The Gray Hunter

Chapter 1

Important

It was a night-fiend, a nacht-teufel.

There was a chill in the air and wisps of nearly luminescent fog were reaching out like fingers threading through the darkened streets. He stood in the mists of the Borderlands as he had now for several nights. It had been raining and the old cobblestones were glistening and reflecting the few brave lights that were weakly trying to shine through the night. The hour was closer to dawn than midnight. The streets were barren but for the single man who stood cloaked in black, standing off in the darkest of the shadows.

The man rubbed his eyes, tired after what had already been a long night – a long fight. He had been chasing The Disturbance now for too long, along narrow alleys, into dark corners and across from shadowy doorways. It had eluded him for more than a week suggesting to him a greater intelligence than these things normally possessed.

Driven by smell and a sixth sense, he had been able to follow the thing, tracking it down, through The Barrier and descending beyond it into the closed off tunnels beneath the city, a maze of forgotten basement dwellings, utility conveyance tubing and ragged streets and walkways left over from decades ago. It was always damp in these places and a wet sour stench permeated the air. He'd chased the damned thing into a warehouse sub-basement. He knew It was in there.

Beneath the rot of the place, the man could also smell the acrid odor of dark magic. He brushed off the oily, sticky feeling that clung to the brick walls of the warehouse. It eked out all around him, winding around his legs.

He walked slowly, silently, cursing his bum leg that twinged and sang pain and kept him off balance, cursing the aches and hurts that came with his age and cursing his sacred calling. He'd never asked for this. He was ramped up by adrenaline and now stood with his weapons loaded, waiting, searching. He put his hand on his ever-present crucifix, muttering a quick prayer, asking for help, for guidance, and for strength.

Something rustled behind him and he turned and fired off his crossbow without looking, without aiming, without thought.

"A bit jumpy aren't you, Stiltskin?"

It was a deep, husky voice, soft, silky, dangerous. Definitely not human.

"A bit," he answered turning slowly, quietly reloading his weapon.

"They're coming," the nacht-teufel told him, giving him a skeletal smile.

"Yeah, well, when they get here, I'll send them back to Hell too," and without further ado he again raised his weapon and shot.

Damn! The night-fiend had already shifted and he missed. Served him right for engaging in conversation with the evil creature. Nacht-teufels were very dark, but they had never been living creatures, not in the sense that they had ever had breathe. They, like their bigger, stronger schatten-scheusal cousins, continued their existence by feeding on a combination of blood and fear.

Humans usually sensed them as dark, terrifying entities, most often describing them as shadow creatures. They particularly enjoyed frightening children, lurking in their closets, under their beds and in the corners of their rooms, waiting until the adults had gone on to bed before coming out. They usually wouldn't present directly to adults, but would dart around the corners of peripheral vision. Often the grown-ups would wonder if they had actually seen anything and would spend time convincing themselves there had been nothing there.

The nacht-teufels would bide their time, waiting for weaknesses, a moment of despair, a time of sickness, some of them going to the effort to drive their prey mad before moving in to take possession, to kill.

While wary and persistent, they weren't particularly clever. Hunting them was usually a matter of perseverance with a little bit of luck.

One nacht-teufel was usually of no consequence. Local priests were usually able to take them down. But this one had taken up residence in downtown proper and seemed to be unusually vicious. Typically such a creature would terrorize a family for many months before attacking but this one had not settled into any one location. And since coming to town it had quickly adopted a murderous pattern; there had already been three mysterious deaths. The deaths had baffled police. The victims had died from apparent heart attacks but there had been several odd, animal-like bite markings on them. All had had a pattern of multiple scratches consisting of three parallel welts crisscrossing their bodies. Someone on the police force had contacted the local diocese when the first victim came in and after a cursory inspection of the body, Father Hopper had called his superiors.

The Hunter shrugged. He had been sent for soon after the first death. The second death had taken place as he traveled to the city back to the city – he had been here before. The third death had occurred during his second night of hunting.

Along with being unusually bloodthirsty, this particular nacht-teufel was operating differently, as if it was a bolder, more evolved version of the breed. Usually, these things only took him a night or two to deal with, but this one had been so much more clever, more frustrating than most.

The man continued to search but every bit of esper-talent he had said that the nacht-teufel had moved on.

