Harper Jones: Harper Jones, #1

By Blandine P. Martin

I live to wipe out his kind.

But he might be my last hope.

I am Harper Jones, a specialist in occult sciences and a vampire hunter. My childhood conditioned me to hate them and hunt them down, and for years I have worked towards one single goal: avenging my family.

When a series of suspicious murders terrifies London, I redouble my efforts to rid the city of monsters, even if this means joining forces with my worst enemies.

Their condition: a chaperon of their choosing.

A certain Lysandre, another vampire, a master in the art of making things hard for me.

But this is not the most disturbing aspect of my life.

Something is dormant within me: a darkness that is taking me over, swallowing me up…

Why does this vampire seem to know about the evil eating away at me?

What does he know about my past?

This quest for the truth might very well cost me my soul, along with my heart. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blandine P. Martin
• Release date: Sep 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781071556337

Book preview

From the same author:

Wild Crows - 1. Addiction (Biker romantic suspense)

Wild Crows - 2. Revelation Wild Crows - 2. Revelation

Lord, king of the Romanian streets (Animal protection documentary)

––––––––

Coming soon:

Wild Crows - 3. Confession

Something Blue (Romantic comedy)

Sons of Alba (Historical romance - Highlanders)

"To reign is worth ambition though in Hell: Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heav’n."

John Milton, Paradise Lost

To everyone who, like me, has felt the thrill of Saturday night fantasy TV, with Buffy, Spike and Angel,

and who remembers those years with nostalgia.

Playlist

For those who like reading to music, here is a short playlist to read this novel to. Every chapter has its own mood. You can find it ready to listen to on YouTube by clicking HERE or going to my YouTube account.

Stephanie Schneiderman - Dirty and Clean

Alice Merton - Learn To Live

Imagine Dragons - Mad World

Evanescence - Going Under

Imagine Dragons - Believer (Acoustic)

Tommee Profitt (feat. Svrcina) Tomorrow We Fight

Sara Bareilles - She Used To Be Mine

Lewis Capaldi - Fade

Radiohead - Karma Police

Imagine Dragons - Birds (ft. Elisa)

Evanescence - Everybody’s Fool

Rag’n’Bone Man - Life In Her Yet

Katelyn Tarver - You Don’t Know

IAMX - I Come With Knives

Blue Foundation - Eyes On Fire

Imagine Dragons - Next To Me

Elle King - Runaway

Bad Wolves - Zombie

Lewis Capaldi - Someone You Loved

Evanescence - A New Way to Bleed

Seether ft. Amy Lee - Broken

Two Steps from Hell - Heart of Courage

Evanescence - Lithium

Game of Thrones Soundtrack - Light of the Seven

Evanescence - Lost in Paradise

Preface

There are two types of writer.

The first are those who think that turning on the tap and letting words and ideas flow is enough to legitimize their work. They write like they speak, inflicting their verbal diarrhoea on you without reading it over, and sell their drivel as if it were literature. They will never understand that writing requires constant reflection, reassessing every sentence, and even what appears to be the most lightweight text is the fruit of consistent hard work and high standards.

They do not understand.

Then there are those who know all of that. They know that writing is not just having ideas or telling a story. They know that writing is non-stop effort, a creative mission, never-ending worry, and above all, a gift offered to readers. A gift that requires perspiration, humility and efficiency.

They are professionals in the field of writing.

You only have to read the first lines of this novel to know that Blandine unquestionably belongs in this second category. With a few well-turned sentences, she grabs you and pulls you into her own world. She gives it her touch, and you enjoy following Harper Jones on her quest, this Doctor of Occult Sciences, a true badass, a loudmouth with a broken heart (but whose attitude gets on your nerves so much you’d still sometimes like to slap her). Her tale is lively, spirited, filled with well-phrased comebacks and emotion that hits without warning while you read. It is distinctive, direct and dynamic. And you have to be a writer yourself to know that in literature, what is apparently simple actually takes the most work.

I have found out that Blandine now writes full time. Having read Harper Jones, I understand why.

Maxime Gillio / Max Deloy

Prologue

"It’s her," Faustin realised.

I breathed in, almost ashamed, before answering my friend.

"Yes, it is her."

He ran a hand through his curly hair, searching for an answer.

Lys, you know you can’t spend your existence fighting in vain.

That’s not what I’m doing, I pushed back.

Of course it is. All this has ever been about is defying the King for how he wronged you and yours.

I kept quiet, but I clenched my jaw just thinking about the horror he had brought upon my life since I had joined the ranks of the Children of the Night.

How did you find her? I asked my friend.

I’ve never stopped looking.

The others didn’t survive.

He was right, but instead of curtailing my motivation, centuries of failure had intensified my desire to succeed, just the once. She would be the last: if this victory were mine, I would win the war.

She’ll survive, I assured him with determination.

Faustin seemed sorry for me, and I could not stand his warnings, although I could see the good intentions behind them.

What if she doesn’t? When will you stop this farce, Lys? I’ve seen you fail this mission so often, risk permanent death so often. It was so close so many times!

I am well aware of that! But this time, I will succeed. I have to. I’m tired of fighting, you know. This will be my last battle and I’m not planning on losing.

