Ibenus (Valducan series) (15 page)

"It's not bad for your first time." He put a hand on her shoulder, then quickly withdrew it. He'd been acting odd all day and once again Victoria regretted taking his hand the night before. At least, she thought she took it, though she didn't exactly recall doing it. But his reaction and sudden change since only confirmed her suspicion that she had made him uncomfortable.

"I've shot before. Remember?"

"Was that your first time?" He started reloading his empty magazines. "Shooting at the screamers?"

"Yeah. And I shot better than this."

"Then that's good. Fear makes you focused. For most people it's the other way around."

"Terrible," Chaya said from behind her. "You should stick with shotguns."

Sam's jaw noticeably tightened, two days of repaired rapport crumbling at the unfortunate reminder that Victoria had introduced herself with a 12 gauge to the side of her head.

"It's my second time to ever shoot," Victoria replied as civilly as possible.

"With that underpowered thing, I expect you to take out eyes at ten meters. I can't trust you with a sidearm until you can do that."

"Then give her one of the bigger guns," Allan said.

"No."

"No? Are you honestly refusing to equip my student?"

Chaya's mouth drew into a poisoned smile. "I'm equipping her with the exact weapon as her mentor. Masters Turgen and Schmidt both agreed that I should be Arms Master. You might outrank me, but not on this range. My decision is for unity among hunters. You chose not to adopt the sidearm that I selected."

A tense silence fell over the range.

"All right, then." Allan shrugged. "I'd like to upgrade to the new standard sidearm."

Chaya's mouth opened. "Yes. Of course." She took Victoria's gun and tray. "Just give me a few minutes."

"You don't need to do this," Victoria whispered once Chaya had hurried off to a pair of giant safes in the far corner.

"Of course I do. My job is to make sure you're outfitted with the best possible gear. If you prefer her gun, then that's what we'll use. I never shoot mine, anyway."

Chaya returned with a pair of larger pistols and accoutrements. The magazines were bigger, a lot bigger, and so were the bullets. The flat-sided suppressors were easily twice as long as the Walther's had been.

They loaded their magazines as Chaya continued working with Gerhard, moving the target back to five meters. Once they were ready, Chaya walked them both through the safety and handling lecture again, a distinct air of satisfaction to her voice this time.

Holding it tight, Victoria lifted the gun, and sighted it in on the orange dot in the paper man's chest. Bracing for the hard kick, she squeezed the trigger.

The kick didn't happen, at least not as much as she's expected. In fact, it hurt less than the smaller gun had. She's missed the damn dot, but the hole was right up against it like they were best friends posing for a picture.

"You like it?" Chaya asked with the same tone a waiter might use when offering the first taste of some fine and expensive wine.

"Definitely."

"Good. Allan, were you aiming for the head?"

The hole in Allan's target was perfectly centered where its nose should be.

"Not at all."

Chaya shook her head and they continued their practice. The steady cracks of shots filled the range as they all fired, riddling their targets with holes. Chaya moved up and down the line, offering pointers, correcting stances, and doling praise and criticism in measured amounts. Victoria's hits were at least all within the man's silhouette, even when the targets were rolled back to twenty meters. The groupings were still less than Gerhard's, who'd taken to shooting with a technical fervor that Victoria hadn't expected. He'd seemed so blasé about everything but his beloved keris since they'd arrived. There was definitely something different about him. His absolute focus on the perfect grip, stance, and follow up only reiterated it.

"So what do you think?" Allan asked as they reloaded their magazines. "You prefer it?"

"Very much so."

"Then it's settled." He sighed. "I'm going to miss my little gun. Always wanted to wear it with a tux."

She looked at him through the corner of her eye, brow arched. "You wear tuxes often?"

Allan shook his head. "No. Though I always thought it'd be kinda fun to go on a hunt in one."

The image of Allan, standing at the end of that filthy Manchester hallway, sword in hand and wearing a black tuxedo with shiny lapels and shoes, flashed in her mind. She gave a throaty laugh. "I'd like to see that. Seriously, though, if you prefer your gun, don't change it on account of me."

"Too late," he said with a smile. "This is best."

A guilty pang tightened in Victoria's chest. "Thank you."