He decided to call it a night. He knew the thing had likely melded into the ground, dissipating its energies so that it was no longer an entity with a physical shape. He walked along the cold rank streets, through the shadow regions, the Borderlands between here and there, making his way back to the real world. He made his silent way back to the church that was his current residence. He found his way around the church to go into the hidden side door that was his special entrance and returned to his small room in a back corridor.

His current abode was a narrow cell with a stone floor and stone walls and a single high window. Inside the cell was a narrow cot with a thin mattress, a small table, and a single chair. There was also a medium-sized black chest, not quite three feet wide, perhaps a foot deep and likely a foot and half wide which was set up against the wall. Besides the entry-way, there were two doors. One led to a slim closet. The other went into a small bath chamber complete with a toilet, a small sink, and a shower. The room lacked obvious amenities; there was no rug on the cold floor, no curtains, no heater to take the chill off. There was only a single blanket on the cot. The man stripped off and took a quick cold shower, steeling his slender wiry body against the weak spritz of frigid water coming from the decrepit shower head. Afterwards, he quickly toweled off and pulled on a pair of coarse cotton sleep pants and a plain tee

The man then knelt, going down to his knees with some difficulty, the old injury hampering the movements. He said his prayers, asking forgiveness for his many sins and then went to sleep on the cot. He slept soundly, his sleep undisturbed by nightmares or shadow creatures.

He rose at noon, dressing in his familiar dark attire. He found the young Priest Archibald Hopper, Father Archie, and implored him to hear his confession.

He had failed - again. He had talked with the creature. He had fired his weapon without being absolutely sure of the target. He had not fired his weapon expeditiously enough to kill the monster. It was still loose, representing a danger to all. He had, yet again, failed.

Archie was too kind.

"Don't you think you are being too hard on yourself?" the young priest asked him.

The man considered. "How can I be too hard on myself? I am failing in my mission and this isn't even a major menace. In Tobin's Spirit Guide, a nacht-teufel is no more than a Level Three disturbance. Yet this one has taken up nine nights of hunting. And during this time, it has killed again. I am responsible for that third person's death. If I had done my job properly . . . "

"You are the most committed, most skilled man I've ever known about. If you haven't gotten the job done yet, no one could have."

The man hesitated, "It called my name."

"Your name?" Archie wasn't sure what he was getting at.

"Not my title, my name. It knew who I was." He looked away. "It shouldn't know my name."

Names have power.

Archie absolved him of his sins and offered him communion. He then suggested the hunter spend the rest of the afternoon in quiet contemplation, resting, getting himself pulled back together.

The man agreed and settled into the small garden of the church, its green energies rejuvenating him. He cleaned his weapons. He ate a slim meal of soup and bread. He reset his equipment, and went out again, returning to the tunnels of the previous evening, returning to the Borderland, to the shadow world where he hunted those creatures that had left one of the dark worlds.

He sensed it before he saw it, the Erzengel, the steely gray figure that would come to him from time to time, always with a message, always with a warning. To the casual eye, the Erzengel was a tall, slender man with shoulder-length, nearly white-blond hair and pale skin. The creature had odd silver-colored eyes. The man bowed his head and waited. The Erzengel would speak when it was ready.

"It begins," the Erzengel finally spoke. "The beginning of the end."

The hunter nodded. He was expecting something along these lines. He waited. Usually, the Erzengel would say something short and to the point and then fade away, but this evening it was lingering. "There is someone new. Someone important."

He waited but then the thing disappeared, fading slowly until where it had been and all that had surrounded it became the same.

Great, someone new, someone important. Should he be pleased or frightened? Why the hell couldn't these things just express themselves straight-forward and clearly? They always had to speak cryptically and obtusely. Well, he'd just wait and see. He didn't have much choice in the matter.

He didn't have to wait long.

He wasn't sure what he was seeing at first. A little, fluttery thing, composed of lightness and quickness. He could see that it was moving between the shadows of the building. He didn't smell the taint of dark magic.

He did smell magic, however. Whatever it was down there with him, it was strong. Something tingled – perhaps a sense of familiarity.

He continued to watch from the shadows and spotted the nacht-teufel waiting around a corner, waiting for the little hunter. The other hunter slowly approached the corner, perhaps, likely, sensing The Danger that lurked out of sight. The man loaded his own weapon in case it was necessary to intervene. He continued to watch – both the nacht-teufel and the little hunting creature.

