Blue Moon Rising (The Patroness) (2 page)

“Maiwenn, the magic might still be hidden in t
his world
but you aren’t the only one to know that it is there.”

“I’ll think about it, okay?”

Viviane took a relieving breath and took the mug of tea in front of her. “Now that that’s settled, how was the patrol?” She sipped carefully, watching me.

She said it in a way others might ask “how was your day”. I liked that, it made me feel normal. As if we were talking about a job and not a curse. Then that’s what it was – a curse. Not meant to be but it just turned out that way.

My mother was Geneviève, the first Patroness of Paris. She’d been devastated, heart-broken and pregnant when she had finally found shelter and a hint of hope in the city of Paris; only to see everything endangered by the invading Huns. Having enough of running away she decided and promised to do and give everything in her power to defend her new home. Well, she kind of gave me, unintentionally.

My mother had died when I’d still been a child and so her loyal friend the Lady of the Lake, Viviane, had been taking care of me ever since. She loved and trained me, was my tutor and my mother. Geneviève’s death left first Viviane and then me as the new Patroness of Paris behind. But my mother couldn’t have known that we didn’t die. Well, we did die; our deaths just weren’t exactly permanent. For the rest of the world the Patronesses were born, fought and died; ever changing, never staying. Whereas, in reality, we weren’t.

We were reborn, again and again, to protect the city. So technically, we were the only Patronesses to have ever existed after Geneviève, although we couldn’t remember our previous lives. What a shame. Now I probably made the same mistakes over and over again. What a depressing thought.

I understood and accepted why I didn’t cease to exist permanently. My mother was a witch, she just didn’t know it at the time, and spoke those words with all her power behind it, all her heart, so she accidently jinxed me. Magic was a tricky bitch. But I didn’t really underst
and why Viviane would be reborn
and she refused to explain it to me. I only could guess. The Lady of the Lake, being a powerful and mysterious creature herself, chose to be reborn; either to watch over Caledfwlch, also known as Excalibur which she gave to me, or to look after me. I hoped for both.

“It’s been quiet lately. Disturbingly quiet. Something’s up. I found a dead girl tonight, about sixteen years old, a rogue got her.”

“Et m
erde! You’ve found him?”

I shook my head. “Not yet, but I will.”

Viviane smiled at me, pride showing in her eyes. “You always do.” She got up; her body already a little tired after all those years of fighting. “Now, I’ll let you be, you must be exhausted. Sweet dreams, ma grande.”

I saw her to the door and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Bonne nuit.”

Left alone I studied the room and thought about Viviane’s idea of sharing the apartment. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad to h
ave someone around. Except
that someone would be in perm
anent danger with me around and therefore
would have to be somewhat crazy. With a sigh I went along the living room and into my room. It was nothing fancy; just a bed covered with golden yellow sheets and the only trustworthy man on earth lying sprawled across it – my orange cat Malo. A closet in one corner, desk in the other one. The walls were painted a warm grass-green and covered with overcharged bookshelves. Like everything else in the apartment they were made out of pine wood, even the floor, and the fresh scent welcomed me.

“Salut!” I greeted Malo, who got up and stretched, and then I op
ened the left door of my closet
,
containing a full-length mirror. I looked at my reflection. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t anything special either. Green eyes were staring back at me. I was about f
ive-ten and had dark blond hair
which normally came down past my shoulders but I always kept it braided or in a bun to keep it out of harm’s way, so to speak.

I began to take off my weapons; three throwing stars and my two Trident Daggers, everything went into a drawer. I really liked my daggers. By pushing a concealed button on the ivory heft a portion of the blade would spring outwards on each side. That way the dagger was not only capable of trapping other blades – well, claws most of the time – more securely but also of inflicting more damage to the wound while I pulled it out of my adversary’s flesh.

Yep, times and methods had definitely changed. Geneviève had defended Paris by praying, that was nice and effective but I for one preferred a more personal and direct approach.

The last weapon that I still had on me was Excalibur, my double-edged sword. Long, lean and lethal, with a design of two chimeras on the antique golden hilt. It had its own magic, so that tucked away in its leather harness it stayed hidden from curious eyes. Given the fact that the sword was of value and allegedly lost and Excalibur a too famous a name
I called it Cutter
according to its original meaning. It wouldn’t end up in the closet. I always kept it close, never out of reach.

I went over to the desk, opened my laptop and began to upload the pictures from the crime scene
I’d taken. After that was done
I headed
into the bathroom to freshen up
with Malo following my every step. Then it was finally time to crawl into bed. I hid my
sword in a way so it was easy to grasp
and donned a top and shorts, just in case an enemy decided to pop in – I really couldn’t recommend fighting butt naked –
before hopping into bed. Beside
me my cat found an acceptable spot,
circled a little and curled up
resting his head on his front paws. I stroked the soft fur behind his ears, eliciting a vibrant purr, and wondered about what Viviane had told me. We were broke. How could that have happened?

“Jesus Malo, what’ll tomorrow bring?”

There was an annoying noise in my head. I hoped it would go away very, very soon. It didn’t.

After I fought my way through a foggy cloud
,
which some pe
ople might have called thoughts
,
I was able to notice the blaring alarm clock on my nightstand telling me it was half past eight and time to get moving. Given the fact
that I went to sleep after five
,
I felt a little groggy.

