Belle’s Quest (Fairytale Bureau #3)

Chapter 9

9

We explored the manor, shadowed by Gerome, who picked us up the moment we left the bedroom. The place had many empty spaces, the doors wide open showing off their contents. Bedrooms in the east wing, the mattresses bare of sheets, a thin layer of dust on the furniture. The west wing had been converted into storage for weapons, canned goods, clothing, and more.

I eyed the accumulation of stuff and murmured, “It’s like a stockpile for the apocalypse.”

“Because it is. We’ve done the same in Corsica. Mother has concerns that if the Grimm Effect were to increase its infection rate, supply chains would be disrupted.”

“Which is looking more and more likely these days,” I murmured in reply .

“Good thing we’re doing something about it.”

I wish I had his confidence.

We finished our tour in the training room. While Gerome skulked in a corner, Killian headed for the rack of weapons, pulling a long sword. “Nice blade,” he remarked.

“Do you know how to use it?” I asked.

“I’m very adept with my sword,” he said with a wink.

Yeah, we won’t discuss what that did to my nether regions.

“I’m more of a throwing-dagger kind of girl,” my reply.

“Show me.” He pointed to an array of knives hung on a magnetic board.

“If you insist. Do you have an apple to put on your head?” I quipped, grabbing a dagger and feeling its weight before swapping it for another with a nicer balance.

“Not until I see you throw first,” he riposted with a chuckle.

“Where’s the trust, husband?” It got easier every time I said it.

“It’s said death is quicker than divorce.”

“Probably less messy too.” My humor ran a little darker than his .

He still laughed. “All right, wifey poo, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Him and his wifey-poo. The most ridiculous thing he could call me.

I whirled and flung the blade, aiming it about two feet off his left side. To his credit, he didn’t flinch, but he did whistle as I hit the target dummy behind him in the chest.

“Nice throw. Can you do that consistently?”

I showed him. Grabbing and flinging knives, one after another in rapid succession, all but one sticking in the target circle. It nicked the handle of another and plinked to the ground.

He whistled. “Impressive. Now the next question, how are you in hand-to-hand situations?”

“Want to find out?” I beckoned with my fingers.

“Ooh, a challenge. How can I resist?” he stated, heading for the knife wall, while I grabbed my favorite from the dummy.

“I get the impression you’re the type who only needs a single dare and not a triple dog dare.”

“Right you are.”

“Must have driven your mom nuts.”

He cast me a grin over his shoulder. “Right again. You should have heard her ranting when I broke my leg jumping from the barn roof.”

“Why would you do that? ”

“Well for one, Daryl dared me, and second, Suzie McInnis was watching. The hay bale should have broken my fall.”

“What went wrong?”

“I bounced off it into the tractor.”

I winced. “Ouch.”

“Yup. But in better news, Suzie was so impressed by my bravery, she shared her lunch with me for a month.”

I couldn’t help my laughter. “You and food.”

“You know, they say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Is this a bad time to mention I’m a terrible cook?”

“Good thing I can afford a chef.”

“Glad to hear it. I’d never be able to afford your grocery bills on my salary.”

“Which is why it’s good to know how to farm. Nothing better than growing and eating something you nurtured. Ready?” He took up a stance opposite me, but before we could begin sparring, Gerome cleared his throat.

“Not without blade guards you aren’t.”

The gruff man insisted we wrap the daggers in the foam sheaths meant for practice bouts. With the sharp edges hidden, we began our match. Small feints at first, but as Killian showed he knew how to move, I stepped up my game. Spinning and slashing, ducking and sliding under his guard to tap him above the waist.

“Bye-bye, kidney,” I sang.

“Nice move.” He complimented, unlike some male agents who got bent out of shape when I bested them. My shooting might be mediocre and swords too tiring, but daggers? I loved them almost as much as books.

As we continued to parry, he talked. “How come I’ve never seen you with a knife?”

“Because people tend to freak when they see sharp weapons. So either I have my taser on me, which is better for subduing, or I’ve got it tucked out of sight.”

“Have you ever had to use it in the course of your work?” He avoided my slash by raising his arm to block.

“The dagger, no, but I have zapped a few belligerent grimphers. They’re not always appreciative of us getting them out of a bind.”

“I heard your office recently solved a big serial killer case.”

“Yeah, the media called it Hood and the Huntsman.” I feinted to my left, only to drop low and slash his leg to the right. “Artery gone,” I chirped then continued as if I hadn’t just killed him. “The killer had us running circles with all kinds of false leads and a string of bodies, but in the end, we took him down. And by we, I mean Blanche and her boyfriend. ”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“I’m a Fairytale agent. It’s part of the job.”

“Speaking of danger, what of the beasts you encounter? Do you often have to put them in their place?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had to grab one by the balls and remind it that being an animal doesn’t give them the right to act like one with me.”

His hands dropped to his groin. “Ow.”

“Yes ow, and very effective. It’s?—”

Crash . The skylight overhead shattered, and despite the bars over it to prevent intrusion, birds slid through the gaps between the slats. Ravens, dozens of them, their wings fluttering rapidly enough the noise made it almost impossible to hear Killian’s shout.

“Get out of here.”

“You get out,” I hollered as I took aim and threw my knife.

One bird down. I ran for the dummy with the blades I’d tossed earlier and began grabbing and throwing. Hit a bird, and it went down. Another toss impaled the next. But more winged for me while ignoring Killian and Gerome, and this despite the fact both men slashed with their swords, shearing wings and sending the birds plummeting.

Guess the ravens had come for me.

And kept coming even when I ran out of knives. I put my arms over my head to cover my face as wings beat at me and beaks pecked at the cotton covering my arms.

However, that pain paled to that of the crackling as the beast suddenly emerged from my skin.

Dusk had arrived, and when the transformation finished, I didn’t need a knife.

My claw-tipped hands grabbed and ripped. I roared. I stomped.

By the time the last bird hit the ground, I was a mess, my fur slick with gore and even feathers.

And what did my husband say? “Good, kitty.”