Heartland Hunters: Ch 1

Chapter One: Jumper

“You listen to me you sorry excuse for a multicellular organism. You killed those people to put my acquaintance in a frame. Your either incredibly brave, or clinically stupid. I don’t care which. All I care about is that I’m going to beat you to half to death with your own limbs, cut out your liver with a spoon, shove your heart up your ass and decorate the town with your entrails. And I’ll make sure you stay alive though the whole experience.

“I’m going to call back. The girl is going to answer. My first question ‘Are you hurt?’ If she answers yes, or if I even think she’s lying, I vanish, and you won’t even see me coming until it’s too late. Why? Because it’s in my nature. If your not scared now, then I know your clinically stupid.”

The line went dead.

Kathryn Stoic looked at the phone confused, while her kidnappers looked at it scared. In the past week she’s known that kid… no. She didn’t know him at all. The same kid that didn’t even flinch when a werewolf grows out of frustration, remained clam when her best friend was on fire, got along with everyone but the resident jerk. He just threatened a man who helped a serial killer escape a federal prison, and sided with Fletcher.

‘Who are you?’ Kathryn asked a very determined boy only days earlier in the woods. His face then turned from stoic to entertained in a blink of an eye.

‘Blake Steorra.’ He answered smoothly.

‘I know that.’

‘Then why did you ask?’

‘What’s a commonwealth agent? Is that an Australian fed?’

‘No. A Commonwealth Agent’s jurisdiction is a lot larger then a fed’s.’

She wanted to press the subject, but never got the chance. Ever since those new kids came to Heartland, normalcy was but a distant sweet memory.

One Week Earlier…

He let the neck tie hang around his neck, the knot hang just below a stainless steel ankh that hung from a chain, and an emerald tie clip securing it to purple shirt with the outline of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. It was tucked into a pair of green, camo patten cargo pants with a magnetic black leather belt and stainless steel buckle. Over his attire was a black button up shirt with a silver, seven point star pin on the collar.

The duster was hanging behind the door of his closet, but it was like losing a second skin. It had been his armour, and companion though out his long life. He scrutinised his appearance further, steel grey eyes that held almost ancient wisdom, nordic pale skin that refused to pick up colour, brown hair that was constantly messy and windswept, and sharp cheekbones that gave his face a gaunt and thin shape. He traced a finger down his left check, down a thin, discoloured line that went from his forehead, crossing his eyelid, and down to his chin, almost invisible to casual observers.

Hanging from the sun visor was his I-Dent card, declaring the owner to be Juvenile Commonwealth Agent, Blake Steorra, Caucasian Human + Fairy, residing in Sydney, born on 27th of June, 29 Commonwealth Era. Human. He described the word as an insult to his very existence, but at the same time, allowed himself to define it. Adventurous, noble, enduring, determined, resourceful…

Cruel… Capable of monstrous things…

And capable of becoming something monstrous.

His digi-Pilot beeped, reminding him of why he was here and now. He lifted the visor back into place, took his phone from the console, his backpack from the passenger seat, and opened the door, leaving the metallic black Subaru Impreza, opening the hatch to retrieve his ‘luggage’ from the car. Closing the hatch, he then turned his attention on possible bystanders. When none could be found, he shifted his attention to the wrist mounted computer, and with a series of commands on it’s touchscreen, the car beeped, and began to rapidly fold up on to itself until a purple sphere, no larger then a tennis ball, remained. He just picked up the ball, and dropped it into the larger pocket of his backpack before making his way towards a sign that read ‘Heathland North High School; Go Wovles’ lit up in the early morning dark with a cartoon humanoid wolf in full football kit and a banner decorating the Heathland Wolves to be the State Champions of 2014.

It was a noise that made him stop. In a blink of an eye, he drawed a weapon. At first it was a stainless steel sword hilt with an onyx gem in the pommel, and in a flash of purple light, the cross-guard extended out, and a blade of obsidian like black crystal extended out a full yard, the waxing near full moonlight gleaming of it’s point.

The boy’s eyes dared what ever it was to make a move.