It moved fluidly, gracefully. He could see now that it was hooded, dressed in cascading blacks and browns that well-concealed it in the shadowy half-lights of the undertown. It was clearly a Hunter of some nature, looking for signs of passage, sniffing the air, feeling its way. He was impressed with the creature's control and strength; the being seemed very self-assured, very purposeful and economical in its movements.

Then the nacht-teufel stepped out in front of the creature, drawing itself up to its greatest size, looming over the little creature, the dark energies threatening the creature. Most would fall in the presence of such darkness, becoming paralyzed with fear. Their tongues, their feet would fail them. He lifted his own weapon, preparing to fire. The nacht-teufel towered over the little hunter, but the delicate little creature did not flinch, did not engage the nacht-teufel in conversation. Instead, the creature took quick aim and fired, cutting down the fiend.

There was a jagged scream and the nacht-teufel flailed about. The creature put in a second arrow and the night-fiend, after uttering a few predictable Death-Curses, succumbed.

The man could not help but be impressed. The creature had proven to be a focused killing machine, getting in less than an hour the exact denizen of the night that he had been tracking for more than a week. Another Hunter might be jealous, even angry, that the upstart had taken down his prey, but he was not another Hunter. The job was done, even if he was not the one to have done it. Getting the job done, that was what was important.

He stood still in the shadows continuing to watch the hunting creature. It had bent over the last spot where the nacht-teufel had been. Then the creature looked up, looking directly in his direction.

The man held his breath. He knew that he could not be seen but this creature somehow seemed to know he was there. He could feel the little creature's eyes on him as palpable as if it were touching him, tingly, soft, delicate. The creature stared in his direction and then abruptly gathered itself and flitted out, moving swiftly and surely away from the scene of the execution.

He waited until he was sure the little creature had moved on. Then he went over and inspected the kill zone. It had been done cleanly. There were no remains, no scorch marks, not even the usual putrid smell.

He was indeed impressed.

He returned back to the church early and settled in for the remainder of the night.

His mission here was completed. His employers would be curious regarding his failure, but they would not dwell on it. It was a rare enough occurrence but one that had happened a few times before. He would be sent somewhere else soon enough.

At the White Coven

Belle had felt something. Something different had been in the Borderland tonight. Something had watched her. She hadn't sensed it until after the kill, but then the scrutiny had washed over her, cold and calculating, merciless. She couldn't quite perceive it, but she knew Someone, Some Thing, had been watching her.

It had great power. She had no doubt.

Belle was an intuitive hunter; she'd never had formal training but early on she had demonstrated an ability to sense unsavory entities. Even as a young child she had begun to display lightning fast reflexes. She was far stronger than she looked and had some empathic skills, some healing abilities and a certain immunity to poisons and intoxicants. She'd grown up in a White Coven, witches devoted to the Light Path. She'd been placed with them by her father after her mother had died, at least, that was what she had been told. She remembered neither parent. The Coven had become her family.

"Mother," she had gone to the chamber where the leader of her Coven worked and lived. She bowed and waited for Rheul to touch her before she stood upright. Rheul Gorim had been their leader for many years now, following the death of her sister, Cairen, in close combat. An attractive women with light skin and black hair, Belle knew she was decades older than she looked. She had been on the fields for many years before retiring into an advisory, supervisory role. Belle respected the older woman. Although she was no longer much a fighter at her age, she possessed an enormous amount of arcane knowledge.

"What is it child?" she asked gently. Belle was her most promising novice - strong, clear-minded, unafraid, a candidate for leadership in time. Rheul could tell that she was upset, or at least, unsettled.

"There was someone watching me."

Rheul knew better to think that Belle would have been distressed by some random voyeur. This was something more serious. She waited for her young warrior to elaborate.

"He emanated Power, like I've never felt before. Not evil, well, not exactly, but not like our own people, that's for sure. He watched me defeat the night-fiend, just standing in the shadows. I couldn't see him, but I could tell exactly where he was."

"You say 'he'?"

Belle considered. "Yes. Even though I never heard or saw anything, everything that I felt was male, definitely male. He gave off waves of intense power. When I looked in his direction, he disappeared as if he had left or . . . perhaps, had shielded himself."

Rheul considered. "It is possible . . . " She stopped and shook her head, "Most unlikely, but possible." She stood, her limited clairvoyance guiding her thoughts. It had been a long time since she had encountered one of those few, those very, very few, designated by the Holy Church to fight the Darkness, yet, somehow, what Belle had described sounded like one – the skilled concealment, the intensity of power.

