Of Claws and Fangs Read online

  Praise for Faith Hunter

  “Hunter’s brand of supernatural is equal parts exciting, engaging, and entertaining . . . Filled with high-stakes tension, Hunter’s storytelling is vivid and descriptive with edgy, sharp dialogue laced with humor.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Once again, Hunter proves she’s a master of the genre.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “A lot of series seek to emulate Hunter’s work, but few come close to capturing the essence of urban fantasy: the perfect blend of intriguing heroine, suspense, [and] fantasy with just enough romance.”

  —SF Site

  “Readers eager for the next book in Patricia Briggs’s Mercy Thompson series may want to give Faith Hunter a try.”

  —Library Journal

  “Hunter’s very professionally executed, tasty blend of dark fantasy, mystery, and romance should please fans of all three genres.”

  —Booklist

  “Hunter deftly manages risk and reward, and Jane’s ever-growing tribe manages to bond amidst pressure from all sides.”

  —All Things Urban Fantasy

  “Hunter is a master of the game-changer and cliffhanger.”

  —Kings River Life Magazine

  Books by Faith Hunter

  The Jane Yellowrock Novels

  Skinwalker

  Blood Cross

  Mercy Blade

  Raven Cursed

  Death’s Rival

  The Jane Yellowrock World Companion

  Blood Trade

  Black Arts

  Broken Soul

  Dark Heir

  Shadow Rites

  Cold Reign

  Dark Queen

  Shattered Bonds

  True Dead

  The Soulwood Novels

  Blood of the Earth

  Curse on the Land

  Flame in the Dark

  Circle of the Moon

  Spells for the Dead

  The Rogue Mage Novels

  Bloodring

  Seraphs

  Host

  Anthologies

  Cat Tales

  Have Stakes Will Travel

  Black Water

  Blood in Her Veins

  Trials

  Tribulations

  Triumphant

  Of Claws and Fangs

  ACE

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  penguinrandomhouse.com

  Copyright © 2022 by Faith Hunter

  “Beast Hunts Vampire with Jane” © 2011 by Faith Hunter

  “Eighteen Sixty” © 2015 by Faith Hunter

  “Anzu, Duba, Beast,” “It’s Just a Date,” “Shiloh and the Brick” © 2016 by Faith Hunter

  “Black Friday Shopping,” “Candy from a Vampire,” “Make It Snappy,” “Life’s a Bitch and Then You Die” © 2017 by Faith Hunter

  “How Occam Got His Name” © 2018 by Faith Hunter

  “Beast Hunts Pie-bald Deer,” “Of Cats and Cars” © 2019 by Faith Hunter

  “Death and the Fashionista,” “My Dark Knight,” “Wolves Howling in the Night” © 2017 by Faith Hunter

  “Bound into Darkness,” “The Ties That Bind” © 2021 by Faith Hunter

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  ACE is a registered trademark and the A colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Hunter, Faith, author.

  Title: Of claws and fangs / Faith Hunter.

  Description: First edition. | New York: Ace, 2022. | Series: Jane Yellowrock

  Identifiers: LCCN 2021051762 (print) | LCCN 2021051763 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593334348 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593334355 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCGFT: Short stories.

  Classification: LCC PS3608.U59278 O37 2022 (print) | LCC PS3608.U59278 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23/eng/20211021

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021051762

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021051763

  First Edition: May 2022

  Cover art by Cliff Nielsen

  Cover design by Katie Anderson

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  pid_prh_6.0_139875639_c0_r0

  This collection of short stories is in memory of Teri Lee Akar. My life and my writing are darker without you.

  SHORT STORIES FROM FAITH HUNTER

  Dear readers, fans, and friends,

  When I released the comprehensive short story collection Blood in Her Veins, I thought I was done with short stories and novellas and novelettes. Ummm. Nope. Apparently not. There were a number of my stories that came back available from anthologies that had been out a while, and some that had been used for PR or as freebies over the years and were then taken off the Internet.

  This compilation is because you clamored to have all the remaining short stories and novelettes in one place, and my publisher and I listened.

  Of Claws and Fangs is a fun hodgepodge of stories from many characters within nonlinear timelines of the Yellowrock world and the Soulwood world. There are a few stories that most of you have not seen because they were published in hard-to-find anthologies, or released in serial format for the newsletter (you do know I have a newsletter, right?) or serialized in blog tours. All those for PR purposes were removed quickly from the Internet. Some have now been lightly edited to fit this compilation. This means that they have been published in this format before. There isn’t much new here except the short vignette about Miz A. I hope you enjoy having everything in two places—Blood in Her Veins and Of Claws and Fangs! Ummm. Not that I will stop writing shorts and novellas. I can’t see that happening anytime soon!

  For now, grab a cuppa of whatever you like to sip on, curl under a blanket, and enjoy your old friends.

