Dark Prelude: Moonsongs, #3

By E.J. Wesley

Jenny Moonsong recently inherited the title of "monster hunter" and an ancient tribal journal/how-to manual passed down by her Apache ancestors. Unfortunately, a lot of on-the-job training is required to be a monster hunter, and unlike her computer repair business, this gig could literally kill her.

Dark Prelude finds the feisty protagonist, Jenny, searching for her best friend Marshal's missing father in the midst of a freak, West Texas winter storm. To survive the frigid night, she'll have to deal with a hated town rival, face a monstrous creature no Moonsong hunter has ever encountered before, and undo a mysterious curse. Can she keep everyone alive? If not, who will pay the ultimate price? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.J. Wesley
• Release date: Mar 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524210618

Book preview

1

Dark Prelude

The past never seemed to stay where I left it. Like an old, haggard stray cat, memories had a way of sticking around. And the less desirable they were, the more they stuck.

Take my dead grandfather for example. The first time he disappeared from my life, I was learning my numbers and barely tying my own shoes. That version of the man had been a little girl’s best friend and a living family heirloom. When he was gone, I’d been left with a broken heart and a handful of fond memories. The second time he exited—a few months ago—I’d been old enough to buy my own beer and stay up all night playing video games without fear of an ass chewing. That man had been a scary and mysterious stranger. He’d brought me tidings of my hidden family legacy of hunting monsters, and a newfound connection with my Apache ancestors via an ancient tribal journal. He departed yet again, but this time my heart remained mostly intact, and the memories were more of the terrifying sort.

Both versions of my grandfather fought in my mind as I drove my oversized, black pickup truck through our dusty Texas town, Center Pointe. I was heading to visit my best friend, Marshal, who would hopefully distract me from my thoughts.

Maybe he’d also help me figure out why my paranormal investigation business had been so slow lately. Nothing weird had happened in weeks, making me think the freaks of the world were on holiday. I supposed a single werewolf and a few witches were the extent of the supernatural goings on in the world, but the increasingly large pit of worry in my gut said otherwise.

In less than a minute, I’d driven through the small, mismatched collection of steel and brick buildings we called a downtown. A few more blocks, and I’d reached the far end of town. I spotted Bill Swartz, our local constable, sitting in his squad car. My jaw clinched tight enough to make my teeth hurt.

Bill graduated a few years ahead of me. He’d joined the Army Reserve right out of high school. Shortly thereafter, he’d been injured fighting in Afghanistan, and subsequently discharged from service. He returned home a hero, and did what any former Center Pointe football star would do. He became a cop, so he could harass the same folks he’d spent his entire youth bullying.

The blue lights on the squad car flashed to life the instant I drove past.

Shit.

Normally, when police lights came on, I’d take a quick look around to see who they were after. This time, there was no need. I was the only vehicle on the road within a four-block radius, and this was Bill. I slowed and pulled off to the side of the street, making sure to drive up on the curb before coming to a stop.

That should really piss him off.

We had a little history, Bill and I. Most of it had to do with him being an asshole, and me reminding him—often—of how bad I hated the smell. I guess I’d earned some of his disdain for me when I refused to go to prom with him. But when a guy gets back from basic training and asks a sophomore in high school to take him to her prom, it’s a little creepy. Creepier still, Marshal had actually heard some people around town talk bad about me for not giving in to his passes.

Screw them.

I knew the truth. Bill’s buddies had told him I was new and would be an easy lay. After I informed him the only action he’d ever get from me was the pump-action, shotgun kind, he quit chasing me. Romantically speaking at least. In the end, I’d hurt whatever mutated sense of pride he had. So he gave me a ticket every chance he got, and I messed with him at every turn.

Think the Tom and Jerry cartoon, if Tom were a pint-sized jerk with a buzz cut, and Jerry was a tall, Native American chick with purple hair, and a bad case of the fuck-offs.

The only thing Bill hated more than me was being ignored, so I let him stand outside my door while I pretended to fiddle with my radio. Honestly, he wasn’t that hard to overlook in this particular situation. I could barely see the top of his head, my pickup being so high off the ground and Bill being so, well, not.

He eventually gave an impatient wrap on the glass with his gloved knuckles.

Afternoon, Bill, I said, rolling down the window. I displayed my most insincere smile. What imaginary thing did I do today? Hope it’s not left-of-center again, because you’ll notice there are still no lines on our streets.

He stood perfectly erect, glaring at me from behind a set of mirrored shades. I suppose the moron hadn’t noticed the severe lack of sun today.

You were speeding, he said. Thirty-five in a thirty. Got it right here on the gun.

He pushed the radar gun—a cross between a pistol and a hairdryer—in front of my face. Guess he thought I wouldn’t believe such technology existed without seeing it firsthand.

I got a whiff of the thick, winter-mint smell of the chewing tobacco bulging in his mouth and suppressed a gag.

That’ll never stick, and you know it. I’ll go to court and get it dropped—just like the last three you’ve given me. You really want another spanking from Judge Mercer?

His brow wrinkled like he was working on taking a difficult dump.

During my last day in court, the judge had reamed Bill for wasting court time on, "such a petty and juvenile rivalry." I intended to remind Bill of