Kate Whitaker's Blog

This is a series of short stories, detailing the adventures of Chelsea Childling. You can start with her origin story or pick something from the index.
***

Rita’s haunt sat full as the dusk rolled towards dawn. More monster hunters trickled in as their fights finished. Some looking to get paid, some looking to get drunk. Chelsea was looking to get going. She just had to wait until Rita had some time to talk.

So she waited at her favorite table, tucked away in the corner. She liked watching people as much as she hated being in a crowd. When a chair scraped the floor beside her, she turned, ready to do battle for her ability to sit alone.

All annoyance fled as she looked into deep brown eyes under unruly dark curls. “Morgan!” She flung herself at her former hunting partner. “I thought you were out of town.”

Morgan squeezed her back. “I was. Just got in.”

“You missed a fairy hunt with Bart and George.”

Morgan chuckled and joined Chelsea at the table. “That’s a damn shame.”

“So where were you?”

“Ohio.” The answer was short and hot.

Chelsea nodded. Morgan had family in Ohio. “So… not a good trip, then?”

Eyes searching the ceiling, Morgan took some time answering. “I finally came out to my mom.” Chelsea grabbed Morgan’s hand, but said nothing. Eventually, Morgan started talking. “Of course, I’m ‘confused’, and fell in with a bad crowd here. They are encouraging my ‘delusions of gender.’”

“And the monster hunting?”

“Yeah…” Morgan took a took a drink of beer. “Didn’t even try to get into that with her. She already thinks I’m crazy cause I’m trans.”

A sympathetic chuckle rose in Chelsea. “I never told Sister Mary Clarence either, for about the same reason.”

“Really?” The intrigue in Morgan’s voice was enough for Chelsea.

“Yup. I had a history, suicide attempt, depression, anxiety, stay at a mental hospital. I was not about to say anything about real monsters.”

Morgan sighed. “Yeah, I can see that being a significant factor.” They drank in silence for a while. Finally, Morgan rubbed at tired eyes. “I just, that thing with my mom… I’m so accepted here. Like nobody, and I mean nobody bats an eye at me. I want gender neutral pronouns, cool. I want to change those to specific pronouns, no big deal. Not one person has asked about surgery, or–”

Chelsea waited, but Morgan seemed to be done with words. “You find a new partner yet?”

A shrug set dark curls to dancing. “Bart and George mostly. I mean, people are cool, but I know them. Even if Bart does switch up using male to female to gender neutral on me.”

“Really?” Chelsea tried not to laugh, but Morgan’s smile meant she mostly failed.

“Yeah, he’s not all clear if I’m male-to-female or female-to-male, and honestly, I think it’s legit because he could not care less. He’s just happy to have a young hunter listening to him.”

Chelsea waved a hand at her former partner, indicating the baggy, nondescript clothes, and messy bobbed hair. “It’s not like you help in that department.”

A glint of anger ignited in Morgan’s dark eyes. “Good. It’s nobody’s fucking business, and I’ll let them know when I’m ready for it to be.”

Unable to stop herself, Chelsea stood and threw her arms around Morgan. “Damn right.” She sat back down. “Though, to be honest, I think it’s good you feel safe here. Safe enough to demand pronouns, anyway.” She sipped at her beer. “Which ones you using these days?”

“As of this weekend, back to gender neutral.” Morgan frowned at the ceiling. “After talking to Mom, I kinda want the safety of uncertainty.”

“Cool. I think I might be weirded out thinking of you as–”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “I am.”

“I know.” Chelsea touched her chest. “That’s my issue. Not yours. You present yourself a certain way, and that’s how you are, to me. You’re just… Morgan.”

Tears rose in Morgan’s eyes, but none fell. “That’s… Like I know who I want to be, but that’s not all that I am. I never, ever wanted to be defined by my body. I don’t see how or why that has to change just because I’m changing my body. I really don’t see how my gender matters to anybody who isn’t me.”

She clinked her beer against Morgan’s. “It never mattered to me, and still doesn’t. Or to Bart, like literally.”

Morgan found a weak smile. “Or to George or Rita or Jim.”

“Jim?”

The smile faltered completely. “My old partner, Rita’s grandson.”

Once more, she waited in silence. Morgan hated talking almost as much as Chelsea did, but sometimes, you had to help your partner get stuff off their chest. Even if you didn’t hunt together anymore.

Morgan picked at the red and black label on the beer. “My dad, he was killed. A reaver.” Morgan sucked in a deep breath. “And, of course, nobody believed me when I said it was a vampire. I thought I was going insane. But then I met Jim. He was hunting reavers, not that I knew it, but he believed me.” Chelsea waited for Morgan to finish draining the bottle. “And not just about the monster. He believed in me, in who I knew I was and wanted to be. He didn’t just let me be me, he encouraged it. He took me to the clinic to get meds, he…”

“He loved you.” It hurt to say, given her current situation with Jackson and Amber.

Morgan finally wiped at overflowing eyes. “Yeah, he loved me. It was an amazing few months, best in my life. And then those fucking melon-heads…”

They sat in mutual silence for a few moments, then Chelsea grabbed their empties and headed for the bar. Morgan seemed to appreciate being left alone.

Rita herself came to take Chelsea’s bottles, a long, grey braid hanging over one shoulder. “Been trying to git over to ya’. Helluva night though.”

“I figured.”

“I got a job fer ya. Out in Missouri.”

She nodded. “Great. Text me the details. I want to spend some time with Morgan.”

Rita broke into a wide grin. “Morgan, huh? Well, if ya need a place to stay fer a few days, so you can see Morgan, I can help ya out.”

“And the job?”

“Can wait until yer done.”

Chelsea leaned on the bar. “Why you old busy-body.”

“Who you callin’ old, girlie?”

“The busy-body playing match-maker.”

Rita snorted. “Yeah, I’m nebby, and Morgan is one a’ mine, who doesn’t smile much unless yer around.”

“I have enough relationship issues on my plate. Morgan doesn’t need to be added to them.”

“You ever find Amber?”

“Yup.”

Rita waited expectantly, but Chelsea felt zero desire to retell the tale. She bricked up the hole opening her chest and met Rita’s green laser gaze with open hostility.

The old bartender snorted and pulled out two fresh bottles from the cooler. “Next round is on me. And I’ll git you that info once we slow down a bit.”

“Thanks.” Chelsea gestured with full hands. “For the beer and the job. And taking care of Morgan.”

“Oh, I’ll alway take care a’ Morgan. Fer m’grandson. But who’s gonna take care a’ you, girlie?”

“Guess I’m gonna learn to take of myself.” She shrugged and headed for Morgan, fully intending to enjoy her time with her friend.

***

Keep the Adventure Going

Any donations would be appreciated!

$1.00

This is a series of short stories, detailing the adventures of Chelsea Childling. You can start with her origin story or pick something from the index.
***

A damp wind rolled off the river and rustled the fringe on Chelsea’s duster as she studied the art installation at the bottom of the stairs. A garden of sorts, encased in painted concrete, but there were few plants. Instead, there was… a mish-mash of color and spectacle. She couldn’t quite focus on any one thing. Everywhere she looked, more… stuff was crammed into walls and shelves and hanging from the trellis at the bottom on the stairs.

