Monster Hunter Bloodlines - eARC by Larry Correia (read a book .txt) 📕

I was spared that awkward exchange because that was when I noticed somebody who looked vaguely familiar sitting at a little table in the corner. It was poorly lit and smokey enough that I’d not noticed him during my initial survey of the room. He was average size, maybe a little older than me, dark hair, vaguely Asian, wearing bland clothing, and being otherwise completely forgettable. He was so unremarkable that it was no wonder I hadn’t noticed him. He was the living embodiment of the grey man concept. Except something had pinged my radar. It took me a second to remember where I’d briefly seen him before. It was the Vatican Hunter who had found Agent Franks when we had been putting him back together at the MHI compound.

The Blessed Order of Saint Hubert the Protector was the Catholic Church’s secret monster hunting organization, though I didn’t know if they actually answered to the Pope, or if they were just loosely affiliated—it was really hard to tell with them. It wasn’t like a tiny organization colloquially known as the Secret Guard was an open book. They were supposedly the oldest group of Hunters in the world and didn’t really associate with the rest of us. They rarely collected PUFF bounties and didn’t compete for contracts, so they weren’t really competitors either. Their rep was that of a bunch of mystical warrior monks who went around killing monsters because it was a good deed or God willed it. Which sounded cool and all, though I preferred getting paid obscene sums of money while doing the same thing.

On the Harbinger scale—which consisted of ranking all rival Hunting organizations from Asshole to Alright—he had declared them alright. Only I knew that Earl had a soft spot for the Catholics because it had been a former member of the Secret Guard who had helped him learn how to deal with his lycanthropy, so he was probably a little biased.

The real question was, what was one of the Secret Guard doing here? Surely it couldn’t be coincidence. You don’t accidentally run into other Hunters in random scum holes in a big city neither of you live in. Hunters just aren’t that common. I didn’t think he had noticed me yet, so I tried to slouch down on my stool to look smaller. There was a mirror behind the bar, so I used that to keep an eye on him, rather than directly staring like a moron.

I got out my phone and texted Earl about who was here, then watched and waited. The Hunter’s expression remained neutral. He really didn’t seem that into the music either, despite them being pretty talented for a cover band. He idly checked his watch. A minute later he checked it again. He was waiting for someone and they were late. I got the feeling he was annoyed but trying not to show it. Could he be waiting for Sonya? There was a racing jacket over the back of his chair and a long canvas pack at his feet. I really wanted to know what was in the bag. If it was a stack of money, then maybe the Catholics had hired her to steal the Ward for them? If it was weapons or explosives, maybe he was here hunting her too? Either way meant I’d be getting involved.

I should have brought backup. And that thought made me realize that he might have backup too . . . but I had no idea what any of their other Hunters looked like. For all I knew half these rednecks might actually be able to speak Latin . . . wait . . . did the Catholic Church still speak Latin? Italian. Whatever.

The band took a break, and the Hunter appeared relieved that the replacement filler music over the sound system was a little quieter. Apparently, he wasn’t into metal. His playlist was probably all Gregorian chanting or something.

I thought about trying to take the Hunter’s picture, but he seemed way too alert for me to pull that off without getting spotted. Only it turned out it didn’t matter, because Earl knew who I was talking about. His reply text told me to hold on, he was on his way. And also, no matter what, for me to not pick a fight with Gutterres—so that was his name—and Earl put three exclamation points after that order. Which I took to mean that Gutterres was probably a badass. Which reminded me that even though the Blessed Order of Saint Hubert were alright, they also had a reputation for being a bunch of trigger-happy holy warriors who always thought God was on their side . . .  We really needed to change the Harbinger Scale from a thumbs-up or -down to a system with more range to allow for some nuance. Catholic Hunters, usually pretty chill, but will cap you without hesitation if you get in their way. Three stars!

Ten minutes later the band came back from their smoke break. For the band’s protection, there was a chain link fence between them and the dance floor, because crowds like this often consider throwing bottles a form of constructive criticism. After a brief setup, they launched into another song, one I didn’t recognize, but the soft opening was catchy. When the singing began, I realized that they had added a new member. They hadn’t had a female vocalist before.

I looked toward the stage. Despite the nose ring, the singer was pretty, in a grungy tank top and sleeve tats sort of way . . . and, wow, she had a great voice. It was so songbird clean that it seemed glaringly out of place in a crap-sack establishment like this. Her voice was so good it transcended the awful speakers. It was like rose petals and a beautiful sunset in soundwave form. All the assembled scumbags and tough guys stopped to stare. She had them downright hypnotized. From the looks on their faces, half of them fell in love with her right there. The women were either jealous, or kind