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Author
Bio. Loretta
Janssen attended She has four
children, one psycho horse, a cat named Night and currently lives in CHAPTER ONE
can
never forget the touch of the demon. My name is Jacqui West, I am a bounty
hunter and I specialize in bringing supernatural monsters to justice. I have
seen them in all their terrifying reality. They are savage in their brutality,
vicious in the pursuit of their needs and selfish in their unholy desires. Do
they possess a soul – a conscience…?
*
*
*
Eyes gleamed at me with deadly amusement. Their gaze was swimming and
swarming all around me. Watching me. Tormenting me. The colour of blood stared
back at me. Whispers threaded into my head – into my mind. Taunting me,
haunting me.
The light touch on my arm had me reacting instinctively, reaching for my
gun. Nothing. No weapons of any description.
What… Where…?
I sank back into my seat. The flight attendant was eyeing me nervously,
so I summon up a weak smile, hoping to assure her of my sanity. After a lurid
dream I tended to look – well – a little frazzled. My mind had determined
reality, but my emotions were still caught up within the nightmare. There were
no preternatural creatures out to get me – at least not yet. I was on my way
home, 35,000 feet above the earth.
Maybe napping hadn’t been such a good idea, I mused with dark humour.
The touchdown at Tullamarine went smoothly. Even the checkout and
retrieval of my luggage went more efficiently than normal. Everything was going
my way. Great. I was licensed to bring weapons into the country, but not on my
person. They were locked in a special compartment. Generally speaking getting
security to release them caused all sorts of frustrating delays. Today the
scanning of my license was enough. Alleluia!
With efficient and well-practised moves I slid my guns home. The P-9C
went in a holster on my left and the Smith and Wesson on my right. My silver
knife, I secured to my left ankle. Strapped to my right ankle was a fighting
knife, consisting predominantly of iron. Ready for any rogue fairies I might
encounter.
My luggage was little more than a large overnighter and no problem to
cart around on public transport. In this case a bus. Nobody raised their
eyebrows or looked askance at me. I figured that meant my weapons were properly
concealed.
There were two choices of seats. One seat was beside a large man who
snored loudly, spittle drooling from the corner of his mouth. The other seat was
next to a punk with purple hair. I chose the punk. He looked tough and mean,
rather like a pit-bull terrier, with pox mark scars on his face. He couldn’t
have been more than twenty, yet his eyes told a different story. The story of a
kid who had seen too much and done whatever was necessary to survive. He looked
nastily at me as I sat down beside him. I ignored him to settle lazily back into
the seat.
We’d just left the airport I figured I was relatively safe. Of course I
could be wrong. Airport security was tight, so unless he was a cop or special
agent, it was unlikely he’d have any weapons. Maybe. Hopefully. Ah shit, how
certain was I? He shifted menacingly in his seat. With deliberate distain my
eyes drifted shut.
“Take the other seat cunt bitch,” his raspy voice sounded.
I opened my eyes and eyeballed him insolently.
“No.”
Calmly I closed my eyes once more. It was all for show. I was as tense
and ready as the infamous rattlesnake. A whoosh of air alerted me. His hand shot
out. I was faster. After all I was a monster hunter. He was fast for a human,
slow for a lycanthrope. I forcefully rammed his hand away, using a double chop.
It dropped uselessly into his lap. I had deliberately hit nerves, rendering his
arm unproductive for some time to come. His other hand came up to cradle it,
eyes wide with shock. This was the critical moment. Was he smart enough to let
it be? I had my doubts. After all, a man’s dick and his ego were as closely
related as a plum and its pip.
“Man that was some move. Where’d ya learn it?”
It was my turn to be surprised. I looked at him more closely and noticed
for the first time the intelligence that blazed out of his deep-set, dark green
eyes. Teach me to pre-judge. You’d think after all the years I had hunted
creatures that could pass for harmless humans, I’d know better. The ragged
jeans, tight black muscle shirt, topped with battered old leather jacket, and
studs pierced through his left eyebrow, bottom lip, nose, tongue, and chin, not
to mention his ears which were overloaded with earrings. Yeah it was an
effective disguise. You didn’t expect intelligence from someone who had the
appearance of a moron.
We settled into a rather colourful conversation, which passed the time
nicely. It also brought me up to date with the underbelly of
It was only later I wished I’d gotten the kid’s name so I could
question him more closely. Little regrets. Let’s hope this one doesn’t turn
into a big regret.
I jumped off at
I was directed to the homicide department and arrived early for my
appointment. The case must be of paramount importance as I was ushered in
immediately.
