Paris, France
26th August, 2012
It could have been such an ordinary, balmy Friday evening – but not for me. With a sigh I walked closer to the heap on the street that was partially illuminated by a street lamp, already sensing trouble. There was blood, and the bizarre form turned out to be a shredded-to-pieces body lying in an awkward angle on the cobbled alleyway. The victim was human, a young female. Her killer was a shapeshifter, probably gone rogue. Sure I wasn’t one of them and couldn’t tell it by scent or anything but the small strands of gray fur here and there and the open stomach made it seem obvious. To top it all off, the police station was right around the corner and the last thing I needed was a long discussion with some smart-ass officer as to my presence on a murder scene – again. Way to go, Maiwenn. I really knew how to pick them.
I looked the small and narrow alley up and down. It was calm here, no cafés; but only a few meters away, turning into the next street, the nightlife was buzzing with people celebrating the weekend. Most humans were ignorant and repressed any unexplainable stuff that would make their world tremble, but I preferred to be better safe than sorry. I began to chant, repeating the same phrase over and over so that it would divert the eyes of passersby. Although I was a witch – okay, okay only half – I couldn’t do a lot more in this case. I didn’t have the time for something fancy. And so I just grabbed my cell and began taking pictures of the crime scene; first of the surroundings, mostly modest apartment buildings lying in the dark and where only a few windows were still lit-up, and then of the body. I knelt down and took a closer look on the wounds; deep claw marks and pieces of flesh ripped out. Yep, definitely shapeshifter. And he would be punished for his acts - with death.
When I was finished, I got up murmuring a prayer for the young girl whose life had ended too early and in too brutally a way. Then I pulled a little bottle out of the pockets of my leather jacket and poured the contents over the body. I would never get used to the horrible noise created by the acid burning through flesh and bones but I didn’t have a choice. Even humans were only ignorant up to a certain extent.
After I cleaned the scene I moved on. I would find the bastard who had done this to her, but for tonight my patrol was done. Soon I would lose the cover of darkness, so I headed home.
Home was a comfy apartment located on the upper floor of an old six-story building near Place de la Bastille in the east of Paris. I punched in the code for the security door, got the mail and headed upstairs, enjoying the scent of the old wooden stairs. On the fifth floor a door opened with a soft creak and Viviane, not only my relying neighbor but also my tutor and friend, appeared in the doorway. She was fifty-some, still good in shape and had short auburn hair showing streaks of white.
“Bonsoir Viviane!” I greeted her, kissing her on each cheek, and breathed in her familiar scent of Chanel No.5. I was surprised to see her up at this late, or rather early, hour. It was almost five.
Viviane looked me over with worry showing in her warm hazel eyes as she searched for wounds.
“I’m fine, really,” I assured her and the tension showing in her slim shoulders released a little but not entirely, telling me there was more.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come home. I need to talk to you, Maiwenn.” Her voice, like whiskey, rolled through the dark silence of the stairwell.
I frowned, wondering what was wrong, but nodded. We climbed the last steps together and went into my apartment. I closed the door behind her, took off my boots and went into the kitchen where I put my keys on the big counter, which served as a table and roughly divided the room, and made us some tea. The kitchen and the living room were actually one spacious room painted in a color Viviane called apricot. I watched Viv sit down in one of the blood red comfy armchairs and heard her sigh as she looked out the big double-casement windows offering a breathtaking view over a sea of roofs and little, round chimneys.
“Ah, I’ve always loved this view. Paris, the City of Light. When I see this, I understand again why we risk our lives each and every single night.”
I carried our two steaming mugs on a tray to the little table standing in front of her, took one for me to warm my hands and set on the couch facing her, tucking my legs up. The scent of strawberry and raspberry filled the air as I waited for her to tell me what worried her. Sooner or later she would, Viviane had her own time.
“We’re broke.”
I just stared at her, probably catching flies with my mouth since that revelation came rather unexpected. “How’s that even possible?” I finally got out.
“You remember the crisis a couple of years ago? Well, the patronesses, so actually we, mostly invested in stocks. It was good…but after the crisis, it went downhill. I thought we could manage it. But now I have to admit that it was foolish of me, I should have told you right away. So…”
“We’re broke,” I whispered still trying to wrap my mind around that one.
Then Viviane leaned forward, the light back in her hazel eyes and a shadow of a smile pulling at her lips. “But I have an idea how we could fix this. You should rent the other rooms. You don’t use the space here anyway. You could get yourself some company and some money. Two birds with one stone, darling. And maybe we could reconstruct the first floor, turning the space beside your office into stores or something like that. What do you think?”