A group of Santas caught her eye, and she shuddered at a memory. “I’ve seen something like this before, in Nevada.”

One of her partners-for-tonight grinned. George wasn’t quite old enough to be her grandfather, but he was definitely older than her father. His gray hair and stooped shoulders belied a wiry strength and solid quarter decade of hunting experience. He was also good at teaching without making her feel bad about her lack of knowledge. He waved at the rainbow painted buildings around the garden. “There’s something about some spots. They draw a certain person. Some of them can control it, like here. It’s bright and eclectic, but beautiful. You want to stay here.” He eyed her. “The place in Nevada?”

She fought down goosebumps. “There was a beauty to it, but it was raw and it made me feel… exposed.”

He nodded. “Don’t know why it is, but these places exist. They move too. Sometimes, you’ll come across an old one. It’ll be crammed full of… things, like this, but you don’t feel anything.” He studied the visual cacophony below them. “This is one is huge, and it draws people. This here is the heart of it, but well…” He gestured towards the street. This neighborhood was famous in Pittsburgh for its colorful buildings and outdoor artwork.

She’d skipped this specific spot on her tour of the place because of all the people. “And our fairies?”

George gave a rueful nod. “Yeah, hidden down there.”

She sighed. “And I bet their glamour means they can look like anything, huh?”

“Not at all.” He tapped her shoulder. “That was a smart guess, though. Just as much trouble. These look like typical fairies, tiny, pretty, winged women. And there are more than a few such fairy statues and whatnot down there.”

“Why are they always women?”

George laughed. “Because we expect them to be women. This is a glamour. It’s meant to get past our defenses. If we thought of men as fairies, these little fuckers would look like men, too.”

A perverse desire to paint nothing but male fairies for the rest of her life flowed through and out of her with her breath. “And how are we keeping the tourists away?”

“Rita’s kin have a blockade set up, roadwork. All legal, even.”

Chelsea shook her head. “Maybe I should move here.”

George chuckled. “You and Bentley can crash with me if you need to.”

Her mutt perked up at his name and stretched to his feet. He nosed his enormous head under her hand, and another question came to her. “So I know we have the nets, but the mermaids, the ocean fairies, were poisonous–”

“Venomous.” A yellowed smile met her ire. “Technically, they’re venomous.”

Some part of her wanted to be annoyed, but George’s easy manner smothered annoyance. “Are these poi… venomous too?”

“Yes.” He studied the aesthetic madness below. “Like we said back at the bar, winged, flying spiders. Guess we forgot to mention the barbs that shoot a paralyzing agent that can stop your heart. And there’s at least five of them down there.” He rolled his eyes and snorted. “Some idiot wanted ‘real fairies’ for his daughter.”

“That’s so… stupid.”

“And yet, it happens every few months.” George leaned against the railing. “Rita keeps cracking down on the bastards, but someone else always pops up ready to sell real monsters.”

Bart huffed up to them, a little out of breath, long, greasy, grey hair tucked behind his ears. “Okay, we got the last few buildings evacuated. If anybody dies now, it’s on them.”

George snorted a laugh and gathered their supplies. He handed out the heavy duty-looking nets and instructions. “Deal with one at a time as much as possible. Net it, get it to the ground, use that hatchet.” George mimed catching a butterfly, and snapped his net to the ground. He stamped a foot on the net. “You’ll destroy your net, and the edge of your blade, but we have extra of both down there already.” He nodded to Bentley. “He still fight with you?”

“Unfortunately.” She gripped the loose skin at the dog’s neck. “Don’t worry about Bent.”

The two older hunters exchanged looks and shrugs before starting their prefight check. Chelsea did the same. Her knife was secure and her boots tied tight. She hesitated before deciding to keep her coat on. Roomy, thick leather, and basically a second-skin at this point. It was very nearly armor, but it was also black against the rainbow madness around them.

Bart started the generator. It growled to life, flooding the subterranean space even in the setting sun. Chelsea grabbed a few nets and headed down the stairs with Bentley.

The old hunters had planned well. The bright lights nearly rendered the space mundane in their sterility. The rainbow cacophony had been muted. Shadows were minimal. Chelsea walked around, getting a feel for the space. Much of the floor had cleared, well, hastily pushed aside, leaving a large t-shaped place to fight.

Movement from the trellis froze her even as Bentley growled. Chelsea dropped all but one net. She barely heard the others hit the ground. All her focus was overhead. The floor of the garden had been cleared, but everything else was crammed full, including the trellis. Musical instruments and fake flowers were the most normal things up there.

Bart’s voice intruded. “What you see?”

“Nothing yet.” A breeze seemed to ruffle the fake vegetation above her, except no fringe moved on her jacket. “There’s something up there.”

Bart and George eased up beside her, their net held at the ready. The three of them were so focused on the trellis overhead that they missed Bentley, stalking to the right. His snarl broke Chelsea’s concentration. There was no thought behind her action. Before Bentley could growl again, she was at his side, ax out, eyes focused on beyond his pointing snout. On a metal latticed table danced a tiny, winged woman. Just like with the mermaids, Chelsea felt a moment’s pang of wanting, but Bentley’s upright fur banished it. She swung her net, but caught only air.

Luckily, Bart stood right behind her, easily capturing the fairy. He snapped his net to the ground, and she followed it, already swinging her ax. She barely winced as the blade hit the concrete. Her ax was a gift, custom made for her left-handed grip. She hoped repairing the blade wouldn’t be too expensive.

The little woman’s head fell off, and the glamour disappeared. The giant spidery thing left in its place oozed something purple on to the concrete.

One down.

She spun around, eyes searching for fairies. Bart grabbed a new net as George dispatched a second fairy, leaving only a monster.

Three left.

Bentley prowled by her side, his low growl never ceasing. He jerked his head towards a wooden sign, where a life-size picture of the garden’s owner waved. Chelsea swung her ax on instinct. Wood splintered, and a fairy buzzed away.

Bart seemed to teleport to her side in only two casual steps, his net lazily swimming in the air over the fairy, and trapping to the ground. Chelsea chopped it in half.

Two.

A bubbling giggle came from above her. Heart in her ears, Chelsea waved her net overhead, not even looking. The slight weight and tug told her finally managed to catch a fairy. She slammed her net to the ground. George’s ax appeared and sliced through monster and net with only a whisper of air.

One.

She glanced towards Bentley, but the big mutt sat, scratching at his ear. Confused, Chelsea turned to Bart and George. Bart had the final fairy on the ground already, and George stood over it, purple goo dripping from his blade.

Suddenly exhausted, Chelsea flopped on the ground beside Bentley. “See, this is why we work with professionals.”

