid. I glanced across the room at Chase Johnson. The detective was sitting at a table by himself, watching the celebration with a quizzical look on his face. Unable to help myself, I headed in his direction. He watched me approach, his expression carefully sliding into neutral. I took the chair opposite him.

“It’s a beautiful wedding.” I nervously played with the napkin resting on the table next to me. “Don’t you think?”

“Yes, lovely.” He blinked, long and slow, and I wondered what he was really thinking. “Camille seemed a little stressed, though. What’s up with that?” Even though his tone was normal, I knew there was nothing normal about Chase. Not anymore.

“Our father refused to attend the wedding. Not only does he disapprove of her marrying Trillian, but his official stance is that she’s turned her back on her duties for the Otherworld Intelligence Agency by becoming a priestess and agreeing to enter Aeval’s court. He refuses to condone her behavior by showing up, and the day she actually pledges under Aeval’s rule . . . I’m afraid of what’s going to happen.”

“Turned her back on her duties? That doesn’t seem fair, considering all she’s done for the OIA. I know Sephreh’s your father, but damn, that’s cold.” He sipped his champagne, sounding more himself than he had the entire past month.

I glanced at the fading scars on his hands. His body had healed remarkably fast from the deep knife wounds that had laced his skin and punctured several of his organs. But it would take a long, long time for him to heal from the potion that had saved his life. The Nectar of Life had torn his entire world apart and put it back together in a crazy new patchwork. Our relationship was on rocky ground, at best.

“When she promised to train under Morgaine, and
especially
when she agreed to dedicate herself to Aeval’s Dark Court, Father took it as a personal insult. But Camille doesn’t have a choice; she’s under direct order from the Moon Mother herself.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he said, fiddling with his glass.

“She did everything for us when our mother died, and without her, the family would have been ripped to shreds. Father was extremely cruel to her the last time they spoke, and I’m pissed off that he didn’t show today. Our cousin Shamas has been trying to fill the void, but it’s just not the same.”

“What did he say?” Chase played with his goblet. “By the way, will alcohol hurt me . . .
now
? I haven’t had a drink since before the accident.”

“No, you’ll be fine. You can still eat and drink anything you want. It’s not like you were turned into a vampire.” I stared at my hands. As loyal as I was to our father, I couldn’t blind myself to the truth. “At his last visit, things went from bad to worse. By the time he left, Camille was on the sofa, curled up in a ball, sobbing. Smoky came in at the point when Sephreh threatened to disinherit her. In turn, Smoky threatened to shift into his dragon self and crisp our father.”

“Crap. The fallout from that can’t be good.”

“Things were at a standstill until Menolly stepped in, told Father to go home and Smoky to chill. But definitely
Not Pretty
. Not at all.”

“A mess, all the way around, then.” Chase morosely picked up his champagne flute and downed the last of the sparkling wine. “And so . . . here we sit.” He stared across the table at me, his gaze unreadable. “I don’t know what to say, Delilah. I don’t even have a clue on how to start.”

Part of me wanted to cry. Nothing seemed to be working out the way we hoped it would. The world had gone to hell in a handbasket for all of us. I blinked back my tears.

“How about you start by telling me how you’re doing? We’ve only talked three times in the past two weeks.” I didn’t mention that we’d barely kissed since he’d healed up and returned to duty.

Chase contemplated the question, looking at me through those limpid, soulful eyes. They’d only grown more luminous since he’d drunk the Nectar of Life. His aura had shifted. Some spark, some force I couldn’t put my finger on, was changing him.

“How can I answer that, when
I
don’t even know? What am I supposed to do? Jump up and shout, ‘
Rah rah
, now I’ll outlive everybody I’ve ever known in my life’?” He slammed the goblet on the table so hard it almost broke.

Stung, I blinked back the tears. “Giving you the Nectar of Life was the only option we had—unless you prefer the thought of dying.”

Shifting in his seat, Chase let out a long sigh. “Yeah, I know. I know. And believe me, I am grateful. But damn, this stuff does a number on your head. It’s more than the realization that I’m going to live a thousand years. There’s something . . . nebulous . . . about it. The nectar ripped open a part of me—I feel exposed, unable to put the pieces back together again. And I’m afraid to look too deeply at what’s happening.” He slowly reached out and took my hand.