Father Hopper might have petitioned for one of them to come in, disparaging her own order's attempts at maintaining the safety of the precinct. Were any of the old Gray Spirit Hunters even still alive? If Hopper had accurately perceived the situation, something the young priest, gifted as he was, might have done, then the Church could have called in one of the Hunters to deal with the minor nuisance of the nacht-teufel. Hopper might have recognized the shadow creature was not there in isolation but was a harbinger, a foreshadowing of More to Come. That would mean that the Church was also aware of the growing peril.

Normally Rheul would have welcomed assistance, but the Hunters were not only effective killers of dark creatures, they were dangerous to her people, very dangerous.

Oh but it seemed an unlikely course of action – to call in the Church's most powerful killing machine for a single night-fiend. She tried to convince herself she was over-reacting.

But Belle had certainly encountered Something.

She smiled at her young charge and attempted to dispel the younger woman's concerns but not wanting her to dismiss the encounter either. "Belle, be careful. Likely this is just some odd, isolated event, something that means nothing. And I know, I know you are very careful, but this man, or whatever he is," she waffled, not sure of what might e going on. "there is that slim possibility that he could be something very dangerous." She sat back down, "I guess, I just want you to remain alert."

Belle nodded. "Yes ma'am. I will be careful."

Belle retired for what was left of the night making her way to her dormitory. She moved quietly in the dimly lit hallways with their polished wood floors and white-plastered walls, making the effort not to disturb any of her sisters. She stopped in the showers and rinsed herself off, cleaning away any ectoplasm residue from the night-fiend kill earlier.

As she stood under the warm spray, she closed her eyes to the harsh florescent lights of the facility.

Odd, she usually was not one to daydream, to spend time in idle reverie. But as she moved her hands over her body, washing herself off, she imagined . . . imagined what it would feel like to have someone else's hands touching her.

She had spent all her life cloistered, protected from others, from the world, from men. She was well-educated and very well read but naïve and innocent. She often wondered what it would be like to have a lover, a husband, but . . . she knew her calling would prevent this from ever happening.

Somehow, in her musings, the Watcher, as she had named the mysterious figure that had observed her evening efforts, stepped into her fantasy. The power the man had projected was . . . seductive. Dangerous, yes, but . . . attractive . . . enticing . . . desirable.

Belle opened her eyes and turned on the cold water to shock herself back to reality. Get a grip girl, she told herself. Where were these hot flashes coming from? She was not playing any games. This was life and death, eternal life and everlasting death.

Pretty, Pretty

The Gray Hunter, Count Rumple Von Stiltskin, was not sure he would even go out the following evening. The primary enemy he had been stalking had been destroyed. He was half-expecting to get a call to go on to a new location for a new assignment. Such calls usually came in almost immediately, sometimes the next morning.

He considered going out to look for the little creature again. There was something so very interesting about the little hunter, something that spoke to him, enticed his interest.

He shook himself. He didn't need to go looking for trouble.

And when no call came in, he elected to go to Sudice's Coffee and Wine Bar to meet with his Aunts. He hadn't planned on connecting with them, figuring that he likely wouldn't have any leisure time. But now, with the enemy taken care of and no other assignments in his lap, he decided he should go and see them. He wanted to see them.

And perhaps he might get some news on his grandson.

"Oh darling, I'd heard you were in town and only just now have you made time to come see us." It was his Aunt Nessie, gently scolding him. The youngest of his aunts, she was easily his favorite of the three. She was a warm, comforting woman, shorter than her sisters with long black hair. She was dressed in layers of black and wore silver jewelry.

"Been very busy, Auntie," he apologized.

"Of course, of course, you have been. Here sit down. Coffee? Tea? Wine?" she asked him.

"Just some tea."

"Green, black, red, white, herbal?"

"You're just making some of those up," he told her with a smile.

"Green it is," she replied and scurried off to prepare it for him. Soon enough a tall, slender woman, spotted him and sat down across from him. Like his Aunt Nessie, she too had long black hair but hers was beginning to be streaked with strands of silver. She also was dressed darkly with silver jewelry. "Rumple dearest. You're looking tired," she told him.

He had to agree. "Aunt Artie, does it ever get easier?" he asked her.

She shook her head, "No, leibchen, no." In a quiet voice, she shared. "Your grandson is doing well."

He hesitated, "Is it all right to talk about such things here?"

"Nothing can enter here that we do not wish to enter," she assured him.

"Thank you."

