1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Palmer Rev 1

Name: Kyra Palmer Genre: YA Urban Fantasy Title: Hunting Legends Fastest way to a guy’s heart is a bullet between the third and fourth rib. Knife works too, but it’s slower, messier, and requires close range. I don’t need either to be lethal on sight. As the Venator squad dead on the ground in front of me just learned. Phantoms of their dying heartbeats echo inside me like a gnawing ache in my chest. It leaves a bitter aftertaste in my mouth like blood and ash. They didn’t go quietly. Fog hangs low like lost souls wandering the deserted streets of the French Quarter ruins. Humans should know better than to hunt the supernatural in our own territory. The Dead Zone originated here and belongs to Legends, “monsters” like me. Valravns circle overhead, cawing, fifteen-foot raven wings casting wraith-like shadows. Their skull faces gleam white in the moonlight, eye sockets empty, beaks sharp enough to cut stone. The undead birds won’t descend until the bodies are cold. I crouch beside the nearest corpse and set off the distress signal clipped to the tactical vest. A red light blinks, the homing beacon activated. Now I won’t have to track down the second squad, they’ll come straight to me. Within ten minutes, I spot the other squad creeping down the road toward my trap, glowing neon green through my night vision goggles. If they see me, they’re dead, which is my intention and my orders. “Final target sighted,” I whisper in my comm to my partner. “Azrielle, wait to engage,” Knox says, smooth voice filtering through the comm’s static. Even when he isn’t using his encantado charm, there’s something about the way he speaks that compels a desire to obey. Not sure if it’s an encantado thing or a Knox thing. I crouch to wait behind the husk of a toppled red and yellow streetcar at the intersection of Canal and Bourbon Street. Jagged metal curls away from the vehicle’s side as if something clawed its way out. Debris, grime, and overgrown foliage cover the evidence of violence from ten years ago when the birthplace of jazz was silenced. When our worlds bled together without warning and people realized the myths and stories are true. When Legends became reality. Humans say they won the “war” that followed. They merely survived better, but we’re not extinct yet. I fight because I’ve never had any other choice. But after tonight I’m out. This is my last mission. I eliminate the two squads foolish enough to invade this forsaken metropolis and my service debt—or rather my dead father’s—will be fulfilled. Drop a few more bodies and I’m done. Free. No more Shade and their self-righteous crusade of honorable intentions that lead straight to the graveyard. Tomorrow I’ll fly far away where no one can use me again. Preferably somewhere cold. Maybe northern Greenland. I wish I could convince my partner to quit too. The valravns drift lower. Careful not to touch the streetcar, I stand up. Knox is taking too long. “Can I move in?” I whisper through my comm. “The Venators are covering ground fast. I need to do something before they go after the valravns.” “I’m not done yet,” he grunts, words choppy like he’s out of breath. My fingers drum on my leg, knees bouncing. I can’t signal the valravns to flee nor count on their help. They might even attack me if they think I’m after their meat. Like many Legends, they don’t understand the threat of humans and need Shade’s protection. Humans can work together. They have armies, hospitals, and governments. Law and order. We don’t. No one’s ever survived telling a dragon what to do. The valravns hover closer, cawing softer. The Venators notice, raising their guns higher. “Knox, if I don’t intervene, they’ll start shooting.” “So stall the Venators.” His smirk is audible. “Seriously?” I hiss, so not amused. “If this is so you can flirt with a nymph again—” “I wish that were the problem.” Concern drowns my irritation. “Do you need me?” “No, hold your position. I found a rougarou who isn’t interested in leaving.” “You found a what?” He sighs as if I should know every one of the thousands of different types of Legends. “A rougarou, they’re like werewolves. He keeps growling at me. I don’t think he trusts my human form, but I can’t shift here.” He pauses, tone darker. “He’s a toddler. Bet he was bitten recently.” And abandoned once his parents realized he wasn’t human anymore. My teeth grind. I’m surprised he’s alive. Maybe they tried to kill him and failed. Like my mother did to me. “Can’t you charm him to follow you?” I edge out from my cover of the streetcar. “Tried. He’s scared and starving. Instinct is overriding my control of his mind. We can’t risk him smelling blood and getting drawn into the fight. He won’t be able to resist the impulse.” I hate playing decoy, but Knox needs time. “Get him to the patrol boat.” “Edon. I’m calling him Edon.” Of course Knox named him. Even without one, Knox would still get attached. His whole identity revolves around defending Legends. With that kind of loyalty entrenched in his soul, he’ll never leave Shade. It’s as noble and admirable as it is stupid. He’ll die for it one day. Fists curled, I grit my teeth to restrain myself from bringing up old arguments. Losing again will only hurt. “Fine. Get Edon to safety. If you hear screaming, don’t worry, it’s me.” I switch on instrumental music through my other earpiece. Drums, piano, guitar, violin—rock versions of classical scores, background music just loud enough to help me detach. So I can pretend not to feel the pain I inflict on others with every life I take. Death is never peaceful. The cawing stops. Time’s up. I need the Venator’s attention now. Running across the street, I scream like I’m being chased and hurtle over the low ledge of a blown out window display, hunker down, and wait for the enemy to find me. The concrete floor is charred black save for the silhouettes of four people. One is a child. I scoot away from the small handprint. Boots pounding the asphalt warn me of the Venators’ approach and I pretend to startle the instant they enter my field of view—two of them with weapons pointed at me. Not the whole squad like I wanted. I’ll have to make more noise to lure in the rest. “Identify yourself,” one says. He smells of fresh blood that isn’t human, which means there was a Legend nearby we failed to save. The guilt smothers me worse than the humidity. “Samantha Winchester,” I lie, standing slowly with my hands up. “She’s young,” says the other, ignoring my warning. “High school unit?” “We’re too far out in the Dead Zone for that. What are you doing here?” asks the first. “I lost my sister, Deana,” I let my voice crack. “We got separated hunting a cockatrice.” “We’re on the move,” Knox says in my comm. “I’m carrying him. He’s unconscious. Try not to spill any blood or he might wake.” Good. Playing with the kill first is dangerous. I’d rather finish them quick. The second Venator removes his mask, eyes narrowed at me in scrutiny as he comes too close. “If you saw a cockatrice, you’d be dead.” He gestures for me to show my face. I comply and look straight him. “I’m immune.” ReplyForward