A cat ran from the bush, a bell connected to it’s collar ringing as it ran down the main road. Blake sighed as the blade retreated back into the hilt and the cross guard fold back in. The hilt was returned to the inside pocket of his over-shirt before he continued on his way.

Heathland, Washington. It was one of those small towns where everyone knew everyone, with only two major sources of income. The mine and the federal prison. The area is rich in coal, which is the primary resource used to generate electricity on the planet, though the town’s major source of power is the Skyline Dam, that was built sixty years ago. Then there’s the prison, some ten miles or sixteen kilometres down the main road from the high school.

There has been a resent escape, a serial killer by the name George Madison, nicknamed the Seattle Butcher by the press, vanished from his cell last week. First he was there, then he vanished by morning. Almost as if he vanished into thin air. A passing teenager knew better however. Glenn Kame could count on his claws the number of ways a man could vanish without a trace. Matter to Data conversion, teleports, diminutional shifting… a that’s before you factor in the arcane. He’s heard of every scientific method of vanishing acts from Clair Weli’sol, his steady girlfriend and mate, with contributions from Blake, Zane and Joey until the alpha lycan called for a stop during movie night before the resident mage had more to say. Thankfully, Jamie agreed with Glenn and kept her contributions to herself.

At least until she is certain her arts are involved.

In the meantime, here he was in the parking lot of Heartland North High School, leaning on his modified electric blue charger, waiting in the cool summer morning. The sun had yet to rise, and already bus bay was bustling with sophomores and junior students, chatting animatedly in their little clicks, their luggage by their side, heading into the school proper, passing though metal detctors.

Summer Camp. Glenn scoffed at the two words. The reason he was even going was because of a fault in reality. Still, it’s been a while since he felt like an actuarial teenager, rather then a secret agent pretending to be a teenager. He had to be at least a decade or two older then he looked, thanks to a mixture of dimension jumping and anti-aging medication. He looked in the side mirror of his charger, his amber eyes looking back, along with the Ta Moko on the right side of his face, the chiseled spiral tattoo, part of his Maori heritage was a reminder of where he came from. And even if it wasn’t visible in his ‘wolf form,’ it’s chiseled textures could still be felt under his fur. He could remember the day he got it. The day his sixteenth birthday.

“Excuse me sir.” He heard someone call out. “I’ve lost my werewolf. You wouldn’t happen to have seen him.”

Glenn turned to see a brown haired boy with grey eyes with a grin that said ‘Do it, I dare you.’

“He’s about eight foot tall, two hundred and seventy pounds. Plays guitar, drives that exact car. You know, he’s not going to like you leaning on his paint job.”

“You’re looking at him princess.” Glenn chuckled.

“You better be, or I’m going to turn you inside out for the princess remark.” There was a hint of malice in his voice that made Glenn flinch. In all honesty, he could if he wanted to. Hell, Glenn saw first hand the unleashed power of a half fae. No mercy. No control. Just pure, unbridled rage. He laughed, a genuine laugh knowing he was likely one of a few people who could get away with calling him that with a little more then a punch to the shoulder, or flick to his ear.

“I thought Clair would be with you.” Blake pointed out.

“She’s driving too.” Glenn reminded. “Remember. She needs the Nissan for her equipment.”

“Right. I remember offering the glade… You’re the only one here?”

“Zane went to stretch his wings ten minutes ago. Koraian’s already inside. Jamie said she would be riding herself up there. And Parker…” Glenn was interrupted by a large pickup driving past and parking next to the Charger.

“Isn’t coming?” Blake finished.

“He’s coming.” Glenn growled. “Clair has to wait for him to make sure the private branch is working. Something about the firewall.”

“I get…” There was a high pitched screech as… Blake guessed was someone keying someone else’s car. Both boys turned to see Jacob Fletcher, smiling with his dirty, discoloured teeth in plain sight. Blake grimaced as he knew what was about to happen next.

“Sweet Emergency.” He cursed as he grabbed the collar of Glenn’s shirt in an attempt to stop him from murdering a kid.

“You Jerk! I’ll kill you for that! I’ll rip your bloody throat out!” Blake tuned out the rest of the snarling teen’s threats and insults.