Growling
I got up and stretched a little. I didn’t do mornings and everything inside me screamed for caffeine, desperately. The cool wooden floor against my feet did nothing
to wake me up. In the kitchen
with my eyes not even half op
en
I prepared breakfast for Malo and made coffee. As the
machine began to gurgle around
I threw two deep-frozen croissants in the oven – the gestures automatic – before settling on a high stool to flop my head on the counter. Soon the tempting scents of strong coffee and sweet, rising puff pastry enveloped me and boosted my system. As my first big dose of caffeine streamed through my veins I took a quick shower, braided my hair and then dressed, deciding on white pants and a wildly green pattern
ed
top.

After breakfast I grabbed a thermos filled with the rest of my coffee, my laptop and keys, and pulled on a comfortable pair of colorful sandals and was out the door. Arriving downstairs I didn’t head out the front door but turned left instead and into my office. The room was painted in pale amber, a warm color invoking grain fields on a rainy day, and dominated by an old, wooden desk. The wall behind it was covered with rows of filing cabinets.

I put the laptop on the desk, booting it up and then set down to sip a little of my coffee, enjoying this peaceful moment of silence. When the clock announced that it was time to get to work I moved to open the front door of my office and waited for the first clients to show up.

My telephone rang. I turned and answered it, “Bonjour, Maiwenn Cadic with Saints Investigation, how may I help you?”

Yes, I was a private detective. Mostly strange stuff. My job was
it to keep Paris safe after all
so I decided it would make life easier to become a P.I. It made it less complicated to explain my presence in delicate situations to the police, if necessary. And of course, sometimes I was able to help people before it’s too late. Translation: before they were dead.

“Bonjour, my name is Sandrine”, a female and desperate voice said. “I need your help. A friend of mine gave me your number and told me you would believe me, listen to me.”

That’s the way it mostly worked. By hearsay. I opened the office five years ago and started to hand out my card to those I helped on the street and told them to come by if they were in trouble. Magical trouble. Word spread and after establishing some connections and relations, folks came rushing in. Well, almost.

“Hello Sandrine. I’m listening, what’s troubling you?”

“I have a boyfriend. W
e’ve been together for four years now. We want to get married. But last night he made this special candlelight dinner...said he needed to explain something.” She snuffled, “He told me he’s a wolf. A werewolf.” She slowed down, probably expecting me to cut in and tell her she should stop this nonsense, but I stayed silent, listening. “At first I thought it’s a joke, but...then he changed right in front of me. What do I do now? Will I become a werewolf, too? Can I marry a werewolf? Will he kill me? What’ll our babies look like? I have so many questions...”

And sometimes I ended up the agony aunt. Oh boy.

At seven I closed up to head out, patrolling. One last time I checked my weapons – everything was there; three throwing stars, my two Trident daggers and, of course, my sword Cutter which was safely tucked away in
its dark brown leather harness
strapped across my back.

The air was clear thanks to a light
but steady breeze, even if dry
and scented of summer and the occasional waft of perfume from people passing by. Cars dro
ve past
with their brakes
screeching or the horn hooting
and mopeds droned. The streets
of Paris were crowded as usual
but people were wearing less and laughing more, thanks to the heat and the holiday period. During the hot months of summer the city wa
s cramped with tourists,
to such an extent that
it almost belonged only to them
while the Parisians fled, es
caping the stress and the noise, and
enjoying their summer elsewhere.

Never taking a particular route
I just followed my gut, my instinct. They would guide me to where I was needed.

We were living in interesting but also very dangerous times. We were living in times full of change. The Mayan
calendar would stop in December
but the reason
for it
was not the end of the world, like the humans wanted to believe. Not exactly, anyway. Let’s just say it would be the end of the world as we know it when Earth’s magnetic field would reverse. Human scientis
ts wouldn’t know what to expect
but the magical community knew it very well.

With the reversion of the magnetic field, the magical balance between realms would change, too. Our – at present – non-magical world would change into a magical one. There were t
ransparent gates between realms
and in December they would open up again and magic would flood the world once more. Californian’s trembling coast, the floods in Europe and the storms in Asia were only a few catastrophes that were a sign of the weakening of the gates and only a foretaste of what was to come.

After the last Turn some magical creatures got trapped or some just chose to stay here. That’s how we’ve still got shapeshifters, undead, witches, faeries and other stuff roaming the Earth. Sometimes those gates between the worlds leaked and magic would flow into our realm, giving strength to those magical creatures.

In the 19th century chosen representatives of the magical creatures formed The Council, an institution established to govern t
he magical community in secrecy and
located in the USA. They enacted laws everybody had to follow or otherwise would be punished, permitting a secret coexistence with humans. The three most important laws were quite simple:

No one gets turned without the permission of the Council.

Every creature gone rogue was to be killed.

The existence of magic and otherworldly creatures was to be kept a secret.

The last one was going to change very soon though.

The Turn would be like a bomb going off. Chaos would rule. Humans – now perfectly ordinary beings – might develop powers they’ve never even dreamed of, just because their grandmother might have been a witch or something like that. To avoid this kind of
chaos or to at least contain it
The Council was in negotiation with the human governments to on one hand prepare the humans for the things to come and on the other one to plan their coming-out.