“Ms West.” Chief Inspector Ward Turnbull held out his large, square,
callous hand that assured me he was more than a desk jockey. He had a firm no
nonsense handshake, which went well with his rather formidable appearance. Just
a hunch, but I was betting appearances were not deceiving in this instance. No,
this was no pussycat. He was a large man, though if he had an ounce of spare fat
on him anywhere, I would strip naked in the middle of Bourke Street Mall. He
must have been at least six-seven, with wide shoulders, thickset arms and a
broad chest. He looked neither magnanimous nor munificent.
He had a square lined face which bordered on ugly, wary silver cop eyes,
crooked nose that had been busted more than once (this was a guess on my part)
and black hair, lined liberally with silver. I was aware he had recently turned
forty, young for his position, but his appearance was of a man ten years older.
His cop eyes watched me suspiciously, measuring me against whatever
yardstick he used. Our take on each other lasted only seconds before he gestured
for me to sit.
Something had been bothering me, and in the interest of finding answers I
launched into speech; “Excuse me Chief Inspector Turnbull, but I find myself
wondering how you came by my name. I’m not listed anywhere.”
“Ms West, you can imagine my astonishment when I came across this case.
With no previous experience to fall back on, I went hunting for information.
This led me to Craig Stellar a friend of yours, who heads up a taskforce dealing
solely with supernatural creatures in the
“Hmm, maybe I need to have a little chat with Craig.
Ah well, I’m here now, so what can I do for you?”
“Would you mind if I tape this conversation for future reference?”
“Go ahead.”
Ward reached over and clicked on a small tape recorder, which was almost
lost from sight under a mountain of paperwork.
“These monsters or whatever the heck they are, keep killing people –
right across the city. I want to know everything about them. What they eat. What
they drink. How often they piss.”
I raised my eyebrows slightly, but made no comment.
He continued. “I need to know where I can find them and most
importantly how I can kill them.”
“Tough questions with no easy answers. Have you put together a
taskforce yet?”
“Yeah. At the moment we’re chasing our own fucking tails. Pardon the
language.” He shoved his large hands through his already messed up hair.
I shrugged unconcerned, what was a little bad language when dealing with
inhuman monsters. I was more worried about the problems facing us. My gaze
wandered – damn this was one ugly office with its murky grey walls, sparse
utilitarian furniture and revolting hard chairs.
“It’s not so simple Chief Inspector.”
“For God’s sake, call me Ward.”
“Sure. Likewise, call me Jacqui. Ward, you can’t treat supernatural
creatures in the same way you treat humans. In the first place, catching them
requires different strategies. Second, we go in to kill, not to apprehend.”
Ward flung out his arms in agitation. He knocked over his coffee mug,
spilling the murky slosh, which resided at the bottom. “Yeah, it took me five
murders before realizing I needed outside help. That’s why you’re here.”
“Hmm.” My eyes watched the journey the spilt coffee took. The liquid
twisted this way and that over the scarred desk, staining paperwork, which was
flung haphazardly over its surface. “How about we start with what you have. As
your expert consultant the more I know about your cases, the greater chance I
have of narrowing down the type of creature involved. If I know what killed the
victims I should hopefully know what will kill it.”
“Jesus! Just how many creatures are there? And what exactly do you mean
by saying you should hopefully know what will kill it?”
“To answer your first question – too bloody many. As for what will
kill it, well – silver bullets will fatally wound the newly dead with a head
or heart shot. It will not however, eliminate the older or more powerful
vampires. Staking will do the job so long as you take the head, but unless you
know the daytime resting place of the vampire… Hell, it’s pretty hard going
when you have one coming straight at you – ready to tear your throat out.”
“Great! Just fucking great! Things can’t get much bloody weirder. I
mean, look. Here you stand before me – a jade-eyed enchantress with hair
blacker than the darkest night, pale milky skin, soft gentle face with lush sexy
lips... For all intensive purposes you could pass for a porno movie star, and
yet you’re actually a monster hunter. You don’t look tough enough to slay a
damn blowfly, much less a vampire.” Ward shook his head, weary frustration
etched on his lined face.
“I think this is where I’m supposed to say I’m tougher than I look.
If it helps I’ll give you some background. I have a third-degree black belt in
Tae Kwon Do, can wield a knife with accuracy and dexterity, and rarely miss with
a firearm. More importantly, I know the monsters in their many disguises.”
“Yeah, Craig rattled off your many and varied skills. He forgot to
mention you’re bloody beautiful, which could cause problems with my men.
Hell!” He paused, looking a little bemused. “Take a look at these and tell
me what you think.”
I choose to ignore his ‘beautiful’ comment and focus on the task at
hand. Ward handed me a thick folder I assumed contained the details of the
torture-murder of five victims.
