Death, Taxes, and Sexy Women: Scene 1 (Patreon)

Author Note: This afternoon, I finished next book's outline for DPaSW. Wooo!

Author Note: These projects will be published both on this Patreon and on the Troy Harding Patreon program as well. I'm keeping a separate Patreon Account for Troy Harding for both business and legal reasons, but I want my fanfiction supporters to still have access to all my writings.

Scene 1

Above the gothic spires of Valeria City, nestled in a valley of the Ozark Mountains, thunderclouds massed in the sky, dark and ominous. Soon came the lightning, splitting the heavens and casting the densely packed stone and steel buildings into a stark relief of light and shadow before the inevitable almighty boom. Rain lashed windows, winds blew umbrellas inside out, storm drains overflowed, trash and water whipped through the air, the epic violence and majesty of nature unleashed upon the creations of man.

And in the main pool area of the Valeria indoor water park, literally no one gave even a single shit.

Peals of echoey laughter rose above a general tapestry of fun and relaxation, interspersed with the occasional squeal as someone got pushed, or grabbed, or splashed.

The air enveloped the bathing suit-clad patrons in a gentle embrace, just hot enough to make dipping refreshingly cool, but not so much so to make poolside lounging uncomfortable.

Plants and flowers mixed with the water to create a soft bouquet of aromas, simultaneously clean and organic — fresh and gentle.

Everywhere the eye travelled was met with visual spectacle — artificial mountains, waterfalls, jungles, lazy rivers, giant palm trees, wave beaches, ancient ruins, and of course, a giant network of slides and stairs criss-crossing the vast space like a real-life game of snakes and ladders.

Up on one of the many glass-made viewing decks, a group of drink-carrying, giggling, older teenage girls in well-filled-out bikinis sashayed and skipped past a pair of athletic-looking men in their mid-twenties wearing board shorts, laying back on recliners over-looking the park. Several of the girls smiled and waved at them as they passed, eliciting a smile and wave in return from one of the men.

But not the other.

This would turn out to be rather uncharacteristic.

Nathan Blackwood — fifty percent British, fifty percent Japanese, one-hundred percent Valerian City immigrant, and an annoyingly locked percent mythical creature of story and legend — glared at a letter in his hands, perfectly penned in hand-written cursive.

Dear Mister Nathaniel Robert Blackwood,

We recently sent communication to your residence in the USA inviting you to the decennial Kitsune Conference of Clans at the Park Hyatt Hotel in Tokyo to be held in the first half of next year.

This invitation was sent as the result of an administrative error. We must apologize for this and ask you to disregard the invitation. As I’m sure you’re aware, direct descendants of disowned clan members have no standing in the clans—even if they’re shown to possess blood strong enough to develop their Kitsune heritage—and can receive no support.

This is done to ensure the clans’ safety. I’m sure you understand.

If you choose to ignore this letter and arrive at the conference regardless, we will have no option but to forcefully escort you out.

That is all,

Mister Inarigawa Ryota (Steward to the Inarigawa Clan)

Nathan glared at the letter again.

He thought he’d put this crap behind him. For four years, he thought he’d put this crap behind him. Now in the space of a week he’d gone from rekindled hope for a future he’d thought denied him, right back to the overwhelming feelings of frustration and self-pity.

Nathan had Kitsune blood from his mother’s side, but he’d never been able to bring out any of the legendary powers Kitsune were supposed to possess. Those were secrets held close by the Kitsune clans of Japan — incredibly rich and influential mythical creatures, masters of magic and illusion, secretly ruling over their home islands in a way that most paranormals elsewhere could only dream of.

His mother had been exiled from the clans for falling in love with his father before receiving her own education, leaving him one of the few Kitsune who didn’t know how to develop his powers.

Not that he was interested in power for power’s sake. His parents hadn’t raised him to be like that.

No, he’d been more interested in fulfilling the call to his blood. It had awoken during puberty like a wild beast in heat and never really stopped. Kitsune had a certain reputation in the paranormal world — one he’d been happy to capitalize on at the time. He’d been chased away from classmates’ bedrooms in high school more than once by irate fathers, and when that father was a werewolf or a vampire it really put his own lack of powers in stark relief.

In the end, all his bloodline had granted him in terms of magic was the standard immunity to the memory-altering powers of the Masquerade Stone, a super-powerful artifact held in the Conclave of Realms that helped maintain the secrecy of the Paranormal World.

“Hey! Earth to Fox-boy! You paying attention, bro?”

Luckily for him, there were plenty of opportunities in the paranormal world for people who fit the archetypal charismatic Kitsune down to a tee, even without powers.

Nathan folded the letter up back a bit more forcefully than he intended, causing the paper to rip a little. The warm humidity of the air had softened the fibers and the ink was starting to smudge.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” he replied.

“Really?” Lucas, Nathan’s best friend and partner since university, gave him a doubtful look. “Describe the individuals who just walked by a moment ago.”

“Umm…” Nathan cast around for a clue but didn’t see any. Damn, had he really been that out of it?

“Let me give you a hint. If they all sat down facing away from you on a bench, you could mistake yourself for thinking we were at a bowling alley.”

Okay, apparently he really had been off in the clouds. Nathan mentally swore at the Inarigawa steward for what felt like the millionth time that day. He had to stop getting dragged back into that head space. He’d made the decision to give up the dream of his Kitsune powers a long time ago and felt he was doing fine. The letter had just opened old wounds, that was all. He’d gotten over it before by diving headfirst into his job, along with a new hobby — urban exploration and photography — Valira was the perfect place for it, given its history. Nathan was confident in his ability to get over it again.

He should probably get on that immediately.

“You think any of them would be interested?” he asked. His eyes briefly hovered over the DSLR camera sitting next to his recliner. “You know I’m always looking for new models. The old portfolio doesn’t grow itself.”

“Only in this gorgeous specimen of manliness,” Lucas replied with a smirk. “For some reason being nose-deep in paperwork doesn’t excite the ladies all that much.”

Nathan rolled his eyes. “You never saw Sophia when she was cramming for finals. Seriously though, did any of them look like they’d be up for exploring the city?”

Lucas shrugged. “No idea, man. They just passed and waved. Maybe they’ll double back.” His gaze turned serious. “Though I’m not sure all of them were of age. Just a heads up.”

“Fair. I trust your nose on that.” Nathan picked up the camera and started scanning the park again. He also trusted Lucas had been covering for most of the last five minutes while he’d been distracted.

Suddenly a radio crackled from under Lucas’ recliner.

“Dog-Fox this is Magic-Girl.”

Lucas grabbed for the radio. “Magic-Girl this is Dog-Fox, I hear ya.”

“I’ve just sighted someone who I think may be our target exiting from the men’s changing room,” the female voice on the other end continued. “Identifying Kelpie tattoo sensed, but not visible. Target is wearing red swimming shorts with a palm tree silhouette, a white t-shirt, shaggy brown hair down to his shoulders, and red flip-flops. Lean build. Well-muscled. White. About 5 foot 10. Requesting backup to confirm. Over.”

“Roger that,” Lucas said, suddenly all business. “We’ll be there ASAP. Out.”

Nathan reached under his own recliner and pulled out his 9mm Glock 19. All thoughts of the letter now in his shorts pocket vanished like damp footprints on heated tiles. Chill time was over. Sexy women would have to wait. The work bell had just rung.

Next Scene