The Dragon's Hunt. Jane Kindred

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СКАЧАТЬ and eyes the pale, bleached cornflower blue of the Sedona winter sky, was close enough to touch as the horses rumbled right through Rhea like spectral apparitions. Or maybe she was the apparition.

      Either way, the hunters vanished as swiftly as they’d come, leaving her standing in the living room of her one-bedroom apartment—with the fully solid figure of a demon. At least, she thought it must be a demon. Standing on its hind legs, the creature was the size of a human with the appearance of a fox, green eyes fixed on Rhea. It was a weirdly attractive fox, red fur flowing down its back in feminine waves, piercing eyes rimmed in black that rose to a charming point at the outside corners, putting Rhea’s cosmetic attempts at the effect to shame.

      “Why have you summoned me?”

      She hadn’t expected the fox to speak. Which, given that it was standing on its hind legs in her living room giving her its foxy resting bitch face, seemed a little obvious now that she thought about it. The voice was decidedly female.

      “I didn’t. Summon you. At least, I wasn’t aware I was summoning...anyone.”

      “But you’re a sorceress.”

      Rhea laughed. “Sorceress? You’ve got the wrong sister. I’m just a college graduate with a useless degree and a crap-ton of student loan debt trying to make a living as a tattoo artist.”

      The fox narrowed her eyes and gave Rhea an up-and-down look, taking in the slightly overgrown shock of unnaturally blond hair streaked with rainbow pastel hues, the oversize flannel shirt, and Rhea’s bare legs. Because who didn’t tattoo herself in her underwear?

      Being made to feel self-conscious made her testy. “Just who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

      One tuft of russet fur rose over an outlined eye. “I am Vixen, the Guardian of the Hunt. You have spilled blood upon the pristine snowbanks and summoned me.”

      “Well, I didn’t mean to summon you. I was just inking a tattoo.” Rhea pointed her toes and indicated the crescent moon on her left calf still seeping blood in little dots against the fresh ink. “I guess that’s the blood you meant? But I don’t know anything about pristine snowbanks or hunts. I think there’s been some kind of mix-up.”

      Vixen looked offended and crossed her downy little paws in front of her chest. “There is no mix-up. I come when I am summoned. Whom do you wish to have hunted?”

      “Hunted? This is getting a little out of hand. I don’t want anyone hunted.”

      Vixen was looking decidedly more human as she observed Rhea with a slightly suspicious—and more than slightly irritated—expression. “If you did not summon me, how were you privy to the Hunt?”

      “What hunt are you even talking about?”

      “That which rides in Odin’s name to claim the souls of murderers, adulterers and oath-breakers. Odin’s Hunt. The Wild Hunt.”

      “The Wild...?” Rhea felt light-headed. Maybe she was hallucinating from low blood sugar. “Okay, I’m done with this. This isn’t happening. You’re not real. Go away.” She headed into the kitchen. There was orange juice in the fridge. Rhea grabbed it and drank straight from the carton.

      When she set the empty carton down, Vixen was gone. Maybe it was time to wrap this up for the night. She’d finished the fill on the calf piece, anyway; she could do the shading another time. And maybe it was time to quit this pictomancy crap once and for all. Rhea cleaned up and bandaged the tattoo before putting her kit away and heading off to bed.

      The peculiar incident continued to nag at her as she tried to fall asleep. It had been her imagination, hadn’t it? The whole thing was probably the result of the blood sugar drop. She always told her clients to be careful to eat something before she worked on them, and she’d ignored her own advice. It made more sense than having conjured some kind of vulpine Guardian of the Hunt with her own blood. And why a fox, anyway? As a symbol, those were always trouble. Maybe Theia would know.

      Her hand was on her phone on the nightstand, ready to dial her twin out of habit, when she remembered. She wasn’t speaking to Theia. They hadn’t talked since Theia had revealed the bombshell she’d been withholding about their father’s infidelity and his double life with a second family. How could Theia have kept that from her? They’d never had secrets from each other. Even when Rhea had gone off to college at Arizona State in Tempe, and Theia had gone in the opposite direction to Northern Arizona University, it was always “Rhe” and “Thei” against the world. Until now.

      Rhea turned and punched her pillow a few times—fluffing it and getting out her frustrations at the same time—before giving up. She sat up and thumbed through her social media news feed, trying to quiet her mind, unabashedly cyberstalking her own twin sister to see what she was up to. Nothing much, it turned out. In the past week, she’d posted a couple of kitten memes, reposted some inspirational platitudes, and posted a status update consisting of a picture of the Flagstaff sunset over the snow-covered San Francisco Peaks from her back deck, with the caption, “Snowbowl is open. It’s officially assclown season at NAU.”

      * * *

      By the following morning, Rhea was convinced it had been a dream after all, and by noon, she’d forgotten all about the talking fox in her living room. But the images of the Hunt itself still lingered. She sketched out a quick drawing of the riders before heading into Sedona for the day.

      She’d spent her whole life in the town that was part provincial charm, part metaphysical tourist trap—with a dash of Western mystique thrown in for good measure—but now she was a commuter.

      The first half of the drive was dusty high desert dotted with snakeweed and desert broom and scrubby piñon pines until the bluish-gray shades and shadows in the distance differentiated into striations of burnt orange and creamy café au lait and succulent green. But from the moment the pale sandstone dome of Thunder Mountain came fully into view amid the red cliffs and mesas, it was like driving into a secret world. Being away at college had given her a new appreciation for its visual magic.

      Although she’d forgotten just how crazy Uptown could get at Christmastime. Just south of the strip where she’d rented her shop, the Tlaquepaque Arts & Crafts Village was in the grips of a full-on holiday orgy of decorated trees—and decorated saguaros—complete with strolling midday carolers in Dickensian garb.

      The galleries would be stunning at night with the glow of the six thousand luminarias now lining the walkways and walls. Rhea allowed herself a quick drive around the circle to admire the artful kitsch before heading back up the hill to deal with the mundane aspects of starting a business. Pretty much all she’d done so far was hang the sign out front, and there were barely two weeks before her official opening.

      In between setting up her accounting software, filling out DBA forms and scrubbing graffiti off the stairwell, she couldn’t help returning obsessively to the drawing of the Wild Hunt. In the back of her mind, she knew this was classic avoidance—a habit that had plagued her all through school—but the central figure in particular was compelling, as if he demanded to be drawn. She labored over the details of the wild hair and leather armor, trying to remember whether it had been trimmed with fur or whether the fur had been underneath—

      “I have to say, I did not expect to see someone like you sitting behind the counter.”

      Rhea jumped at the warm, rough-edged voice and glanced up, surprised by the intrusion and trying not to show her irritation at having been dragged out of the mental world of the СКАЧАТЬ