Just then a third woman joined them. She was neither plump nor thin, tall, nor short. Her long hair was completely gray. Seeing her eldest sister, Artie elected to give her nephew a quick hug and left. The third woman sat down. "I see you have met her."

"What?! Who?" he asked.

"The new one. The important one."

He shivered. She had used the same descriptions as the Erzengel had.

His oldest aunt smiled gently, "Be careful, dear. Be careful. It is good to see you again," and then she got back up and left him.

At that moment, his Aunt Nessie returned, carrying him a to-go cup of tea. "Enola has always been the most pretentious of us all," she told him nodding at the back of her oldest sister who was walking away.

"Who is she, the one Aunt Enola was talking about?" he asked.

Nessie smiled at him. "Well, I certainly don't know. It's been long enough, perhaps she's your soulmate. They did promise you that you'd meet her."

He almost laughed, "At the end of days, yes. But is it that time already?" he asked.

"Who knows, kleiner Hase? Who knows?"

He wanted to spend more time with his Aunts, particularly his Aunt Nessie. She had been most like a mother to him and he felt closest to her. But, he knew his presence invited dark things. He knew they were more than capable of taking care of themselves, but he never would want to put them into a position where they had to defend themselves. He reluctantly opted to leave. He took his tea in a to-go cup and once again descended into the bowels of the city, walking the area, doing a perimeter check, perhaps with the idea of taking out a few lesser demons and frights.

He was also curious if he might see the little killing creature again.

He stood back against the wall, drinking his hot tea in its cardboard cup, watching the shadows. It was a little after two in the morning when he saw it again, a small figure hunting redcaps and dubharims and other minor nuisances. Such petty creatures readily sensed his power and fled before him.

He watched the creature, this evening dressed in wide full leather pants and a large loose black hooded jacket, as it cut down one minor demi-demon after another. It was indeed an efficient killing machine.

In the dim light of one of the fractured streetlights that still remained on the tortured streets of the undertown, the creature threw back the hood of the jacket, turned and he caught a view of its face, the creature's lovely face. He involuntarily sucked in his breath.

It was female! Definitely female.

How had he not sensed this before?

A female hunter. Most unusual.

Pretty.

Very pretty.

He waited.

The female creature began to make her way over to his hiding place. She didn't seem to sense him and he just stood and waited, shielding himself, quelling the waves of magic that typically emanated from him, just as he would if he were hunting.

Come pretty, pretty, come into my parlor he coaxed her in his mind. He continued to dampen his own powers, to make himself less perceptible.

As she gigged a redcap that had drunkenly wandered onto the sidewalk, he made his move, swiftly coming up behind her, catching one of her arms and pulling it behind her back and setting his dagger, his ancient enchanted kris blade, to her delicate throat.

"Well, well dearie. How's the hunting? Having a good evening?" he asked her, whispering into her ear.

She had stilled, well aware of the sharp blade that was pressed against her skin, handicapped by the vise grip her arm was in.

"I was," she managed to say.

"Good. You're coming with me now," he told her and began to usher her along the darkened streets, taking out a moment to glamour himself and his captive, suffocating their sounds and dulling their visibility. At most they would appear to be a wavering in the air to unsuspecting passersby – most of whom were drunk or high or mentally disturbed or some combination thereof.

She surprised him by going limp and when he stopped to get a better grip she was able to use her free hand to thrust up with a small knife, nicking him on a rib. It hurt like hell. He swore, then used his hand, still holding his own dagger, to knock her directly on her knife hand, numbing it and causing her to drop the blade.

She then back-kicked him in the shins. He nearly released her but collected himself. He pulled her arm back again and knew that he had to be hurting her. He heard her gasp in pain. And he once again raised the blade to her fine neck.

"Do something that stupid again and I will cut you, little hunter. You will come with me if you have to be carried in pieces." His tone brooked no discussion, no debate. He watched her as she turned her head just enough to look up at him, looking at him through narrowed eyes, obviously considering her options.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I . . . who I am is of no consequence. I'm here to do a job. Willing or no, you have now become part of that job," he told her dispassionately.

In the haze of pain and panic, she detected an accent in his speech – likely Northern British Isles but not quite. Other influences were altering his speech tone and patterns.

She allowed him to pull her along, not exactly coming along willingly, but moving as sluggishly as she thought he would tolerate. She balked as they approached The Church.

"Are you planning on taking me in there?" she asked him.

NEXT: Belle spends an uncomfortable night