I stared at him for a moment, but he remained silent. Both Camille and Chase had come through the autumn equinox worn and weary, covered with blood. Camille had bathed in the blood of the black unicorn as she sealed a fate with which the Moon Mother challenged her: sacrificing the horned beast to his phoenixlike destiny while on the Hunt of her life. And then she’d been thrown under the wheels of Aeval, and would soon be forced to descend into the realms once ruled by the ancient Unseelie Queen.

And Chase . . . no less life-shaking. He’d been bathed in his own blood and was now—by human terms—practically immortal.

“Whenever you’re ready to talk about it—”

“What? You’ll play shrink to the mutant?” He shot me a nasty look.

“
No.
I’ll listen
.
As your
girlfriend
.” I stared at him, the virulence of his anger rankling me. “Chase, this isn’t fair. We’d planned on you drinking the nectar anyway, and now you sound like you’re blaming me for what’s happened.”

“I know! And I’m sorry—I don’t mean to. But you told me that the ritual required preparation, and now I understand why. I’m
not human
anymore. I don’t know who—or
what—
I am. A thousand fucking years to look forward to, and
I have no idea what to do with them
.”

Fed up and too tired to deal with his angst as well as my own, I pushed back my chair. “I guess . . . it’s hard for me to understand what you’re going through. I’m trying—I really am. But until you can figure it out, you don’t seem to need me around.”

“Wait! It’s just . . . oh hell, I don’t know what to say.” He slumped back in his chair. “I want to say that everything’s okay. I feel like I should be thinking that wow—now my girlfriend and I can be together for centuries. But Delilah . . . I have to tell you the truth. I don’t know if I’m ready for that kind of commitment now that the opportunity is actually here.”

The tears stung behind my eyes, but I blinked them back. “It would seem that Sharah is doing a better job taking care of you than I am.”

The elfin medic who worked alongside Chase in the Faerie-Human Crime Scene Investigations unit had been overseeing his care as the potion worked its way through his system, changing every cell, altering his very DNA.

Chase snorted. “Maybe that’s because she’s
not
taking care of me. Sharah is offering me advice, but she’s not coddling me or treating me like some freak who needs kid glove handling.” A look of pain crossed his face, and he dropped his head to his hands and rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Delilah. I love you, I really do, but right now I’m no good to either one of us.”

My stomach churning, I sat on the edge of my chair again. “Yeah, I know you feel that way. But Chase, please, don’t shut me out.”

“I need to be on my own for a bit. To think about things. Besides, Camille needs you more than I do now. Her life’s a mess, too. And Henry . . . poor Henry doesn’t even have a life anymore. Go enjoy the party. Be there for your sister. She deserves the support. And if you meet somebody and you
want
them, I won’t ask questions.”

I tried to protest, but he shook his head and, feeling abruptly shoved out of the nest, I scurried toward the door, biting the tears back. Chase was right about one thing: our friend Henry Jeffries had fared worst of all. He’d been working in Camille’s bookshop—the Indigo Crescent—when the demons broke in. They killed him and blew up a good part of the shop in order to warn us off. We still hadn’t gotten the smell of smoke out of the walls.

As I neared the door, a voice echoed from behind me.

“Delilah, you okay?”

When I turned, I saw Vanzir, the lanky dream chaser demon bound to my sisters and me. Over the past seven months, we’d slowly been forging a friendship. Menolly and Vanzir hung out a lot. Vanzir and I talked from time to time. Camille kept her distance, but she was growing less leery of him as the weeks wore on.

Vanzir’s eyes whirled, a kaleidoscope of colors without any names. His David Bowie goblin-king hair was spiked and platinum, and he looked uncomfortable out of his leather pants and ripped tank. But he made the tux and tails work.

I shrugged and said, “I guess.”

“
You guess
, my ass. What’s wrong? You sense anything wrong out there? Demons?” Vanzir leaned against the wall in front of me, giving me the once-over. I realized he didn’t have a clue as to what was bothering me.