***

Keep the Adventure Going

Any donations would be appreciated

$1.00

This is a series of short stories, detailing the adventures of Chelsea Childling. You can start with her origin story or pick something from the index.
***

This is a series of short stories, detailing the adventures of Chelsea Childling. You can start with her origin story or pick something from the index.
***

The day dawned cold and wet, again. Chelsea stared out at the greatest city in the country, if not the world, and felt the noose tighten around her neck. “I fucking hate New York.”

Bentley whimpered at her feet. The huge mutt roused himself and leaned against her legs.

She scratched at his ears. “Yeah, it’s time to get going.”

The salty goodness of bacon floated in from down the hall, but it roused no appetite. There was a confrontation coming, and she knew it.

The kitchen sat full today. Andy’s crew of monster hunters had just finished cleaning up after a hunt. They tore into pancakes and bacon in silence, staring at the walls in a familiar fugue.

Andy filled in for them. The man never stopped talking as he delivered fresh food and kept glasses full. His smile invited her to the table, and the crew quickly made a place.

Chelsea shook her head, but took the plate from Andy. She leaned against the door frame, nibbling on her bacon. Bentley settled himself under the table, ready to snap up any crumb that fell.

Andy never paused his talking and serving, but she caught his searching looks. He knew something was up. So she set her plate down and charged forward. “It’s been great ya’ll, but I’m heading out.”

The crew immediately took their feet. She was hugged and several of them traded phone numbers. Eventually, they finished their food, cleaned the kitchen, and left her and Andy alone.

He sipped on his coffee. “Where you off to?”

“Not sure yet, but I need wide open spaces. Might be headed back to South Dakota.”

“And Amber?”

She forced back the tears. “She has my number, and she’s hunting again. I’m more likely to find her on the road than stuck here.”

“Stuck?” A single eyebrow raised at her.

“I hate this city. Always have.”

He chuckled. “I can’t imagine being anywhere else.” Rising to his feet, he grabbed a travel mug out of the cupboard. “We never got you that electrified hatchet. I’ll call you when it’s ready. And you got me hooked on this stupid west coffee, so I might as well send you off with some.”

She pressed herself into his back and squeezed as hard as she could. “I love you and I’ll miss you. And I wish you’d come with me, but I know you’d hate living out of my car.”

“At least you get the situation.” He squeezed her hands for a minute. “But you always have a place to crash, and if Amber surfaces, I’m on your side.” He prepared her coffee perfectly, as he had every time he’d made anything for her. He handed her the mug and kissed her forehead. “Now, get out before we both start crying. I have a reputation to maintain as the leader.”

It still took most of an hour to leave. She blamed it on finding the last of her things, but truly, she’d never unpacked after leaving Amber’s.

Still, the sun was high and bright before the city disappeared from her rear-view mirror. She had no direction except west, so when a car accident sent her further south into Pennsylvania to avoid to traffic and the whim to return to Pittsburgh came over her, she gave in without thought.

Dusk had come and gone when she pulled into the parking lot behind Rita’s. The cooks on break gave her a funny look as she got out, and she wondered if Rita’s permission to park there stood. Still, parking was murder in this city, so she left Bentley in her car and headed around to the front door. Rita had specified she was never to use the kitchen entrance.

She bounced on her toes as she pressed the button on the speaker. “Hey, Mike, I need a beer and a job.”

The door buzzed open before she finished talking and Mike swooped her into a bear hug as soon as it shut. “How have you been?”

She managed a laugh. “Fucking stressed out on people.”

“So you came to the bar?”

Chelsea shrugged. “This is people I know, not random weirdos in New York.”

He laughed and waved her towards the bar. “Morgan is out of town on a job, but I bet Nana can help you out.”

A wave of melancholy came with Morgan’s name. She hadn’t thought about her former partner until now, but it would have been nice. “Thanks for the head’s up.”

This early in the evening, the bar was quiet, but the few people there had a distinct studiousness to them. Given the relative lack of drinking, they were likely planning ahead for tonight or even the day after.

Mike’s grandmother stood at the giant U of the bar, lazer green eyes taking in her domain. She cracked a smile as Chelsea sat down. “What can I do fer ya, girlie?”

Chelsea shrugged. “Just looking for gas money.”

Rita studied her for a moment, smile fading. “Gas money to where?”

“Away.” She resolutely shoved all thoughts of Amber and the last few weeks to the back of her mind. “Maybe South Dakota.”

Rita stared at the ceiling as she nodded. “You ever been to the deep desert?”

“Northern Nevada.”

A head shake sent Rita’s long silver braid over her shoulder and she focused her eyes onto Chelsea. “Nah, girlie, the deep desert. Route 66 and Las Vegas, Death Valley and all that, n’at.”

“No.” A spark of interest lit in her chest. “My dad was very into Route 66 and the reasons behind it. He always wanted to drive it.”

“Well, you can’t, not anymore, not really.” Rita handed Chelsea a red and black labeled bottle of local beer. “Most of it is gone. They got new roads and new attractions. Now, there’s a few places where the old road still exists and fewer spots connected to it hanging on. And those spots need help, and hunters.”

“Really?”

“Yup. While the old road is mostly gone, the basic route is still there; Chicago to Santa Monica. And thousands drive it and somma them visit those spots as they have for several generations. Mostly they are out of the way now, hard to find, and not well populated or patrolled.”

For the first time in days, Chelsea smiled. “And monsters follow their food source. Especially to out of the way places.”

Rita’s return grin felt feral in the dim light of the bar. “’Xactly. And them folks out there always need a hand. And they let dogs inside.”

Chelsea chuckled and took a sip of beer. “So where should I head to first?”

“Tell ya what.” Rita nodded to a table with no beers, but several plates of fries and wings as well as two familiar faces. “Ya help George and Bart with their fairy problem and I’ll make a few calls, get some names and leads for ya.”

Chelsea shot the old lady a look as her suspicion took over. “Why are you helping me again? I think I owe you a favor, if we’re being honest.”

“I ain’t helpin’ you.” Rita chuckled. “I’m helpin’ m’friends, Bart and George here, and them folks along the Route I know. Like I said, they always need an extra hand or two.”

“Yeah, okay.” She didn’t buy it, but it seemed the old lady wouldn’t expect anything else in exchange for her help.

Chelsea grabbed her beer and stood. “Thanks for the leads.” She wandered over the table and plopped down by Bart.

He tucked a hunk of greasy grey hair behind an ear. “Tell me yer here to help.”

“So fairies?” She sipped at her beer as Bart and George gave a high five over the table, and started asking about where’d she’d been. It was good to be back in Pittsburgh.
***

Keep the Adventure Going!

Any donations would be appreciated

$1.00

This is a series of short stories, detailing the adventures of Chelsea Childling. You can start with her origin story or pick something from the index.
***

Laughter roused Chelsea from sleep. She made sure she had pants on before stumbling out to the single room of the apartment, her dog on her heels.

Andy lounged on the couch, eye liner immaculate as always. “The sleeping ginger rises. Aurora Dawn and shit.”

Chelsea rubbed at her eyes and raised a middle finger with her other hand as Bentley bounded over to him for pets.

