1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Palmer

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.

Low fog hangs in the deserted streets of the French Quarter ruins like
lost souls. Behind me lies a copse of leshy I was seconds too late to
save. Shallow breaths shudder through my lungs, guilt smothering me
for not being fast enough. The gentle tree guardians didn’t deserve
this. Pine green blood with the consistency of sap pools around their
dead, broken bodies. Leaves on their branch limbs wilt and shrivel in
fast-forward, color fading to rot. In front of me is the Venator squad
who slaughtered the leshy. They’re dead now too. Phantoms of their
dying heartbeats echo inside me like a gnawing ache in my chest. They
didn’t go quietly.

These 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. They 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, a sign the homing beacon is 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 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 the Tutela
collapsed, our worlds bled together, and people realized all the old
myths and stories are real. When legends became reality.

Humans say they won the “war” that followed. They merely survived
better, but we’re not extinct yet. The hunt never ends. I want no part
of the carnage, but have never had a choice—until after tonight. 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 bloodshed. No more Shade and their self-righteous crusade of
noble intentions that lead straight to the graveyard. Tomorrow I can
fly somewhere far away and no one will use me ever 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 clearing this sector.

“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. 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. I’m betting 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.”

I hate playing decoy, but Knox needs time to get the rougarou out. We
can’t risk him smelling blood and getting drawn into the fight. He
won’t be able to resist the impulse.

“Get him to the patrol boat. The Shade agent there can help.”

“Edon. I’m calling him Edon.”

Name or not, 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.

“Fine. Get Edon to safety. If you hear screaming, don’t worry, it’s me.”

I switch on music through my other earpiece. No words, only
instruments—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 death I inflict on others. Everyone wonders
what dying is like. Not me. I experience it with every life I take. I
know my victim’s pain and I hate it. 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.
Standing slowly, empty hands up, I back away, faking out of breath.

“Identify yourself,” one says.

“Samantha Winchester,” I lie. “I’m looking for my sister, Deana. We
were hunting and got separated. There’s a cockatrice out here.”

“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 told you,” I let my voice crack. “I lost my sister.”

“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.