  Faith Hunter

  CONTENTS

  Candy from a Vampire

  Make It Snappy

  It’s Just a Date

  Life’s a Bitch and Then You Die

  Black Friday Shopping

  How Occam Got His Name

  Shiloh and the Brick

  Beast Hunts Vampire with Jane

  Of Cats and Cars

  Beast Hunts Pie-bald Deer

  Jane Tracks Down Miz A

  From Anthologies:

  Anzu, Duba, Beast

  Eighteen Sixty

  Wolves Howling in the Night

  Death and the Fashionista

  My Dark Knight

  Bound into Darkness

  The Ties That Bind

  Candy from a Vampire

  A vignette first published online, on my blog, as a serial blog tour short for Halloween in 2017. It is from the point of view of Leo Pellissier, a view of his thoughts, for which my fans have often clamored.

  Leo Pellis
sier stood outside the Royal Mojo Blues Company, a bucket—a cauldron, really—filled with individual servings of candy in front of him. Each piece was wrapped in paper, or foil, or foiled paper, with the ingredients in tiny print on the back, showing calorie content and fat content, which was significant, and nutritional value, which was negligible. He had always thought that was the point of candy, that it was to be nothing but sugar and fat and delicious. A treat, back in his day, a sweet that was earned when he had done something good, like staying on his pony through a trot, over small fences, or translated a particularly difficult Latin tale into the French or Castilian or Greek, as his tutor demanded. His hand beaten with a thin strip of wood when he failed, and his presence at dinner denied. Treats when he succeeded. It was the way of his father’s house. Carrot and stick. Or candy and stick. It had been effective then. Now children could have sweets at every meal. And on All Hallows Eve, even more.

  It was scarcely past sunset and the streets were filled with adults in various stages of inebriation, accompanied by various stages of nudity, the closer to Bourbon Street one drew. Costumes that did far more than hint were everywhere, even here at the Mithran Council Chambers. But here, as tradition dictated, there were children. Many, many children.

  Halloween in the French Quarter of New Orleans had been changed forever when Marilyn Monroe had attempted to turn John Kennedy in the Oval Office and been staked for her trouble. That next year, 1963, Leo had appeared for the first time, in full tuxedo and a black cloak, with scarlet silk lining, to hand out candy. Personally. The children had been bused in from all over the city at Mithran expense. And back then, a parent thought nothing of putting children on a bus and sending them off for a party, which was what he had put on for them, all along the street in front of the chambers.

  There had been humans dressed as storybook witches in every doorway, some with hot cauldrons full of liquid pralines that they ladled onto waxed paper, allowed to cool and solidify, and gave away, others offering popcorn balls or caramels. Jugglers, clowns, artists of every stripe were encouraged to display their wares. Musicians stood on every street corner, with baskets or open instrument cases before them for tips. There were pony rides. The press wandered among the crowds, taking photographs for the Times-Picayune and to show on CBS or NBC or ABC, all across the nation. The party had been a ploy to improve public opinion of the newly revealed Creatures of Darkness, as described by a young, up-and-coming newsman whose name he had long forgotten.

  The street party had been successful at the time. Now, fewer parents allowed their children onto the chartered buses, instead throwing parties for them in the safety of their schools or in private homes. And when they did allow the children aboard, the parents came too, holding their child’s hand. These days monsters on the streets might be human, intent on much worse than stealing a little blood.

  There were fewer and fewer newsmen and newswomen on the streets to photograph the decades-old tradition. Perhaps in a few years, he would discontinue the party, or perhaps make it bigger. He could add wine tasting and beer tasting, and persuade restaurants to bring their foods to taste, in order to attract an older, more sophisticated crowd.

  But there were still a few here tonight. Children and reporters both. Enough each year to brave the Quarter for the joy of taking candy from a vampire. And this year, one of the candy makers was a real witch, one he recognized from her dossier. He nodded regally to Suzanne Richardson-White, an earth witch with a gift for making pralines that rivaled Aunt Sally’s. It was a sign of improvement between the races that she was here, in public, sharing a street with a Mithran. On All Hallows Eve. She nodded back, an amused expression on her face.

  A little girl with bright red hair raced up to him, her brown paper sack held out in two tiny fists. “Twick or Tweat, Mr. Pewisir.”

  “Oh, please. No tricks tonight,” Leo said, reaching down and lifting up enough candy to turn the little girl into an instant diabetic. He let them all fall in a cascade of shushing sounds into her bag. He felt the moment the cameras focused on him and the little girl, and he smiled his public smile, toothy but totally human, the smile that the whole world knew.

  “Thank you, Mr. Pewisir,” the little girl said, before racing away to the next candy station.

  “You’re welcome, my dear,” Leo replied, though she was no longer there to hear, and a tiny tot in a cowboy suit took her place, his father standing behind, smiling, as if remembering the time he took the bus to this section of the French Quarter to receive candy from a vampire.