They covered the targets' holes with black stickers and were about to send them out for silencer practice when the foam-padded range door opened and Luc stepped inside.

"Hold," Chaya called. "You come to practice?"

"The Masters called a meeting," Luc said.

Allan set his weapon on the table. "What's going on?"

"They've approved the hunt."

"Paris?"

"Paris."

Allan cocked his arm, hand clenched in a fist. He patted Victoria's shoulder. "You found it. Both of you," he added, looking to Sam who was giving him an
excuse me
stare. "All right, Gerhard, come with us. Chaya, can you…?"

"I'll take care of them," she said.

"Perfect. Thanks." He turned to Victoria. "You and Sam stay here. I'll catch you up once we're done."

"Oh." A prickly burr of resentment seemed to roll through Victoria's stomach. He was ditching her. "I'll see you then."

Allan and Gerhard gathered their things. The door thudded shut behind them, and the burr swelled like a puffer fish, the heat of its venom running through her veins.
So much for, 'I trust you.'

Chaya cleared her throat. "Go ahead and attach your suppressors."

"So they're a bit of a boy's club, eh?" Victoria said, fighting the tight knurled knob affixed to the end of her barrel.

"How do you mean?" Chaya asked.

The knob gave and she unscrewed it. "All the men go off to plan but we don't. It was the same way in the department."

Chaya straightened. "It's not like that at all."

She removed the boxy silencer from the tray and began screwing it on. "Then why did they leave when—?"

"Let's get one thing straight that Allan obviously hasn't explained to you." Chaya strode over to where Victoria stood, chin up, and stopping just in front of her. She squeezed the handle of the scimitar at her belt. "The weapons see no difference in people. They choose the worthiest. So that means we don't have whatever hang-ups you're used to. When a weapon makes the decision, we agree to it. The Order was based on that."

She touched the scimitar at her hip. "My sword, Khirzoor, did that. And as far as why I'm here, it's because I'm the Arms Master. You don't have a holy weapon, so the only one you get is from me. It's my job to make sure you know how to use it. You're about to deploy on a hunt. You haven't been trained. I have more firearm experience than anyone here so I'm the most capable at teaching you how to shoot. Allan can't shoot for shit, so I'm not at the meeting because if you're going to go hunting, I have to vouch that you can hold a pistol in the off chance that you'll need to. Is that understood?"

Victoria nodded, trying not to shy away from the Chaya's glare. The Israeli was a good two inches shorter but carried herself like she was ten feet tall. "I apologize. I was—"

"Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now load your weapon and impress me."

Chapter Eleven

Gerhard stared out the van's window, not seeing the dark and shuttered shop fronts sliding past. Paris called itself the City of Lights and, while they were beautiful in some fairyland fashion, there were no lights here in this part of the city, and not at three in the morning when only the truly committed partiers were staggering home or already in bed. The city was sleeping, only minimal body functions of its legendary nightlife were keeping it alive. Absently, Gerhard rubbed his hands. Clammy. Numb. They didn't feel like his, like someone had stitched the hands of a dead man onto his wrists when he wasn't looking.

A dead man.

He might be dead soon. This might very well be his last car ride, sitting beside paramilitary cultists, which he'd only just realized had reeled him into their insanity. He'd tried not to believe them. How could he? This was madness, hunting monsters. He'd laugh at his situation if it wasn't for the piece of him, that deep and elemental shard, that believed that tonight he'd see a monster and plunge Umatri into it.

It wasn't the videos that convinced him. Nor the fervor in which his new contemporaries believed. It wasn't even Schmidt strolling up walls and across ceilings, though that undeniably had helped. Umatri had convinced him. The dreams. His belief had begun crystallizing in his dreams, and when he'd first entered Paris two days ago and saw the streets and buildings, he knew the significance. They were different in that way in which all dreams altered familiar places, but it was undeniably Paris, and now he was here.

"Are you all right?"

Gerhard blinked and turned to see Orlovski beside him.

The Russian watched him over to tops of his glasses. "Nervous?"

"I'm…I'm fine," Gerhard said with the weakest lie in the world.

Orlovski patted his shoulder, the sensation muted through the Kevlar vest and holster strap. "You'll be good."