For a brief second I thought of refusing. Not looking at all. Just
standing up and walking out. I didn’t want more nightmares. No! I didn’t
need more nightmares. I had more than my fair share already, thank you very
much. I sighed quietly to myself, before reluctantly opening the file.
The eight by ten photo screamed out at me. The sheer agony written over
the victim’s face, spoke louder than mere words. The pain had to have been
astronomical. I had witnessed many deaths, starting with the brutal slaughter of
my own family when I was barely sixteen. It truly never got any easier. It
should though. At least I wished it would.
She was lying naked, obscenely spread open to show off the vulnerable
folds of her genitalia. She had been totally depilated. The lack of all body
hair, even on her head, struck a chord deep within me. They had left her
nothing. No crowning glory. No hair to hide her private parts. Just open and so
sorely abused. The anger started so quietly inside me I was barely aware of it.
Her left wrist had been severed, leaving behind a mutilated stump with
bone gleaming out the end. Her right wrist showed evidence of deep burn marks.
Rope tied too tight? Rope the victim had fought against.
Her limbs hung loosely, barely connected to her trunk. The force needed
to rip the sockets clean away, leaving behind shreds of tendon, as the only mean
of connection was inhuman. Unless of course they had hung her from a large hook
like a side of beef, and weighed her down with heavy weights. This, maybe, could
have been done by human hands, but oh God, not the rest.
Vampire bites befouled her body. In this case several vampires enjoyed
tearing into her, as documented by the varying distances between the fang marks.
Large vicious claws had gouged her breast, leaving behind strips of bloody
flesh, interspersed with yellow fat. Burn marks covered her body – reminding
me of the marks a red-hot poker would leave.
Her throat had been sliced neatly. The only neat wound on the body. I was
pretty safe in concluding this was the cause of death.
“Was most of this done post mortem?”
Ward shook his head and said in a husky voice, “They were alive through
it all.”
Don’t think of them as people, don’t think they were once alive, had
families – still had families who would grieve. It took a real effort to
control my breathing and force myself to look at the photos.
Jesus! She would have been way past the stage of begging for her life.
No, she would have been begging for death. Over and over and over. Begging until
her voice went hoarse and then gave out altogether. I have a very vivid and
graphic imagination – a curse more often than not.
I reached hesitantly for the second photo, which eerily followed the
pattern of the first victim, with one exception. The claw marks were deeper and
longer. In addition, the bites were more ruthless and greater in number. There
were five victims in all. By the fifth – her stomach as well as her breasts
had been mauled, until it was nothing but a hideous mess. Her intestines spilled
out of her stomach like fat, pork sausages.
The vampire bites covered her body in a vile and degrading manner. No
respect was accorded the victim. Normally a vampire pierced a vein to feed. To
violate a human in this perverse way was a deliberate attempt to reduce the
human to an inferior species. The monsters that tortured and dishonoured their
prey and, played their morbid games with the living flesh of human beings, were
nothing less then perverted, barbaric beasts. Sometimes where vampires were
concerned, I didn’t believe there was much difference between torture and
games.
Why was it getting worse with each victim? Were they losing control?
Perhaps hiding something? Or was it a deliberate taunt, showing us what they
were capable of? Ridiculing us. Daring us to stop them, believing we’re
ineffective and incompetent. Useless and helpless, there for their pleasure and
amusement.
The monsters had started functioning together. This followed the trend in
other countries, where vampires, lycanthropes, black witches, fairies and other
types of supernatural beasties worked in unison. This was only one aspect, which
made them a force to be reckoned with.
The victims ranged in age and body type. There was however, a common
denominator. It was always the left hand, which was severed above the wrist.
I glanced over at Ward. “Were all the victims left handed?”
“Yeah. I have grave doubts it’s simply a coincidence, but damned if I
know the significance.”
“Witches. In some way witches are involved. In certain ways these
deaths mimic those, which occurred back in the 16th century. Back then the left
hand was considered the hand of the devil. On that line of thought, I have to
wonder if the victims were practising witches. If it weren’t for the vampire
bites and claw marks I would say we were looking at human fanatics who believe
anything to do with witchcraft is evil and punishable by death.”
“According to our analysis, none of the victims were involved in any
weird shit. Victim number three, Amanda Wainscroft is the wife of a member of
parliament. Doubtful she would risk her husband’s career to play at being a
witch.”
“You have a valid point Ward. Then again she may have seen herself
beyond the reach of public censure, or if involved in anything illegal, beyond
the reach of the law. After all, an MP would have political clout. Still, I am
more inclined to think we are dealing with black witches. The method of killing
could simply be their version of a life for a life, an eye for an eye. What was
done to them back in the 16th century can be done to humans as payback. The sins
of the father and blood will tell. Children should pay for their fathers’
sins. Blah, blah, blah. Maybe not humans, but fanatics nonetheless.”