“Glenn. Calm down. You’ll just satisfy his need to entertain himself.” Blake tried to reason with his enraged friend. Somewhere in the back of his head, he hoped he wouldn’t need to knock him out before he really lost control.

He was already beginning to change. Blake cursed as he watched the fine hair on his neck begin to multiply, while his neck was thickening…

“Glenn. Get a hold of yourself.” Blake hissed as the Lycan continued to swipe at the smiling boy, glad it was too dark to see the multiplying hair or swelling limbs…

“Hey!” There was a shout. Blake prayed to what ever deity would listen to him that it wouldn’t be a native. They went unanswered as Blake watched a group of letterman jacket wearing students approach them. The moment Jacob saw them, he ran off, with two of the jocks on his heel. Blake however decided enough was enough, reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a small pouch. He placed the pouch in Glenn’s face. The effect was almost immediate…

Glenn fell forward in pure euphoria as the transformation practically reached full swing, no longer rage induced, but drug induced. Blake followed, unable to hold up the rapidly changing lycanthrope. He sprung upright and straightened his clothes and various jewellery he wore. Even taking a moment to check that his eyes weren't glowing a vivid bright purple.

“You guys okay.” One of the remaining jocks asked.

“Yeah. Just remembering that it’s illegal to kill people.” Blake said rapidly.

“Uh, Dude. Your going to need a new paint job.” The other, more chubby kid informed them, but nether have noticed Glenn’s disappearance, just a lingering sense of Deja vu in the air. Blake had walked around to inspect the paint.

“How in the name of Stars Above did he manage to scratch that in a few seconds?!” Blake demanded.

“Dude. It’s Jacob. His mission in life is to make even the teachers think twice about coming to school.” The chubby one pointed out. Blake had to work hard to remember their names. He had only meet them once before at the football rally last week. The whole town turned out for that.

He then recalled the Football Team Caption’s name, Mike Rodgers, who had now become aware of the missing boy. “Where’s Kame?”

“Joined the chance with your friends… Cherry Cola and… Tom Cruise Fan.” Blake wished he had something to beat himself half to death with. He had a terrible head for names. “He’ll turn up.”

“He left this behind.” Mike pointed out as he held up… a ring, made from a custom stainless steel alloy that held a high concentration of chromium, along with a hint of silver and mana, cooled rapidly, with three small diamonds deciding the ring into three equal segments, and in between the segments a black crystal, the same his sword was created from.

The ring’s twin sat on Blake’s on left hand until he pulled it off and slipped it into his pocket. In fact, it was one of eight Blake had created for himself and his friends, each of them holding a peace of his core.

He also noticed something about the ring in Mike’s hand.

It was glowing a vivid purple.

There is only one reason a ring would glow in Mike’s grip. Blake cursed in mandarin, and for good measure, Native South Treasuren, Evergladian, High Elven, Contemporary Latin, Greek, Spanish, Germain, Japanese, French, Arabic, and any language he could think was in his grasp, even managing to curse out loud in Dragontongue before something interrupted his long string of mental curses.

The engine of a Triumph Daytona 675 rev though the early morning. It’s rider, clad in synthesised dragon hide leather and a full motorcycle helmet, turned into the school’s parking lot and pulled up behind the charger. She pulled off the helmet and let her mahogany brown hair spill out over her shoulders. She did not look happy.

Jan’ti “Jamie” Sw’et was for the best part an early riser. Mostly, it was a required trait for Sun Elf Farmers to wake up at the crack of dawn to tend to their fields. She retained that trait though out her training as a mage and into her employment at the Arcane Collage in Sydney, and her work as a Juvenile Commonwealth Agent, dealing with crimes of various natures, including the arcane. Her element and craft.

It also tended to call for undercover work on earths, parallel to her new home of Terra in an effort to protect it. Recently, it hadn’t been going overly well. This was because of her hobby. Often, she would find herself going though old alchemical recipes and replicated them to see what worked. It also helped with identifying potions on the Inter-diminutional Black Market. Except for one little vial labelled in an ancient draconic script she was unfamiliar with. Short of getting someone to drink and, and observing the effects, there was little she could do in identifying the vial’s contents.