“Eloquent as always, I see.”

Amber laughed from the kitchen area. “I ordered dinner.”

“I thought you were making Bai Sach Chrouk.” Chelsea flounced over to the couch and snuggled up next to Andy.

“You almost said that right. And I was, but then I made an appointment with a tattoo artist.” Amber waved a hand at a series of torn pages on the wall. Each had a different version of an abstract image, irregular shapes made of soft curves and hard edges.

“Wait.” Chelsea sat up. “We’ve got that thing to look into, The Crying Lady.”

Andy looked between them. “You got a hunt without me?”

Amber shrugged. “I heard something at that shithole restaurant. I just didn’t act on it. Figured we could do some recon. See if there’s any there there.” She beamed at Chelsea. “You don’t need me for recon. You can sit in your car and talk to the dog. It’ll be like old times.”

“But…” Chelsea let her doubts out. “I wanted to be there when you got the tattoo.”

Amber giggled. “Oh, hell no. You’d drive the artist nuts. This man is my friend, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Who is it?” Andy sat up. “You can whisper it to me.”

“Like you won’t tell her how to get there as soon as I leave. I swear you like her more than me or Jackson.”

“She’s nicer.” Andy shrugged. “And most hunters don’t do theater, opera, and art. Ya’ll are hopelessly pedestrian bitches.” He snugged an arm around Chelsea. “Speaking of those bitches, the Met—”

“When?” Chelsea cut him off with a huge grin. “And I want my ‘I heart NYC’ t-shirt.”

He rolled his eyes. “And I just called the others pedestrian.”

Amber shrugged on a heavy black jacket and grabbed the pages off the wall. “I’ll leave you two to your banter.”

Chelsea bounced off the couch and pulled the other woman close. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“I’m just getting the outline.” Amber laughed and planted a quick kiss on her lips. “I’ll get it colored in later.”

“Still…” Chelsea snaked her fingers into Amber’s hair. “This is a first for me and I… I can’t wait.”

“You said that already.” Amber pulled away with a grin. “Get me some good info on that crying lady, okay? I’m going to come home and lay on my stomach until the burning stops.” She flashed a middle finger at Andy and scratched Bentley’s ears before heading out the door.

Andy stood and stretched. “How about we do the Met this weekend? It’s free, but if we go early, it shouldn’t be bad.”

“Sounds great. But for now, a stake out awaits me. Can you grab dinner while I shower?” Chelsea kissed him on the cheek before heading to the shower.

She and Andy shared the Chinese food, leaving some leftovers for Amber. Then she and Bentley headed for Central Park and Amber’s haunted apartment building.

She flitted between the subway station and the actual park, watching the beautiful old building. Amber said the crying ghost made random appearances, so Chelsea kept moving. Which was nice considering the night’s chill and continual autumn rains.

As the sun lightened the sky, Chelsea headed for her car. She hadn’t seen anything other than a security guard and homeless people in the park.

Heart hammering with anticipation, she hurried back to Brooklyn. There was a grumpy bitch with a tattoo to coo over.

Chelsea opened the door expecting pancakes or Bobor Kreung. Amber usually had breakfast ready when she came in for the night.

But no bubbling rice porridge or frying batter scented the apartment. Everything was still and silent. The leftovers from the night before sat greasy on the table.

A shiver of foreboding came over her as she rushed to the bedroom. The bed sat empty. Chelsea threw open the closet to all Amber’s clothes.

Fear shivering down her spine, she called Andy. As soon as he picked up her breathless voice wavered out, thin and weak. “Tell me she’s with you.”

Andy sighed. “I’ll be right over.”

Her stomach dropped and her knees gave out. As soon as she collapsed to the floor, Bentley rushed over. She wrapped her arms around his neck and fought for calming deep breaths.

She was still sitting there when Andy showed up. He hunkered down beside her. “I take it you never looked at the fridge.” He waved a piece of paper at her.

She shook her head. “Read it to me.”

He leaned his head on her shoulder and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to do this to you again, but I swear, it’s not the same. I love you. I do. And that’s the problem.

“Jackson will never believe it. I ruined that for myself. I’m not going to ruin anything else for you.

“Please, go be happy. And please believe that’s all I want for you and him. I’ll be okay. I have a mission and that’s all I’ve ever needed.” He wrapped his arms around her and Bentley. “She sent you on a snipe hunt. The crying lady is folklore with no legit sightings. I checked.”

She pulled away from him, anger tight in her chest. “If you had suspicions why didn’t you say something? I was out there for fucking hours.”

He leaned back on his hands. “Because I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. She was happy. I hadn’t seen her this happy… ever. Plenty of hunters check out urban legends, just in case.”

Her sudden anger grew into rage, and she threw herself to her feet. “I can’t believe her! This is bullshit!”

Bentley whimpered from her feet.

Chelsea took a deep breath. “I’m sorry Bent, but I’m not okay at the moment.” The raw need to move sent her to the front room. ““We were happy.” She paced off the distance between the door and the couch. “We had an opening with Jack”. Prowling back and forth, she tried to force everything to make sense. “All we needed was time. Why does she keep doing this?”

Andy sighed as he settled himself on the couch. “Some people don’t want to be happy. We don’t deserve it.”

She stopped, her anger poorly dammed behind curiosity. “We don’t?”

“Save your fishing expedition for another time. Deal with Amber right now.”

“Wish I could, but she took off on me. Again.”

“So you done with her then?”

“Who the fuck said that?”

His laughter was contagious and she found herself on the floor, clutching at her aching stomach, Bentley nearly in her lap. The tears came suddenly.

Andy was a warm and solid support, buffering her with Bentley. When she finally cried herself out, he helped her to her feet. “You can crash with me.”

She nodded. “For now.”

“Sure, for now.”
***

Keep the Adventure Going!

Any donation makes a huge difference

$1.00

This is a series of short stories, detailing the adventures of Chelsea Childling. You can start with her origin story or pick something from the index.
***

The streets were relatively empty, for New York anyway. Chelsea and Andy shivered in their hats and gloves in the wind off the river with only a handful of others.

They both studied the darkness between apartment buildings. The wet autumn had driven most of the denizens to warmer and drier spots. They’d paid for a hotel for the old woman they’d found here earlier in the night.

Chelsea sipped on her coffee with a grimace. “At least the rain stopped.”

He snorted a laugh. “Almost dry now. Footing will be sketchy as hell.”

More life giving warmth found its way to her belly. “How much longer do you think?”

A glance at his watch brought a shrug. “Official sunrise is in ten minutes. So any time now.”

She chugged the last of her coffee and started stretching.

Andy chuckled as he checked his weapons. “You fixing for a fight tonight?”

She froze and covered the moment by adjusting her axe. “Amber has been crying on and off since that call with Jackson.”

He rubbed at his eyes. “I see.”

“She won’t talk, though. She just cuddles Bentley and cries.”

“Is that why you left the bestest doggo home tonight?”