"Still look better than I did," Luc said from the front seat.

"How about you?" Gerhard asked Orlovski.

The Russian shook his head. "Just happy to be back in the fight."

"Ah," he said with what he hoped was tact. A year before Orlovski had suffered a mishap, explained only as
some asshole tried to amputate my leg with a shotgun
. The blast had shattered his femur. With this being his first hunt in thirteen months, and Gerhard and Victoria's first ever, it was decided that Luc, being Gerhard's handler, an appropriate if not irritating term, was to come as well.

"Well I'm glad you're back," Sam said from the driver's seat. "No more moping. Now you'll be happy, I'll be happy, and once Chaya gets her dog, I'll be even happier."

"Dog?" Orlovski turned to Allan in the back seat beside Victoria. "What dog?"

"No one told you?" Sam asked. "Chaya's getting a dog to commemorate her first kill."

"And I'm getting a cat," Luc said.

"No, no one told me this. Allan, you know I have a problem with those things."

"With cats?" Luc asked.

"With dogs," the Russian said, his voice rising several octaves.

"You have a problem with strange dogs," Sam said. "This one will be ours. You'll love it."

"I mentioned it to Master Turgen," Allan said, his voice calm. "He's in favor of it."

"So no one thought about asking me? I live there, too."

"And if it becomes a problem we'll deal with it," Allan said. "It's a big house."

"And if it bites me?"

"If it bites you, you deserved it," Sam said.

"It'll be dealt with," Allan assured. "I'm sure any dog Chaya gets will be the most behaved dog you've ever seen."

Orlovski's tightened lips writhed like something was trying to wriggle free. He turned back in his seat with a quick motion and he glowered at his knees as if something disgusting had slithered onto them.

"All right," Allan announced as they passed through a roundabout. "We're almost there. Stay on the lookout and get ready. We're exiting hot."

The mood in the vehicle instantly changed as if some switch had been flipped. Everyone's posture straightened. Fingers moved, checking equipment. A faint tang filled the vehicle. Fear? Adrenaline? Maybe both. Gerhard couldn't tell. His face felt hot and the body armor sweltering, like an oven. He needed air.

Still clutching Umatri in his lap, he moved his other hand, following their lead. The silenced pistol holstered beneath his armpit felt huge but partially calming. He traced the metal bead chain around his sweat-slicked neck to the plastic GPS unit shoved awkwardly beneath the vest.

The van turned onto a narrow street. The hunters peered out the windows, scanning the empty lanes. The principal lights came from the nearby high-rise apartments a block away. Orlovski and Luc had spent the night before gleefully shooting out the streetlamps with an air rifle in preparation.

"Here," Allan said, leaning forward behind Gerhard. He pulled the coil of plastic tubing from Gerhard's shoulder and let him loop it over his ear and push the bud in snugly. "Key up your radio."

Gerhard twisted the knob atop the little radio at his belt. The channels, they had told him, were specially encoded so no one might eavesdrop. Allan explained that the commanding view from apartment towers made cell-jamming useless, but it at least allowed for radios and the police scanners that would normally be rendered useless when running the jammer.

"You ready for this?" Allan asked Victoria, seated beside him.

She nodded. A long microphone extended from her headset, curling at the edge of her mouth. There was an uneasy hardness to her. Same as it had been that first day when they'd both arrived. Stiff and quiet. She'd livened up so much the last few days in Paris, especially with Allan and Sam. But that was gone.

They turned onto an even narrower street, the buildings' faces less than a meter from either side. A weight suddenly dropped in Gerhard's stomach as the building, the building he might die in, came into view.

"Looks clear," Sam said. She continued past it, giving Gerhard's stomach a surprise reprieve.

Were they not going in? Was this a practice drill? Maybe a joke.

"Okay," Allan said. "Circle back. Everyone, gloves on and masks ready."

The weight returned, heavier now with the moment's disappointment. Sam circled the block as everyone adorned black latex gloves. The clammy hand-sweat made it even harder for Gerhard to pull them on. The hunters clutched their black, stretchy masks, rolled up like giant condoms. Gerhard twisted his around, trying to figure out where the eye slit was.