“Hang on, Jacqui. So we’re looking for a bunch of black witches.
Okay, but that still doesn’t explain the claw marks or vampire bites.”
“These days the monsters are working together. So we’re looking for
at least one black witch, a group of vampires and one or more lycanthropes.
Without viewing the bodies I can’t identify the type of lycanthrope
involved.”
“Lycanthrope? Doesn’t that mean a werewolf?”
“Amongst others.”
“More details please. I wasn’t aware there was more than one type of
lycanthrope.”
“You can be infected by many strains. It’s like a virus. You can
catch a cold by breathing in the germs of someone who has one. Yet it is not a
forgone conclusion you will catch the cold. Well, to become a lycanthrope you
have to be up close and personal with the teeth or claws of one in animal form.
Even then, it’s not automatic you’ll be howling, growling, hissing or
screeching at the next full moon. Also some strains are more easily transmitted,
like the fox, rat, and wolf. While the big cats like your tiger, leopard, and
lion can prove more difficult. The good news is, silver bullets – hitting a
vital organ, will take out a lycanthrope. The bad news is – cops aren’t
issued silver bullets. Even worse for your guys is the fact they won’t
recognise a lycanthrope from a human until it’s too late.”
Ward nodded, his face becoming glummer, but he ploughed on. “What about
black witches and vampires? What do we need to kill them?”
“Black witches can be taken out with bullets of any sort. However, you
have to be really careful they don’t place a curse on you before they die. The
key to destroying the more powerful vampires is fire or sunlight. Vampires are
very combustible creatures. Unfortunately, I don’t carry sunlight around in my
pocket.”
“Dammit!” Ward stood up and strode over to the window. “How are we
meant to police such creatures?”
“One step at a time. We have to find them first. Then we can worry
about destroying them. Can I photocopy this file and take it with me?”
“That’s your copy, take it. When can I expect more answers?”
“As soon as I have them.” I reached over and switched off the tape
recorder. I wanted the next part of our conversation ‘off the record’. “I
need something from the crime scene Ward. Either something from the victim or
the murderer.”
“Why?”
“Ward, when I hunt monsters I often go beyond standard police
procedure. In this case I need an item to take to a touch clairvoyant. A friend
of mine.”
“Christ! Before this case came up I didn’t believe in any of that
shit. Even now I find it hard to give it any credit.”
“It’s real. I’ve learnt to accept and use it. Sure beats the
alternative, which is letting the monsters win.”
He shook his head before striding back to his desk. He took out a clear
plastic pouch from his top drawer.
“This is against department regulations, so please make sure, whatever
you take is returned to me personally, as soon as you’ve finished with it.”
I took the pouch from him and tipped the contents onto his desk. It
saddened me to see five women reduced to this pathetic pile of bits and pieces.
I sorted through the objects before choosing a silver charm bracelet. This I
gently inserted into the folder containing the files.
“Got a number I can contact you on, Jacqui? If, or more likely when
there is another murder scene, I’ll call you. You can come and check it out,
after everyone else is finished.”
He passed me a pen and I jotted down a number I could be contacted on at
any time. It was listed under another name and only accessible by voice mail.
This was only one of the many precautions I used to keep my identity a secret. I
held the file under my coat, smiled my goodbye and turned and left his office,
my thoughts in turmoil.
I became aware of wolf whistles whilst exiting the homicide department. A
cop to my left was putting on a rather theatrical show.
“Be still my beating heart, you’re pulsating too fast. I’m headed
for a heart attack. Could it be? Yes – I think I’m in love. Come let’s run
away together gorgeous lady. You can be my princess. Our destiny has been
preordained. I’ll provide you with every luxury you could possibly dream
of.”
“With what?” I retorted dryly. “Police salaries – correct me if
I’m wrong – are lousy.” Cops were amazing. All they see and do and they
still manage to retain a sense of humour. I threw him a sexy smile. “Besides
honey you’re way too young and sweet for me. I’d gobble you up in one
bite.”
He clutched his shirt in the vicinity of his heart and gave me a cheeky
grin. “Ah baby, it would be worth it to have you beside me in my bed.”
I shook my head in amusement, feeling more light-hearted and sauntered
out of the homicide department, making my way towards the front desk. The click
of my weapons as they slid home was music to my ears. I tended to feel naked
without them. Due I am sure to the many varied and nasty creatures I have come
in contact with. Either that or it showed a bad dependency on weaponry. Click on the cart below to purchase this book:
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