A chuckle relieved some of her tension. “Yeah, she needs him more than I do. And I hate when he fights monsters. I just can’t stop him from doing it.”

Shuffling from the darkness silenced both of them, but the skinny, feral cat ran away quickly when Chelsea started stretching again.

Andy put his hands in his pockets. “Have you tried talking about something other than Jackson?”
“Dinner. That’s it. She’ll talk about food.”

“At least she’s talking.” Andy sighed. “Probably doesn’t need to be said, but, like most hunters, she’s had a rough life.”

Chelsea grunted as there didn’t seem much to say to that. Instead, she focused on the darkness of the alley. Which is why she noticed the reaver a moment before Andy.

She’d hunted reavers before, with Andy, but these vampires were deadly on multiple levels. A bite would paralyze her, and if then she’d be a meal… or worse, another reaver.

She tugged on her hat, rolling it down her face and covering her neck. She adjusted the eye holes, pulled her ax, and waited. Beside her the hum of Andy’s telescoping staff announced he was also ready for the fight.

The vampire was sluggish with the sun rising as well as full from whatever it had eaten earlier. It trotted down the alley until it got to a service door.

“Motherfucker.” Andy’s breathy whisper barely penetrated her covered ears. “They’re lucky it hasn’t turned that whole building.”

They waited a few seconds before hurrying over to the door. Andy pushed it open with his staff, but the reaver was long gone.

Chelsea followed to the dank basement. The open door had let in the storm’s detritus. The puddles and leaves showed the reavers passing.

They headed past the boilers and garbage piles, weapons out and walking quiet. Andy spotted the small access panel that sat askew. He nudged it aside with his staff. The reaver slept, curled up, in the corner of the room beyond.

Andy nodded to her, and Chelsea charged. The added momentum of her few steps was nearly enough to let her decapitate the reaver. The vampire hissed and dropped, nearly flying to the door, her ax stuck in its neck.

The wet smack of Andy’s staff on the vampire’s head fell flat on her ears. The reaver, however, stumbled. Andy’s staff flashed silver as he spun it around. He slammed the end into the vampire’s forehead.
Chelsea darted over and yanked her ax from the reaver’s neck. It tried to hiss again, but the gaping wound stopped the sound.

Andy hit it in the head twice more before Chelsea could swing her ax. This time, she severed the spine. The reaver’s body rattled before it turned into dust.

Leaning on his staff, Andy pulled off his hood. “I got clean up and I’ll be by later with your cut.”

Chelsea pulled off her own hood. “Sounds good. Amber said she was making some kind of pork soup for dinner. I don’t remember the name.”

“I’ll find the proper wine, don’t worry.”

With a laugh, Chelsea headed for her car. The purple and red of sunrise had brightened to orange and gold as she headed up the stairs to Amber’s apartment.

Fresh pancakes sat on the table and Bentley sat, prim and proper, eying them by her favorite chair. Laughing, she scratched at his ears before settling down to breakfast.

Amber emerged from the bedroom in her server uniform. The black sheathe hugged ample curves and the ridiculously huge white lace collar only made it more obvious.

“Stop that.”

Chelsea laughed. “Stop what?”

“You’re as bad as Jackson with those looks.” By the end of the sentence, Amber’s face had gone pale. Like she hadn’t meant to speak out loud.

Change the subject. Something other than him.

“Have you thought about what medium you want for your picture?”

Wiping at her eyes, Amber still beamed at the pieces of paper taped to the wall. An abstract series of irregular shapes, done in black and white. “I’m thinking you need to do a fresh one, for my tattoo.”

“Tattoo?”

Amber turned the smile on Chelsea. “My whole back. Like you said.”

Tears rose in Chelsea’s eyes, and she found herself on her feet. Amber met her halfway around the table. The kisses were hot and desperate as they headed back to the bedroom.

As Chelsea tugged on the zipper at the back of the black dress, Amber giggled. “It’s a bitch.”

Chelsea tugged twice more before giggling herself. She disengaged from Amber’s greedy hands and turned the woman around. “How do you get this on by yourself?”

“With just a shit ton of aggravation.”

Laughing heartily now, Chelsea let go of the dress. “This is a sign. You have work soon.”

Amber groaned. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Chelsea reached up and lightly kissed those pouting, full lips. “I’ll still be here tonight.”

“I know.” Amber stepped close and pulled her tight. “Thanks for that. You… you’re just here and you don’t push me. You just let me be me. And I… thank you. Now, I have to do something.” She let go of Chelsea and headed for her purse.

Unsure, exactly, what was going on, Chelsea settled against the door frame. Amber pulled her phone out, took a deep breath, and called someone. “Hey, Kayla, it’s Amber. And I’m just letting you know that I quit, effective now. I won’t be in for my shift tonight. Have a great life. Also, these uniforms fucking suck.” She tossed the phone aside, before reaching up and pulling her dark hair out of its high ponytail. With a huge grin, she beamed over her shoulder at Chelsea. “One: get me the fuck out of this dress. Two: What are we hunting tonight?”

A year ago, I was quitting a job that literally made me physically and mentally ill to move across the country, on nothing but blind hope and faith.

Ten months ago, I was on an epic road trip, with nothing lined up but a job for my husband.

On that road trip, I would find a Big Blue Whale, actual donkeys, and a rental to live in when we got there.

Two months later, we bought a house, and a dog, and two kittens.

And now, I’m about to start a new job, and one that scratches so many of my itches. I’ll be working in a non-profit museum, learning to catalog, as well as tours, party planning, research, and community outreach.

However, what I haven’t had is much time for writing. And I’m not seeing much time opening up in the future. The summer is our busy season and I’m learning on the job.

I do have a back log of Chelsea stories, but not much of one. So, for the time being, we’re going back to the old format of one story a month. And we’re changing the date to the first Saturday of the month.

So next story is What Are We Hunting, Tonight? and it will release on June 4rd. And, hopefully, once I get settled, I’ll find the time to finish this story. We’re getting close to the end. Please hang in there.

This is a series of short stories, detailing the adventures of Chelsea Childling. You can start with her origin story or pick something from the index.
***

Chelsea settled on the couch, her sketchbook in hand. She had been drawing more lately, getting away from the camera. Her usual subject lay napping the sun. Bentley’s tail covered his nose as he slept, rendering the huge mutt into an adorable puddle of fur.

She lost herself in the stroke of pencil on paper and the living room around her fuzzed out of existence. There was only the scritching of her work and the subject in front of her.

A shift on the couch brought her back to herself with a smile. Amber leaned over, dark eyes greedy as they studied the paper. “You draw differently now.”

Chelsea chuckled. “I’m rusty. I got really into photography in South Dakota; just started sketching again recently.”

“Hmmm.” Amber leaned on her shoulder. “I want a drawing. I’ll pay for it.”

All the moisture left Chelsea’s mouth. “I might have something better.” She reached past the couch to her art bag and pulled out an old sketchbook. It took a few moments to find the section she wanted. A series of abstractions, similar in composition but each unique. A series of odd blobs, all soft curves punctuated by jagged edges, contained in an hourglass-esque shape.

