I now have a plot and more written to my still untitled fantasy I started Sunday.
Quick plot: Sarcastic bad-ass Cym Aerwyna is a bounty-hunter witch who willingly agrees to find a man named Alex Baruch who is the key to locating the fountain of youth for a blood-thirsty treasure hunter named Edgar Kakios.
I edited this a little and added more... ENJOY!
CHAPTER ONE
Moonlight spilled out over the sleepy village as if from an overturned paint can. It poured across chipped cobblestone alleys and cracked winding asphalt streets. Windows glittered with splashed up light and brush strokes of luminescent gray covered the concrete walls of squat identical houses and taller buildings as some of them sagged and crumbled. Errant droplets dotted the rooftops made of terracotta--many missing shingles-- in silver efflorescence. The moonlight painted on an ethereal glow to the very few cars that lined the streets and the bicycles sat tied against many racks and poles. Between the racks stood scraggly trees with most of their leaves gone.
Stars blanketed the cloudless inky sky. One could make out most of the constellations without a telescope.
The air sat still in the hushed darkness but sent a chill over everything just the same. It smelled of fresh rain and melted snow.
Bushes housed the various glowing eyes of night creatures as they foraged and the day creatures huddled up to conserve warmth. A group of crows took flight as something disturbed their slumber.
Cym Aerwyna sprinted through a side alley as her fire-engine red hair whipped behind her away from her pink tinged pale face. Adrenaline spread through her veins and her heart kept time with her feet but did not race. Her breath slid in and out of her rose colored lips with measured swiftness and plumed smoke into the cold. Cym's bright blue eyes flitted around in high alert taking in every nuance of her surroundings in rapid succession as she moved. They noted every vehicle and every alley, searching for places one could hide. A black boned bodice cinched at her small waist and touched the top of a pair of black denim shorts. Thigh-high charcoal boots with silver buckles down the sides expertly guided her in silence. The long silver chain that carried the little globe of light and protection on a Celtic cross felt cold tucked inside against the upper part of her flat stomach Two daggers in wrist sheaths, two more at her hips and a 9mm Beretta in a side holster gave Cym a heavy sense of calm and security. Billowing behind her-- and used for covering her weaponry-- was a black trench coat which hid pouches of powders and various stones for spells. Cym kept prepared.
CHAPTER TWO
Cym was not being chased, but rather was the pursuer. As a bounty-hunter, she got paid to hunt all manner of creatures: goblins, werewolves, faeries, trolls, other witches and warlocks and half-breed mongrels. Vampires were beyond the scope of her talents and many of them were her contacts. A half-breed goblin was on the books tonight. Easy and quick.
She leaped over a fallen trash can, vaulted off the side of a house, and up onto the roof with graceful dexterity. Dust rained down in her wake, but her ascent made no noise. Cym bounded across this roof and jumped over the open space to the next one. In the space of five minutes, she made it across three more roofs and was about to hop over to the fourth when she spotted her quarry down behind a large trash can. Idiot.
The man with a blond braid and eerie green eyes let out a strangled cry when she landed behind him with her Beretta against the nape of his neck.
“Shut up and hold still.” Her voice sounded very authoritative even with the musical lilt.
The man froze in place and even stilled his breath. Goblin half-breeds were good at holding their breath.
She stood with her feet shoulder-width apart and her right arm straight as she held the gun still. Her left arm hung loose at her side, but itching in preparation to grab a pouch or stone as needed. “Get up slowly and drop any weapons that won’t blow us all to hell.” Cym’s ex-partner Garret Wolf taught her she needed to add that second part of the line when he got his left arm and left foot blown off. Goblins didn’t always care if they died and half-breeds were too stupid to think ahead.
The half-breed dropped three daggers and a small intricately decorated poison dart blower he pulled out of various places in his black tunic and slim ebony pants.
“Packing light?” She shoved the gun deeper into the back of his neck until the half-breed winced.
He huffed and pulled out another blade from his hair that was so thin anyone else would have to squint to see it, a bag of stones that clinked when he set it down, and a garrote from one of his shiny onyx boots.
“That’s better.” She smirked to herself. Cym would rather bring in her quarry alive and get paid the full bounty than kill them and only get half. She would also much prefer to live mostly scar free.
Cym put her right knee into the center of his back and pushed him to the floor. She put all her weight on him. For such a small person, she had a solid build. “Hold still.” She rapped him on the back of his head with the butt of her gun and he went out. She knew he wouldn’t be unconscious long because goblins brains recovered quickly, so she quickly cuffed him with regular metal cuffs. She pulled out a red velvet pouch and reached in to grab some of the powder inside to sprinkle over the cuffs. “Bind him tight to prevent his flight and let only me set him free. So mote it be.” She whispered as she let the powder fall. She stood up as the half-breed moaned. “Done.” She said as she tapped an invisible spot on her collar. She put away the pouch and stood.
Three minutes later a stealth helicopter whirred overhead and sent down a giant claw on a bendable metal arm that picked up the half-breed and whisked him up inside.
Cym laughed to herself as the helicopter sped away. Those things always made her think of claw games.
“Report back to HQ at 0800 to receive payment.” The voice in her ear spoke in a computer animated woman’s voice. There wasn’t really a “HQ” it was just a code used to fool anyone listening. Sometime in the night a mechanical crow would land on her windowsill with a scroll in its beak with the meeting place. If it found her not home, it would hide the tiny scroll somewhere on her property before flying away. It had plenty of hiding places in her sprawling acreage. Cym had never met her handler. This person just assigned her tasks through scroll or encrypted transmission and although she could refuse jobs, as long as the money was right, she usually didn’t.
Tonight Cym felt restless. Her body and mind ached for something more. More what? Cym didn’t know. She turned to the wall behind her and fished out a white stone from one of her pockets and used it to draw a rough sketch of a door. She put the stone back and then put her left hand to the center of the door. A mumbled incantation in an ancient language fell from her lips. The edges of the door released a blinding light and then dimmed as she pushed it in. Cym stepped from the sleepy village night into the daylight of the faerie black market.
