Magic Hunter (The Vampire's Mage #1)
C.N. Crawford
Chapter 1
A hard rain drenched Rosalind’s black clothes, plastering them to her body like a second skin. Despite the downpour, she pressed on over the pavement, skulking past the library. Her thoughts roiled through her mind like the dark storm clouds above.
She really wasn’t up for killing someone tonight.
Not someone, she reminded herself. Something.
Either way, she’d much rather be spending the night at one of the dorm parties—warm and dry, drinking cheap beer, flirting over red plastic cups. That was what most people did on a Friday night, right? Beer pong. DJs. Hook-ups with hot guys.
Sadly, none of that was an option tonight. Someone had to keep the demons from slaughtering Thorndike’s student body.
The new iron walls built around the campus had failed to keep the monsters at bay, and two students had been killed in the past month. And to make matters worse for her, personally, if Rosalind screwed up tonight’s mission she could kiss her life’s dream goodbye. No more demon-hunting for her.
She pulled a hawthorn stake from her belt, whispering the Brotherhood’s motto: “Lux in tenebris lucet.” Light shines in the darkness.
Though right now she could barely see through the pouring rain.
She couldn’t let the nasty weather stand in her way, though; she really didn’t want to lose this job. For one thing, as a member of the Brotherhood, she belonged to an ancient and noble tradition of Hunters: the protectors of humankind. Not to mention that she got really nice boots out of the deal, and the Brotherhood kept her well-supplied with money and lethal gadgets.
While checking over her shoulder, she almost tripped over a collection of votive candles. A few skittered across the pavement. She scanned the shadows to see if she’d attracted any attention, but nothing moved.
As she pressed on, she mentally cursed the students who left all that crap lying around campus—as if candles or pictures of angels could scare away demons. Superstitions were for the desperate, a way of giving the illusion of control—not that Rosalind was in a position to criticize. No one in the world could pry her lucky ring from her finger.
Stake in hand, she continued on, striding past Thorndike’s new mascot: a vampire effigy, sewn from black felt, impaled on a wooden stake. Some art students had thrown it together after a few local attacks, and the fabric sagged in the rain.
She hurried down a winding path, and thunder rumbled—almost as if nature wanted to ratchet up her nerves—like she wasn’t stressed out enough.
Tonight’s assignment wasn’t just a low-level goblin or a boggart, like the usual jobs she’d had in the past few years. She was supposed to eliminate a redcap, a powerful demon of the mountain goddess.
Rosalind wasn’t thrilled about the prospect. Redcaps couldn’t live without human blood, and this one had slaughtered two cashiers in the Somerville Market Basket just yesterday, gnawing through their guts while shoppers stared in horror over packaged cupcakes and Twix bars.
Even aside from the supermarket murders, she had a good reason to be nervous. She’d already screwed up two assignments—both vampires—and now her whole future was on the line. One more failure, and she’d be kicked out of the Brotherhood—set adrift in the world of ordinary people who relied on angel pictures for protection. And she was fairly certain a redcap wasn’t any easier to kill than a vamp.
She paused to survey the lawn, trying to get a sense of magic curling through the air. She let her body attune to the atmosphere’s vibrations. This part of hunting was her strength. Many people could feel magic’s frequencies, but Rosalind’s skills went further. She could actually see magic—and smell it, too.
An aura tickled her skin, raising goose bumps. As it moved around her in smooth, blue waves, she shivered. The magic carried the briny smell of the ocean. Not a redcap’s aura. Fascinating—but not my target.
She slipped into one of the alleys by the old theater, scanning the shadows. Her Guardian still hadn’t told her where to find the demon, but she had a pretty good idea. If she were a redcap, she’d be heading for one of the frat parties on Wendell Ave. If a demon wanted to feast on nubile flesh, the drunk college students at those parties would be an easy bet.
At the mouth of the alley, Rosalind tightened her fingers around the stake, knuckles whitening.
She should focus on the positive. If she succeeded in tonight’s task, she’d get her chalice—the pendant given to novices after their first big kill. But, after a string of failures, she couldn’t shake the cloud of dread hanging over her, and she was just starting to catch a glimpse of a burnt-orange aura curling through the air…