Amber smiled. “You used to draw that all the time.”

“It’s you, or for you.” Chelsea shook her head. “I never told you, but the overall shape is your back, and the smaller shapes–”

Amber frowned as she took the book and sat back. She flipped between pages, studying various versions. “So like what, a tattoo?”

“Or something. I could paint it for you, I guess.” Chelsea smiled. “But it’s yours. For you. However you want it. I want you to have it.”

Some emotion creased Amber’s brow for a long moment. “What do you have going on tonight?”

“Nothing that I know of.”

“Good. It’s my day off and I want to do some cooking.”

In a short time, Chelsea found herself in a small store filled with produce and foodstuffs she’d never seen before. Amber waved to the elderly woman behind the counter and called out a greeting in a language Chelsea didn’t know before heading down an aisle of spices

“The only good thing about New York is that there are actual stores with Cambodian food.” She picked up a can and stared at it. “I’m just never sure if I’m making this stuff right.”

A thread of empathetic sorrow wove through Chelsea and she rested her chin on Amber’s shoulder. “At least you can cook. Dad made ramen and Mama only made a little layer cake. We had a cook.”

Amber laughed. “I still can’t believe you gave all that up to hunt.”

“They’re dead. There was nothing to give up.”

Amber snorted. “You were rich.”

“Still am. But they’re still gone.” She put her arms around Amber’s waist. “I sold a huge empty house that I always hated. But if you want something smaller, I’m down.”

Amber laughed and moved along the aisle. “That’s nice, but you’ll never be happy in a house now, if you ever would have been.”

“I dunno.” Chelsea laughed. “Keegan always said I was the most domesticated hunter he ever met. And Andy tamed me pretty easily this summer.”

“Oh, that man can cook.” Amber rolled her eyes. “And now that you’re addicted, he’ll never do it again.”

Once Amber had her spices and vegetables, they headed back home. Soon the apartment was alive with fragrances, Chelsea vaguely remembered. “You’ve made this before. It’s a soup, right?”

“Yes, but now I have access to the good stuff.”

Chelsea sketched as Amber made her soup. A knock on the door revealed Andy, wine bottle in hand. “I come with a booze offering of peace.”

Amber rolled her eyes. “You finally gonna get off my ass about hunting?”

“Cross my heart, you surly bitch.” He did so before grabbing glasses from the cabinet. “Dinner smells amazing. I hope my wine goes well with it.”

Their banter got sharper with the wine, but Chelsea bathed herself in the warm moment. Her last few months on the road had been lonely. The name on her ringing cell phone doused in her ice water.

For a moment, she nearly didn’t answer, but even she knew there was no more procrastination. “Hey Jack.”

Amber and Andy froze.

Jackson’s cheery voice floated out of the speaker. “Hello, my little nun. What have you been up to?”

Jesus, my Lord and savior, give my strength.

“I’m putting you on speaker, Jack. I’m with Andy and Amber.”

Amber’s eyes went wide and her face paled as Andy muttered and shook his head.

Jackson, however, sounded as light and carefree as always. “Hey everybody! Is there something big in the city? You need my help?”

“Not really.” Chelsea took a long drink of wine. “I’m…” She took another long drink. “Remember when I said that I wanted to be with you but that I needed time to work some things out?”

“Yeah.” Caution threaded his voice. “Chelsea, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but I’ve been doing that work because I do…” She sucked in a breath and tried to calm her thudding heart. “I really do love you.”

There was silence until Amber sniffed and wiped at her eyes.

Jack sucked in a deep breath. “I love you, too. So why the big announcement?”

“Because—” She coughed and took another long drink of wine. “Because I’m also in love with Amber.”

Andy let out a low whistle and drained his own glass. Amber studied the table.

After several heartbeats, Jackson cleared his throat. “Um… when- when did-”

Chelsea sighed. “A few months after you left, she needed a place to crash. Of course, I said yes.”

Jack’s mutter was dark and nearly lost in the speaker. “Of course.”

“And like I’ve said before, I took you at your word. You weren’t coming back. I moved on.” Chelsea grabbed Amber’s clammy hand and hung on. “And now I’m here, and I love both of you.”

“I see.” Jack took a deep breath. “And how does Amber feel about this?”

Amber pulled her hand away. “I don’t know, Jackson.” She stared at the phone on the table, face paling with each word. “I love you, but I know how you feel about me. And Chelsea…” She flashed dark eyes at Chelsea and then looked back at the phone. “She thinks we can work this out.”

Jack gave a bark of a laugh. “No, do you love her, too?”

Amber swallowed hard before pouring herself more wine. “I don’t deserve her for sure.”

“No.” Jack’s hard voice came as Chelsea’s stomach dropped. “Are you in love with her?”

Amber drank her wine, but couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Chelsea’s stomach flipped, but Andy’s rolling eyes calmed her nerves. His quiet conviction could be her faith for now.

“Fucking hell.” Jack’s voice got faster with every word. “This is… Chelsea, she’s using your feelings for her to get to me. And I’m not going to be a part of this. I never should have let her hunt with us back then.”

Andy stepped forward. “Jackson, my favorite lecherous leprechaun, you have a prejudice here.”

“Don’t start your shit. You could have stopped this before Chelsea got hurt more.” Actual anger, such as Chelsea, had never heard, shook Jackson’s voice. “If I thought for one second that I could trust Amber, I’d bother to finish listening to whatever Chelsea had to say. But I’m not going to hurt her again. Not for this.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry I got angry. Chelsea, I love you. I will call you soon.”

It took three tries to form words. “Okay, Jack.”

Anger shook his voice once more. “Be careful.” And with that, the call ended.

Chelsea sighed and held out her glass for more wine. “That could have been better.”

Andy refilled his glass. “He left the door open.”

“He did?” Amber scratched Bentley’s ears before wiping at her face.

“Yup.” Andy settled at the table between the two of them. “If you, Miss Bitch, can convince him that you are also really in love with our nun, he’ll listen to her proposal.”

Hope rose in Chelsea and she beamed at the room. She knew Amber loved her. It was just a matter of time and patience. “So, when is that soup ready?”

***

Keep the Adventure Going!

Any donations are a help

$1.00

This is a series of short stories, detailing the adventures of Chelsea Childling. You can start with her origin story or pick something from the index.
***

Chelsea grinned from the bed as Amber dressed for work. The server’s dress, a tightish black sheathe with cap sleeves and a stupidly huge lace collar, clung to the large woman.

Amber smirked at her. “I get great tips.”

“I bet.” Chelsea rolled on to her side and continued to drink in the sights. “Andy called while you were in the shower. Big job tonight.”

Dark eyes narrowed slightly. “And I have work.”

“I wasn’t asking for help. I was letting you know that Bent and I will be out late.”

At the mention of his name, the mutt lumbered into the bedroom. He butted Amber’s legs before hopping on the bed.

She frowned. “Sorry bud, I have to say no. I don’t mind you on the couch, but no dog hair in my bed.”