I thought about it. I couldn’t work more hours since I already had a full-time job – two actually – so the money had to come in from somewhere else. “Reconstructing the first floor is a good idea. It will take some time and money but given the high demand for space in this city, in the end, it might work out. But roommates, Viviane? With my line of work?”
“Maiwenn, the magic might still be hidden in this 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 understand 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 merde! 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 have someone around. Except that someone would be in permanent 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 opened 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 five-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 people 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 open 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 patterned 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. We’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 drove 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 was cramped with tourists, to such an extent that it almost belonged only to them while the Parisians fled, escaping 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 scientists 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 transparent 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 the 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.
I was walking through the Quartier Latin enjoying how the last rays of the evening sun envelopped the typical limestone buildings in a warm glow when I saw what seemed to be a couple leaning against a wall, making out in the shadows of a gap between houses. The man had his hands on each side of the woman, trapping her. He bent down, apparently kissing her throat. Every other passerby would probably turn away believing to interrupt some lovebirds. But not me. Goosebumps covered my skin and warned me. I saw behind this facade. It was all in the woman’s eyes. She was terrified. Vampires could put their victims in a sort of trance, with just one glance, and then they would pull them somewhere private and feed upon them. That’s what was going on here.
I unsheathed Cutter, being alert. “I’m the Patroness of Paris. May I see your license please?”
The vampire’s head whipped around, his face distorted in a hiss and blood red eyes glowing in the night. Nope, I wouldn’t find any license here. That I was sure of.
Vampires were bound by the Council’s law to carry a license including a magical sensor that would tell how many humans they were allowed to drink from and had actually tapped. Still, feeding off humans was rarely possible. They mostly had to be satisfied with canned blood.
His red eyes had the same effect as a bright neon sign flashing “Bloodlust”. And for me it ranked right up there with “Jackpot”. Exactly what I needed as a warm-up.
I rotated my wrists swinging Cutter around, stretching my muscles, and smiled at the vamp. He growled back. And his gaze locked on my neck. I smiled, feeling the familiar weight of the silver locket engraved with a Celtic knot under my shirt. It would protect me as good as a cross would a Christian – the power depending only on true faith and not the deity.
“Looks like you should work on your seduction skills. Apparently she doesn’t want you.” I slowly approached them. “But lucky for you, I do. Come here, I won’t bite!”
The vampire charged me. In the last moment I sidestepped him so that he ran passed me. Quickly whirling around and wielding Cutter in a wide circular motion I severed his head and kicked his back from behind. His body fell to the ground, his head toppling down a split second later. Both turned instantly to dust.
I stared at the swirling ashes in disbelief. “Oh come on, I really expected better from you!”
Behind me the woman had snapped out of the magical hold and started crying. Not a loud wailing but those silent and heartbreaking tears. She sunk to the ground, her legs giving away.
I sheathed my sword and hurried to settle down beside her and taking her into my arms I murmured into her hair, “Shh, everything’s okay. You’re save now.”
We sat together till there were no more tears left within her.
Then she looked up at me, her eyes swollen from her tears. “Thank you, thank you so much. I don’t understand what just happened, but...thank you. I think you saved my life.”
“It was an honor.”
We got up and I lead her into the lights of a bigger side street. It was time to move on.
“Hey, who are you?” The woman asked, still trying to understand what had happened and working herself through the confusion.
I smiled at her and gave her my card. “If you ever need my help again. Was nice meeting you. I have to go now. Take care.”
I set forth towards the Jardin de Luxembourg without farther troubles – and without any sign of the rogue. Dammit. When I reached the gates of the park I looked around, checking the area. Since no one seemed to look or to care I swiftly climbed the fence and landed quietly on the soft green grass on the other side. Standing still for a moment I listened to the night. The distant hum of cars, a cricket singing in the park; nothing out of the ordinary, and so I continued my way. As usual I was once again baffled how quickly the air had changed – no deafening noise but a reverent calm as if time passed more slowly here, no polluting fumes but the scents of flowers and green leaves instead.
As I drew nearer towards the grand stairways leading to the Senate building I caught a faint sound and took cover behind the trees, moving quickly but silently. Soft moonlight illuminated the great central fountain below – and the woman dancing in its waters. Buck naked. A faery, if the wings were anything to go by. I sighed, stood up and approached the faery. She was about my age, slender and had curls bouncing around an oval face, her pointed ears sticking out.
