Chapter One

Also available:

Bite of the Gargoyle

by J.R. Rain

and H.P. Mallory

(read on for a sample)

I throw the bloodied rabbit carcass onto the table and watch as a few drops of blood fly off the unfortunate thing and soil the cleric's vest.

The woman sitting at the table (beside the cleric) screams, the cleric's mouth drops open and the third of their company, a round and blubbery man, glares at me.

"What the bloody ‘ell," he starts and stands up.

The man, whom I suppose is one of the cleric's parishioners, is quite fat and even more bald. He may or may not be a husband to the woman. Regardless, he has an inch or two on me in height and more than twenty inches in girth. Currently, his beady little eyes are doing a fine job of revealing his absolute ire. It's just a matter of seconds before those eyes stray down to my bust. Given the fact that my vest is a tad too tight and the mountains on my chest are a tad too big, I suppose I can't fault him for his obvious interest. Men—they are forever subject to the wiles of the snake living within their trousers.

"Girl!" the man of the faith bellows as he remains seated, but frowns before turning to face the barkeep, after apparently realizing I'm not about to remove my bleeding dinner from the table before him. For his part, the rabbit appears quite contentedly dead.

"We are supposed to meet someone important!" the woman cries, throwing her hands up, obviously perturbed to find the nearly severed rabbit's head facing her. It actually appears to be smiling. I imagine it's the only creature of the male persuasion to ever have smiled at the rather cantankerous woman, given the fact that she is very unimpressive to look at. Except for her chin hairs—those are impressive and plentiful!

"That's so! We are meeting someone important!" the bald fat man says, while insistently nodding. "You can't just leave that… that thing on the table!"

"You're meeting me ," I answer with little interest.

The cleric turns from attempting to wave down the barkeep and faces me again, his bushy eyebrows reaching for the thatched ceiling. He's one of those people you wouldn't be able to pick out in a crowd, other than his black and white ecclesiastical getup. Otherwise, his face is an expanse of bland nose, bland mouth, and even blander eyes.

"Meeting you ?" he drawls.

"She's quite daft," the woman says under her breath as she shakes her head.

"Yes, you're meeting me ." I try to conceal my smile but every time this situation repeats itself, I always find it to be humorous, and it repeats itself quite often.

"We most certainly are not!" the bald fat man bellows, agitating all three of his chins.

"We're meeting a… a Joe…" the cleric starts.

"Delevigne," I interrupt on a yawn. Because they're civilized townsfolk, I do cover my mouth.

All three of them pause—clearly, they don't know how to respond. So, I respond for them. "I could hardly have used my real name, Joanna, because then you never would have hired me."

"This is an outrage!" the fat man yells.

"Then this girl is… is Jo Delevigne ?" the woman asks her companions. Clearly, she isn't the sharpest tool in the shed.

" She most certainly is," I answer with a smile as I pull the chair out beside her (the one they'd presumably been saving for ‘Joe') and take a seat, placing my knee-high boots on the table before me. "Jo Delevigne, monster hunter, at your service." I would have bowed, but I'm now sitting so the moment has passed. I'll have to add that little theatrical bit next time I introduce myself to my bewildered employers.

"I don't… I don't understand how this is possible," the cleric hiccups and appears to be close to tears.

"She's a fraud!" the roundest of the three intones.

" She most certainly is not," I answer, sounding affronted. Then I turn to face the barkeep and waving at him, shout across the room, "One ale!" Then I point at the cleric. "On his tab!"

"How can a girl so young and small…" the woman starts, shaking her head again as she takes stock of me.

"It's simple," Baldy answers. "She's a liar."

At the three words I find most detestable, I drop my feet to the ground, kick my chair out (which shrieks against the wood floors), and jump up as the woman screams again and both men gasp.

"Call me a liar again, Baldo, and you'll find your socks wedged so far down your throat, you'll shit them out."

"He… he didn't mean it," the cleric says nervously. He reminds me of the rabbit before I killed it.

I take a breath and smooth my hands down my leather trousers as I try to calm myself. I really don't like being called a liar. "I'm Joanna Delevigne, otherwise known as Jo Delevigne, and I've come to your town because you hired me to rid the forest of the monsters you claim are killing your livestock."

"Not just the livestock," the woman says as she makes a motion of crossing herself.

"Well, had we known you were just a girl," the cleric starts.

"I'm not just a girl ," I interrupt, glaring at him. "I'm the best hunter in Decorsay Woods. And if you want your town cleared of the… pestilence , I'm the only one who can do it."

The woman laughs and shakes her head. "You're all of what… five feet tall? And you look no older than seventeen!"

I turn to glare at her. "I'm twenty-two and I'm five- foot-two ," I answer, squaring my arms against my chest in a display which, frankly, probably makes me appear even younger. And, yes, I do still look like I'm in my teens but that isn't my fault. It's owing to the bite of the vampire which still burns on the inside of my right wrist, slowing my aging. The vampire's bite is also the reason I'm able to withstand the magic of the monsters—my blood is tainted with the very magic that animates them.

"Please," the cleric says. "Please have a seat."

He even pulls the chair out for me, so I do as asked, but this time I don't bother propping my boots on the table. The barkeep returns with my ale and a paper bill for the cleric, who accepts it rather begrudgingly. I give him a smile and a nod.

"Tell me about your town," I say as I bring the mug to my lips and down half the ale in three gulps. Feeling a massive burp starting, I manage to swallow it down—I don't want to unhinge my companions more than I already have.

"We haven't agreed to hire you!" Baldy says.

I laugh. "You already hired me before I stepped foot into this tavern." I reach inside my pocket and procure the contract they'd signed and sent to me. I'd signed it, as well, and now it's time to hand them the contract in return for the gold.

"We hired you when we believed you to be a man!" the woman says, as if I'm the stupid one.

I take another swig of my ale, then place the mug on the table a bit too hard and some of the precious liquid slops out the top, mixing with the rabbit's blood which is already beginning to run in a rivulet of red down the center of the table.

"I grow tired of this conversation," I say. "Either we have a deal or we don't. And if we don't, then you can continue to lose livestock and villagers to the abominations in the forest for all I care."

"Jo Delevigne is known near and far," the cleric says to the others as he worries his lower lip. "You know the legends as well as I do."

"She's a mere slip of a girl," Baldy responds as his eyes fall to my bustline again.

I lean forward and then reach for the neck of the rabbit—the one part that isn't soiled with blood. "Good luck with your problem," I say.

The cleric immediately reaches out and stays me with a hand on my arm.

"Wait," he says. "Please." He swallows hard as he looks at the others. The woman nods in response, but Baldy doesn't say or do anything. Apparently, such is his way of giving his blessing though, because a moment later, the cleric reaches into his robes and produces a burlap sack which he hands to me.

The sack is heavy.

"Then we have a deal?" I ask, just to make sure.

The cleric hesitates for a moment, then nods. "We have a deal."

"You'd best be able to deliver on yer promises, girl," Baldy says, pointing at me with his index finger as if doing so will better get his point across.

"By the end of the week, your forest will be clean," I respond. Meanwhile, I open the draws of the bag and count the gold coins. There are thirty, just as we'd agreed.

Standing, I push my chair out as I reach over and retrieve my rabbit. "Very good, gentlemen." I turn to face the woman and nod. "And lady."

"Where… where are you going?" the cleric asks, frowning at me.

"This rabbit won't cook itself," I answer on a shrug.

"But… we've… we've procured you a place at the inn," he replies, appearing quite concerned I'm not going to take him up on his offer.

"Thank you, but I prefer to sleep under the stars."