Bentley snorted and rolled his eyes before getting off the bed and laying on the floor.

Amber stared at him for a long moment. “Does he really understand?”

“From what I can tell, yes.” Chelsea hoped she didn’t sound too smug as she stood. Nobody believed her until Bentley did it to them. “I’m heading over to Andy’s now to get kitted up and filled in.”

Worry filled Amber’s eyes before she pulled Chelsea to her. The kiss was long and hard, full of desperation and things unsaid. When they finally broke apart, neither could quite catch their breath.

Amber leaned her head against Chelsea’s. “Stay alive.”

“Will do.” She kissed the tip of Amber’s nose. “C’mon Bent.”

She tried to reign in her grin as she marched into Andy’s, but given his raised eyebrows as she sat down, she had failed.

He reached for Bentley. “So, you getting your groove back, huh?”

“Who says I ever lost it?”

Andy snickered. “She’s not here helping us.”

Chelsea raised a middle finger. “Give her some more time. She’s still looking for the demon lord that killed her family. She focused, not giving up hunting.”

“So you did some talking around the grooving?”

She smirked at him. “Some.”

Andy chuckled. “Good for you. Now, on to tonight’s agenda. We have a banshee to take out.”

“A banshee? We just need some ear plugs, right?”

“Oh, so now you know about banshees?”

Heat filled her face. “Not really?”

“Then hold back your snark and listen. Most banshees are pretty harmless since they don’t actually kill with screams. This one, however, has been credibly seen at several suspicious deaths.”

“How do we kill it?”

“My, aren’t we blood thirsty?”

She grinned at him, showing more teeth than was friendly.

Andy chuckled again. “This is right up your alley. It’ll be a straight up brawl.”

“Then why are sitting here?” She pulled her ax, thankful once more that Rick insisted she learn from a sitting position. “I’m ready to go.”

Andy rolled his eyes as he stood and stretched. “I’m glad Jack isn’t here. You two together would be too much for me.”

Mention of Jackson killed her warm mood. She had to call him, to talk about Amber and sort out everything.

“Oh, did I rain on your parade?” His knowing look ate at her.

“I’ll call him tonight.”

Andy shrugged. “I didn’t mean it like that. You and Amber are still sorting stuff out. I get it.”

Chelsea swallowed. “I love him too. I do.”

“I know.” His voice came out soft and gentle as he studied her. “I hope it all works out, for everyone.”

“Thanks.” She shook her head and stood, resheathing her ax. “Let’s go fuck up a banshee.”

He directed her to a nicer neighborhood, though she had no idea what borough they were in when they got there. The hospital dominated the space behind it’s black iron fence.

They parked her car at the nearest garage and threw am unneeded collar and leash on Bentley. Andy lead them down the street to modestly tall apartment complexes, where they settled into the shadows between buildings, waiting.

Andy pulled out his phone. “This is the banshee.”

The picture was of an older woman, grey streaks in dark hair. The face was ordinary as was the jeans and blouse. Chelsea wasn’t sure she could pick the person out of a crowd.

Dusk faded into night as they waited. People came and went, but none where the banshee. It was well after midnight when she finally left the building.

Andy waved them forward, a slow amble that kept the banshee only a few feet in front of them. He rambed as they walked, talking about some bar that Chelsea wasn’t sure was real.

The banshee seemed unaware of them as she headed for the hospital. Andy continued his chatter but slightly sped up their pace.

They drew closer, step by step, Bentley’s nails clicking on the sidewalk, as they walked past the main entrance of the hospital and continued around the block. The back fence had an unlocked opening. The banshee headed for the gate.

Andy tugged at the fringe on Chelsea’s duster before streaking across the darkness. He snagged the banshee’s arm and slammed her into the wall.

Before Chelsea could do more than pull her ax, another body bowled into Andy and the banshee. Clad in dark colors, it blended into the night and made it hard to see exactly where the person was.

A tug on her wrist was all the warning she had before Bentley leapt into the fray. He landed on Andy’s assailant, tail wagging and tongue tugging at the person’s mask.

Andy scrambled to his feet and caught the banshee by the arms in a tight hold. “Who the fuck are you?”

A strangely familiar woman’s voice laughed, “Bentley?”

Andy shot Chelsea a look, but she only shrugged. The woman on the ground pushed the happy dog off her. “That you, Chelsea?” She pulled off her dark mask, revealing white-blonde hair and skin pale enough to match it.

Chelsea heart sank. “Yvonne?”

The tiny woman beamed. “You remembered.”

“You and your buddies almost got me killed. You tend to remember shit like that.”

Andy tightened his hold on the banshee. “Wanna fill me in?”

Chelsea glared at the little woman. “I worked with her and some of her friends out west. They don’t share information well.” She turned back to the the tiny blonde. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Yvonne giggled. “You were, and are, assaulting our informant.”

Chelsea shared another look with Andy before she shrugged. She didn’t like Yvonne or her friends, but they did hunt monsters. He reluctantly let the banshee go free.

Yvonne beamed at both of them. “Thanks. I hate hurting people.” The confidence her voice belied the fact that she stood inches shorter than Chelsea and maybe weighed as much as Bentley. She turned to the banshee. “It’s cool, Sioban. The old man is waiting for you inside.”

The banshee shot fearful looks at Chelsea and Andy before inching away. Within a few steps she was running into the building.

Chelsea folded her arms over her churning stomach. “Mind telling me what’s going on this time?”

Yvonne had the audacity to laugh. “Not gonna happen, but thanks for letting her go. And don’t worry about any rumors concerning this hospital, we’re on it.”

Chelsea rolled her eyes. “That’s not as reassuring as you think. And what if we hear something you don’t?”

Another giggle escaped the tiny woman before she pulled her dark hood over her bright hair. “If you really think you know something, hang out here at dusk. Someone will come and talk to you.” With that she darted off into the dark and disappeared.

Chelsea glared at her dog. “You are supposed to be a better judge of character than that. Those people are assholes we can’t trust.”

Bentley huffed a sigh before heading to the alley to take a piss.

“Seems he disagrees.” Andy sounded amused as he studied the hospital. “Any real idea who these people are?”

“Nope. Hedge doctors asked me to help them and it was a mess from beginning to end.”

Andy sighed. “Fucking hedge doctors. Well, anyway, we’re out a bounty tonight. Mind giving me a lift?”

She dropped Andy at his place and headed back to Amber’s with a fresh pizza. It had cooled by the time she got off her shift.

Amber laughed as she settled on the couch with a slice. “I thought you had a late tonight.”

Chelsea snuggled up to her. “I did but it fell through.”

Amber put an arm around her. “Lucky me.”

A odd sense of foreboding wiggled through Chelsea even as she relaxed into Amber. This would not end as easily as the hunt tonight had.

This is a series of short stories, detailing the adventures of Chelsea Childling. You can start with her origin story or pick something from the index.

***

The chill in the air was just enough to make fog when they spoke. Cloudlets of breath that lived and died from their conversation.

