When you read a book about supernatural creatures and who fights them it frequently starts from a bar. Or a Church. Depending if the hero is a yahoo or a religious fella. I’m neither. I get work from the booth in an Indian restaurant in country New South Wales, Australia. The owners love me. I saved their children from a smart and vicious Rakshasa last year.
I could say it’s the free food they keep offering me that makes me work from here. They paid me for the rescue, I insisted on paying for the food. There might be times I accept a free drink, occasionally. I could say it’s because my mentor is the grandfather of those children. I mean he is, but neither of those is the reason. The motive behind this is, I want people to try other ways first. To be sure they need my help before they find me. The place smells better’n any bar or church, too. Being a popular place, the ‘normals’ rarely notice my business. Heck, sometimes I have to go outside to get the details.
The yahoos and religious types, they can take the jobs for cheap pay, religious duty or good will. If someone is gonna hire me, it’s hard cash, half up front, and lots of it. Besides, I’m so much of a mongrel of supernatural beings that no-one can trace what I really am. I’ve had to fight off a few of the regular hunters just to stay alive when they mistook me for what they were hunting. It has a couple of advantages, but one big disadvantage. No, make that two.
The first is the usual one for half-breeds, only worse. No-one really trusts me. They don’t know how to approach me as a fellow thinking being. At least most half-breeds get trust from others in a similar fix. The second is I hit the physical age and stature of twenty when I was five years old. Haven’t aged a day physically since then. No-one, and I mean no-one, knows how long that’ll last. I could age out of existence tomorrow or live forever as far as anyone knows. Makes relationships hard. I still have the mental flexibility of a child, though. Learning skills and such that take most people months or years, I manage in days.
But it also means I have no apparent weakness. I know I have a weretiger in the family tree. Tazzie Tiger that is. But I have no problems with silver. I probably have some fae blood, but I can touch iron, no worries. Might have vamp or demon heritage, but holy water? Not a problem, apart from getting my clothes wet. I don’t think I have any ghost in me, but that’s about all I’ll say for sure. I can see, hear and touch them. Very few people, supernatural or otherwise, can.
Oh, and you might ask what I look like. Another problem of my heritage. I have a different twenty-year-old male body every time I wake up. Means I have no photo ID of my face. It changes too often. I have an Australian SSC ID with a picture of the tattoo on the back of my hand. That’s Supernatural Special Consultant. That same picture is on all my other ID. I have a Tazzie Tiger head, mouth fully agape. Only constant in my life I feel sometimes. Being alive tomorrow certainly isn’t.
If things get weird, sometimes anywhere in the country, the local Sergeant knows where to find me.
So, someone seems to need me about once a week I for a job. About the only place, I won’t work now is a couple of southern US states. Word got ‘ round the Baptist hunters I took out a few of their preachers and the tattoo. All true. The preachers were possessed at the time, and I don’t mess around with exorcisms. If you have a problem with a supernatural and want me to deal with it, you had better want it dead, not just banished.
The Catholic church hired me for that job after losing their best two exorcists to a mangy pack of possessed. You could be cynical and say it was to remove the competition, but really, those preachers needed to die. They gave me a Vatican passport as a bonus. Not as useful as you’d think, some ways. Gets my gear across most borders, though. Traveling by plane, I now go in three hours before the flight leaves, call one of the Supernatural Hunter liaisons for the destination or, less commonly, the local Bishop or High Priest. Word has gotten around about me, over the years I’ve been operating as a hunter.
About the only thing I’ll help people solve, apart from killing a monster or supe that needs to be put down, is a curse. Now, frequently enough that involves bloodshed, but just as often it’s a puzzle. I hate curses. Most times they are unwarranted, placed only because of spite or jealousy. Other times, a curse was deserved by the family for the first three or four generations, but it kept running. With my heritage, I really understand how crap like that can make you feel.
I don’t play favorites. But I get the job I’m paid to do done, and if you get in my way, you might as well be hit by a tractor trailer. The end result will be less painful. My name is Thalias Jardine. Either call me Thal or Jardine. I don’t know what my parents were thinking either.
Thank you for being so patient with me. I forgot to post earlier this week so I decided to put up the whole prologue for my already finished book, A Mongrel’s curse. It will be coming out in an Inanna’s Circle Game anthology by the end of the month.
Then I’ll be releasing it mid-October. I plan on several sequels to it.
A-Viking has crossed the 55k mark. I’m thinking of putting maybe the first few chapters on instafreebie. We’ll see. And maybe that will keep people off my back no?
I’ve been having some personal difficulties, some work difficulties and trying to help a friend who has been having worse of both. I hope to be finished writing out A-viking by this time next week and have it out in very early October.
Again, thank you all for your support.