  The hours wore on, and the crowds thinned. The moon rose in a hazy night sky.

  Suzanne dipped up the last of the candies and closed her booth. She packed her mini-cauldron and the brazier that had kept the melted sugar hot. He watched from beneath the streetlight as she moved, her body encased in a corset, the laces holding and reshaping her curves, her breasts thrust up high and rounded. Her flowing witch’s dress was made of silk and netting, the fabric catching the night breeze as if a spell caused it to float. She wore ankle boots with tiny spike heels and the kind of old-fashioned buttons that had to be closed with a hook. He had always loved taking such shoes off a woman. And corsets.

  Leo smiled. The girl was all of thirty, a graduate of Tulane. He had learned that acting on such thoughts was considered improper for anyone, especially for an old man such as he. Jane Yellowrock had made him rethink many things that he had once taken as his due.

  “Shall I pack everything away?” Del asked, interrupting his reverie.

  Leo turned to her and smiled his nonpublic smile, the one he kept for retainers and blood-servants, especially those he depended upon for security and a pleasant life. “Thank you, Del. Yes, it’s late.”

  Del spoke into a headpiece, calling in the menials who would clean up and take down the candy stand. She was efficient and beautiful and far too bright and accomplished to be acting as a caterer, though as primo, that was part of her job from time to time. Perhaps too often.

  “Del? . . .” She looked up at him, instantly alert for any need he might have. He studied her in the wan yellowed light that tried unsuccessfully to replicate gas streetlights of his early years in New Orleans. “You look lovely tonight. Are you happy in my employ?”

  Del’s blond brows went up in surprise, wrinkling her forehead. “Thank—Sir?”

  She sounded . . . nonplussed. As if he never asked such things of her, of any of his dependents. And perhaps he had not done so, not in a long while. Had ruling made him hard and insensitive? Jane had insisted this was true, the last time he called her for some small service. Her exact words had been, “Do it yourself, your Royal Fangyness. This is my day off. And maybe it’s time to stop being such a royal ass.” She had hung up on him. And while he had raged, he had also enjoyed the exchange, her indifference, her rebellion, her refusal to bow before him.

  To Del, Leo said, “I have been remiss in asking. I want you to be happy in my service, Del. I want you to find joy here, in New Orleans, fulfillment and satisfaction. What can I do to make certain that happens?”

  Security closed in around him, urging their small crowd to move down the street. A limo pulled around the corner. Behind him, the kitchen servants began to tear down the candy stand. He and Del walked toward the approaching limo, their legs illuminated in the headlights.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Del admitted as the limo slid to a stop beside them. The door opened and Derek Lee, head of security, stepped out, scanning the darkness for threats. Del slid in, her blond, upswept hair and pale skin catching the light. But her eyes were brighter than he had seen in some time.

  Yes. Jane was right. He had been more than remiss. “Well, think about it. You are not a menial, but skilled and capable. Your legal degree and aptitude make you too valuable to waste on tedious and humble tasks. You have proven both ability and loyalty.” He smiled again as Derek took his place across from them and closed the li
mo door. The armored vehicle pulled into traffic. “I am prepared to entrust my personal legal affairs to you. Perhaps I shall also ask you to oversee the financial affairs of the city and the clans. Such jobs as these”—he indicated the darkness and the stand that fell behind them—“could be better administered by a secretary or personal assistant.”

  Del’s eyes lit up. “I know just the woman. She’s bright and sharp and detail-oriented.”

  “I trust your decision.” He waved languid fingers in the air. “See to it. And for her first task, have her schedule a meeting with you and my law firm.”

  “Yes, sir.” Her voice sounded breathy. Excited. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Think nothing of it. Happy All Hallows Eve.”

  Make It Snappy

  “Make It Snappy” was first published in Urban Enemies, an anthology from Gallery Books (2017), edited by Joseph Nassise. The story is from Leo’s point of view and is set in the modern-day world of Jane Yellowrock, but a few years before Jane and Leo Pellissier meet.

  Leo eased the girl’s blond head off his shoulder. She was asleep, dreaming blissfully about their encounter, his mesmerism and the power of his blood ensuring her happiness. He ran a hand over her hip. Her body was rounded and plump, the perfect vision of beauty until modern times. Now when he visited those sworn to his service, he was often offered scrawny, bony creatures with no curves, no soft and pleasing warmth. She murmured in her sleep, pleasure in her voice and on her face.

  Many of his kind preferred the scent of fear, the unwilling, the blood-bound. He preferred his meals willing, even if only by bargain. This one came to him at dusk, when he woke, offering herself in return for a simple favor. He tried to remember her name as he dressed. Cynthia? Sharon? Simone? She had been an easy read, offering all of her past but for one small corner of her thoughts that was closed off and darkened, perhaps some trauma, some childhood fear. He’d left it there, in the depths of her mind, silent and untouched.