Now the vial was missing.

She had left it in her library in Blake’s Glade, only to need to entertain an unexpected guest, one of the stoners had overdosed on something and Koriaian needed to detox him rapidly. Somehow, between leaving it in the library to help with overdose, and returning sixteen hours later, the vial was missing, and the Glade’s wards were undisturbed. Had to have been someone who was welcomed by the Glade, a list that included her, and a number of people.

She was very distraught, but none the less, still had the script to go on, and her sources and translation charms were forcing her to research the topic more widely. But a week of research and nothing to show for it. She considered one of her contacts in the Arcane Collage, or elsewhere in the Physical Realms.

She would have to consider her options while they were at summer camp, pretending to be ordinary human teenagers while investigating a possible breach in reality. A week in this town already told her that the population was afraid of something.

Something in the shadows.

She turned into the school parking lot with her customary expression of unhappiness to see the most percale speckle. Blake standing next to the charger with two… what did they call the game again? Not Rugby, the other name. Baseball? Or is that what they call cricket in america? She called them baseball's for the moment. One of them was holding an Obsidianite Ring. It was glowing.

“Have we got a problem gentleman?” She asked. She noticed Blake was missing his ring. “What is he doing with your ring Blake?”

“Yeah. That’s mine.” Blake pointed out. “Thanks mate.” He held out a hand and the boy placed the ring in his palm. The boy nodded to Jamie.

“Sweet ride.” He pointed out.

“Thank you.” Jamie nodded.

“Where’s your luggage?” Asked a boy she didn’t notice until now.

“On its way. Where is Glenn?”

“About to kill someone for putting his name and two body parts in the same sentence.” Blake said while winking.

“Really?” Jamie questioned walking over to where Blake was standing. “He is going to… Holy Hungus.”.

“Yep.” Blake popped.

“Who spells head with an ‘i’? Fletcher? Really?” Her only answer was silence.

“We should get going.” One of the ‘Baseballers’ pointed out as two of his friends came back, having long lost Fletcher, but even he needed to come back at some point before they departed. Someone very powerful in the Education Department decided to make this year’s trip a compulsory part of their curriculum.

“Go on ahead. We’re still waiting for Clair and Joey, and I think Zane is somewhere.” Blake waved off, noticing that Mike had a limp as he walked away. And there were fewer students outside, so few that they heard someone make a touchdown landing behind them.

“What did I miss?” The orange dragon asked them.

“Just some minor details.” Blake answered as he snapped his fingers. His eyes flashes a vivid purple as the familiar sense of deja vu washes over the three of them.

The dragon managed to see the message carved into the paint before the flecks of paint returned to their original spot and joined together. It was like nothing happened.

In reality, nothing did.

“Your technique is almost flawless.” Jamie pointed out to her pupil. “Only a hair out of place.”

“My hair’s always like that.” Blake complained as his eyes returned to their steel grey colour before he turned to the eight foot tall dragon with burnt orange scales, wearing teal hoodie, and a pair of brown jeans, both with additional sleeves for his wings and tail. “Good early morning flight?”

“You should try it some time.” The dragon said lightly, with a smile on his half muzzle. Blake rolled his eyes at the crack at his fairy heritage.

“I’ll take that under advisement while you find a nice princess to kidnap.” Blake grumbled. “Actually, better idea Zane. Help me with wolf boy then you two can go terrorise some villages.”

“Wait. What did happen to Glenn?” Jamie asked. Her question was answered by Blake opening the back door. A large black werewolf spilled out from the back seat, remains of Glenn’s blue shirt still hanging feebly around his arms and torso. His cargo pants however had resisted the change, by design rather then luck.

Jamie spotted a familiar looking pouch in his claws. The smell coming from it almost burnt her nostrils. She was well aware of what it was. Silver Poppy. She retrieved the pouch from his claws and closed it.

“You drugged him?” Zane questioned.

“It was either that or let an enraged werewolf tear apart someone’s throat. And I know he’ll never forgive himself.” Blake answered. “And he was shifting anyway. There, there. Just let those lycanthrope neuroses just ooze on out of you.”

“So who’s going to wake him up?” Zane asked.