She caught sight of me and, stretching her arms out, she nearly begged, “Come! Come dance with me.”
The woman was obviously high on faery dust. It happened from time to time. Faeries needed to dust flowers and trees and stuff to make them grow and blossom. But if they didn’t get the golden colored dust out of their system it would accumulate. The result? Well, they might end up dancing naked in a fountain before the senate in the middle of Paris. That’s why most faeries preferred life in the country, by the way.
It would take a while for her to calm down judging from the glittery cloud swirling around her and making her glow like a firefly. I closed my eyes and drew in the energy of the dust flying around us and hoped I had enough time to take care of the delicate faery situation at hand.
I kicked my shoes off and stepped into the fountain. The water was cool and refreshing after a hot summer day. “What’s your name?”
“Pauline, and yours?”
“Hi Pauline, I’m Maiwenn.”
“Oh, that’s a beautiful name and you’re beautiful, too.” She must be delirious. “Like an Amazon...” she bounced around, flashing her breasts at me. “Dance with me, please!”
Yep, delirious.
I approached her to take her hand. “I’m sorry Pauline!” I threw a golden brown powder in front of her face as she breathed in, and caught her as she fell. It wouldn’t hurt her. The sleeping powder was mainly made out of valerian root mixed with a little magic. It just knocked her out long enough for me to bring her to safety.
I wrapped her up in my jacket and carried her as fast as possible to my apartment clouding us in fog so we couldn’t be seen. At home I laid her onto the couch for a while, preparing a bed in one of the other rooms in the mean time. When everything was ready I tucked her in.
I would have liked to crawl into my bed too, but had this feeling that the patrol wasn’t done for tonight so I headed out again.
The streets were rather quiet with only the distant and tidal hum of cars, air conditions and electricity pumping through the city’s veins. The evening was warm, the air stagnant, but there was a hint of refreshing music in it. People, illuminated by streetlights and colorful neon signs, on their search for a next drink, a next dance or a next flirt passed me by, and I kept going, watching for vampires or other shadows of the dark. Then, with a new slowly rising wind came the smell of blood. And death. Not far away.
Five mutilated bodies were lying in an alley not far from my apartment. Surprisingly, they were naked. Shapeshifters, who had changed back to their human form after death?
I was used to seeing this stuff but I sure as hell would never get used to the feeling of loss and failure.
Pushing away those negative thoughts since the situation at hand needed my full attention I pulled out my cell, prayed for the lost souls and started taking pictures of the crime scene. After that was done I crouched down and I got out a small plastic bag and carefully filled it with a sample of the bundle of fur that seemed to have been rather deliberately placed between the bodies. Standing up again I sealed it and tucked it into the waist bag I carried around my hips.
Next step was the clean-up. Of course, I had some acid with me but it was not nearly enough to make five bodies disappear. Special situations needed special treatment and for this one I needed help. Lucky me, I knew the right guy for this. Well, actually he was the only one I could depend on with such a case so hopefully he would hold his stomach.
I pushed the button for speed-dial on my phone. Mathieu Ardent was a human, or almost, and a friend of mine. We had met three years ago while I had been on the pursuit of an exceptionally nasty vampire, who had tried to open his own personal blood bank by stocking anything that walks on two feet in a hidden basement – among them Mathieu. He had been sixteen at that time, and we have been close friends ever since. In such a way that more often than not I feel like the bigger sister running after her baby brother.
Mathieu answered after the second ring, “Allô?”
I was running out of time, so I kept things simple. “Salut, I need your help!”
Understanding, he sighed. “How much do you need this time?”
I looked over the bodies. “Hmm, actually a lot, maybe some liters will do.”
“Wha...What? What did you do?”
“Me? I didn’t do anything. I just stumbled over five dead shapeshifters during my patrol. I need you ASAP. Passage Main d’Or.” I hung up.
Mathieu would only need a couple of minutes to find me since he was living nearby. I crouched down again to take a good look at the wounds. Broken limbs. What looked like to be red bruises tinged with gray; silver poisoning. And some deep wounds, probably caused by a very sharp tool; how strange. Their heads were cut off, to ensure they’d really stay dead.
Then, for the first time, after I rolled a body over I noticed that it had an intriguing symbol burned onto the chest. What the hell? Checking the others I came up with five different symbols showing a wolf, a cross, wings, a cat and a shape looking rather like a Halloween ghost costume. Examining all of them very closely I knew this one was big trouble.