“And then she said she’d take care of Bentley and to get some sleep. And she asked if he could stay with her tonight. Maybe I should have pushed her, but…” Chelsea huddled in her fringed duster.

Andy shrugged, his eyes on the window they were supposed to be watching. “You probably did the right thing. Push too hard, too soon, and she’ll lock up completely. Look at how she treats me, and we were tight.”

“Why is she so mad at you?”

“I spent the first month she was here actively trying to get her to hunt. Now she takes any mention of the supernatural as a literal attack.” He leaned against the brick wall of the alley. “I still can’t believe she volunteered for that nightling hunt for you.”

Warmth flooded her, but it wasn’t embarrassment. “I hope it’s a good sign.”

Andy snorted. “You tell Jackson that you’re here on a mission to recruit Amber to your harem?”

Now her face heated with embarrassment. “It’s not a harem and no. I haven’t really talked to Amber yet. She wants to, though. At least she knows I came here to talk and offered to sit down and catch up.”

For the first time, Andy looked away from the window. Shock filled cat-lined eyes. “How did you manage that?”

She shrugged. “No idea.” The light went out above them. “It’s bedtime though.”

All conversation stopped as they waited. Brain leeches didn’t attack until their victims fell asleep, but repeated attacks left humans more tired in general. A vicious cycle.

Andy kept track, and at the thirty-minute mark they climbed the fire escape. Once they got to their target, there was only more waiting.

The dark behind the window never faltered, but slowly frost crept up the glass. Chelsea’s heart sped up, and she pulled her ax off her belt. Andy fiddled with the window for a moment, lifted it silently, and gestured to her.

She stared into the darkness. She could just make out a bed and the monster leaning over it. The darkness hid the insect-like mandibles and the proboscis. But she could hear the slurping.

She slipped into the room as quietly as possible. Leeches focused on feeding and could be walked up to if you were careful.

The vampire never noticed her until her blade chopped through the proboscis. Then it screamed and scrambled away.

Chelsea had fully adjusted to the dark now and followed. Her second swing caught it in the neck. The leech went down.

The third and final blow finished it off as Andy came through the door. “Well, that’s one way to do it.”

“So you have cleanup right?” She sheathed her ax. “When can I expect my cut?”

He laughed. “Get back to your dog and straighten out our Amber mess. I’ll stop by tomorrow with your cut.”

“Later.” She went back through the bedroom, barely checking to see if the victim was still breathing.

Her car sat on the other side of the alley and she almost didn’t need the GPS to find Amber’s place in Brooklyn. The woman herself was still up. Bright lights and Chinese take out warmed the apartment as Chelsea let herself in.

Amber sat in pajamas on the couch, Bentley eying her egg roll from beside her. “You’re back early.”

“Just a brain leech. I stuck Andy with the cleanup.”

Amber laughed. “Good for you. And ‘just’ a brain leech?”

Chelsea shucked off her duster and reached for her boots. “You have to let them start feeding. Sucks for the victim, but it is the easiest way.”

“And here I was worried you might be too soft-hearted to be a hunter.”

Chelsea settled on the other side of Bentley and grabbed an egg roll. “I mostly hunt on my own.”

Bentley’s head whipped around and he whined.

“I said ‘mostly’.”

The huge mutt huffed and leapt to the floor, his tail thwapping her in the face.

She batted it away. “Jerk.”

Amber burst into giggles. “So, he’s your partner these days?”

“Pretty much.” Chelsea examined her egg roll and plucked Bentley’s single hair off it before eating.

“And you just found him on the side of the road?”

A sudden sadness rolled over Chelsea. She hadn’t thought much about that time. “After…” She sucked in a deep breath. “After you left me, I– I didn’t have a plan or anything, I just couldn’t be there anymore. It was one thing too many.”

Amber swallowed but Chelsea talked over her. “I hit the road and ended up in South Dakota. And one day I was taking a picture of the prairie and he crawled out of it. He was a mess too. Matted fur and you could see ribs.” She held out a hand and Bentley rushed over for pets. “At first, I kept him out of hunts, but he kept coming to save me. Eventually, I had to accept it. It was give him up or give up hunting, and I wasn’t doing either.”

Bentley climbed back up on the couch. He licked Chelsea’s ear before snugging himself into a ball between them.

“You, uh, you spent time in the Dakotas, huh?” Amber kept her eyes on her food.

“Yeah, I met up with Keegan out there. We stayed near the Blind Bronco and hunted. It was a good time.”

Amber’s smile grew. “What is that shithead up to?”

Chelsea talked long into the night. She and Keegan had been together for months. Amber laughed and enjoyed the stories. She kept asking after hunts, which lead them to Washington state, and lamenting Chelsea’s adventure with the hedge doctors. “So, why did you come back?”

Here we go.

“After I healed up, I ran into Jackson, and well, things went like they always do with Jackson.”

Amber’s laugh didn’t seem bitter, but Chelsea didn’t buy it. So she told the absolute truth, the one she couldn’t tell Jack. “And while I was with him, I kept thinking about you. And… well, it took me awhile, but I realized that I want—”

Amber stood up. “Look, this isn’t going to work out how you want. He’s doesn’t want me, and I’m not willing to be a second place trophy.” She turned her back on Chelsea. “Like if he takes me just to be with you, I’ll hate you, forever.”

A chill ran down Chelsea’s spine. “And if we say fuck him? What if I want you more than him? What if—”

“You don’t.” Amber spun around, eyes dark with anger. “And even if you do, I don’t. I love him. You were… are a distraction.”

“Bullshit.” Chelsea found herself on her feet, eyes inches from Amber’s. “We were happy. You and I. We were happy. You ran away from it. I don’t get why, but it’s true.”

Rage narrowed Amber’s eyes as she leaned forward. “Happy? Who gives a shit about happy? I have a mission. I have to kill the bastard demon lord that killed my family. Jackson can at least help with that.”

Humiliation flooded Chelsea, and she stepped even closer. “I can help too!”

Amber froze for a second, confusion washing over her. “What?”

“You have a monster to kill? Sweet, let’s fucking end it. Why do we need Jack for that?”

All the blood left Amber’s face, and she stumbled to the couch. “What is with you? Like I’m objectively a shitty person, who set out to hurt you. Why are you doing this?”

Chelsea sat beside her. “I’m not about to judge someone. Well, not unless they are actively out to kill me. Not only would the nuns have shit to say about that, but I’m the queen of bad decisions. If there’s a shit option, that’s the one I’m going to choose.”

Laughter broke through Amber’s desperation. “Not making me feel better about this.”

Chelsea laughed with her and took a chance. She laid her head on Amber’s shoulder. The other woman sighed and put an arm around her. They sat like that for a while before Bentley settled on the floor in front of them.

Amber’s arm tightened around her. “So now what?”

Chelsea leaned into the woman. Amber felt exactly how she remembered, warm and soft, with that hard core underneath. “Now, I talk to Jack.”
***

Keep the Adventure Going!

Any donations would be appreciated.

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