Faustin understood what I was getting at and his face immediately became tinged with real emotion.

You’ll always be my brother.

"You too," I thought, saying nothing aloud.

Chapter 1

Harper

My stomach clenched. I almost vomited. I had, however, been used to seeing things like this for several years: murders, blood, the sheer monstrosity some individuals were capable of. Despite this, I felt my knees start to give way at the sight of what lay ahead.

I could not even feel the winter chill anymore; I had become insensitive to the wind from the moment the terrible waking nightmare had appeared before me.

Jones, are you alright?

It took me a few seconds before I was able to give any answer.

Yeah, I’ll be fine.

I breathed deeply and regained my composure. I should not have let it affect me like that. It would harm my image if the groups of armed men around me were to just once notice the slightest weakness. I had no other choice than to appear to be unaffected by all of it if I wanted them to respect me.

But we all have our demons. I could handle many things, more than the average person could imagine. But the scene that night was hitting my weak spot, the old ghost that turned me into a scared little girl whenever it crossed my path.

Cooper spoke again, his eyes riveted on the scene before us.

The forensic pathologist’s initial findings are that the victim was bitten several times: on her throat, inner thigh and right wrist.

I swallowed. It was obvious to me, yet an enigma for them. What was left of the poor woman was lying in a scarlet puddle.

Inspector Cooper’s composure amazed me once again. The guy looked like a paper-pusher, tall, slim, his suit always impeccable. He must have been in his early forties and always managed to perfectly embody that very English stiff upper lip. He was hyperactive, intellectually-speaking, a real brain, not very social, but very good at his job. He was, however, not very courageous when confronted with problems in the field. I knew this from my own experience. I had been helping the police in London solve certain complex cases for three years now. It was not exactly a walk in the park, and several officers would laugh when they saw the girl who talked about all things occult come in. But when faced with the consequences, more than one of them had literally pissed themselves.

It’s not stray dogs, he commented, lost in thought.

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, letting me guess the reason he had called. The case fell within my remit. Although the Metropolitan Police Service was not delighted about me scheming in the shadows when they were powerless against certain threats, Cooper had learned to trust me. The first few times I had worked beside him as a special consultant, he had also taken me for a nutcase. I had made sure he came face to face with one of the creatures I now hunt on a daily basis, and ever since, no more questions asked. I told him when a case was resolved, and I was generously paid for my troubles. As long as no uniformed hotshots stuck their noses into things, our unusual duo worked relatively well.

Another one, I murmured.

Cooper sighed and approached the victim. I followed.

The forensic pathologists were still working near the fresh corpse. A young brunette with glasses looked up at us. She did not appear to be at all shocked. She was a real pro.

The victim died of exsanguination. She lost consciousness.

I was just telling Jones that those bite marks were not made by an animal, you say.

No, the pathologist assured us with certainty. The marks would have been much larger, and I know of no animals that would be able to take in a whole body’s worth of blood. It might seem sordid, but I have the impression that it’s another case of a lunatic with special tools... made for this macabre staging.

I swallowed. She did not yet know my role. Or she did not want to know, like many here. She just did her job. Michaela, if I remembered well, having already seen her on other similar cases, seemed lost in thought.

To think there is an actual sect of serial killers like this. It’s scary.

She didn’t know just how much.

I was only surprised that the culprits had not licked the tarmac to avoid wasting the blood covering it. Those monsters did not always have such good manners.

There are different sizes of bites, the scientist in white overalls continued.

There were several assailants, Cooper immediately concluded.

What do we know about the victim? I asked.

Cooper answered. Lisa Arnold, thirty-five, a housewife. Her family has just been contacted. No criminal history.

You don’t think it’s premeditated?

"Not the choice of victim, at least. But if what Michaela said is true, it was well-planned.

He placed a hand on my shoulder, inviting me to turn around. We walked a few yards away from the others.

You and I know perfectly well that this isn’t your typical serial killers, Jones.

I didn’t answer, he knew exactly what I was thinking.

Do you know what I want from you?

I nodded. Yes. I’m already onto it, Cooper.

Inspector Cooper.

He had some nerve. Although there were important things to think about, I couldn’t just keep quiet and had to spell things out to him.

In that case, you’ll have to remember to call me Doctor Jones.

I weighed him up for a moment, and seeing the stupefaction of an offended male in his expression I decided to move away. I’d had enough for the night.

Doctor Jones? Cooper called out.

I sighed then turned to face him, not without a victorious smile.

Wasn’t there a song called that in the nineties?

I immediately got down off my high horse.

Yes, I murmured, exasperated.

I had already heard that one.

If you’ve finished your tasteless jibes, I have real work to do.

I left him hanging, rushing off to my old MG convertible in the car park. This was urgent. Cooper had a big problem with priorities. He was not always the genius he let people think he was. In short, he was a man.

I shivered: I felt like I was being watched again this evening. Someone was following me, someone fast enough to avoid my expert gaze. Nothing and nobody around, as always.

I started my car, putting it down to fatigue. But I hated coincidences. To be honest, I’d never believed in them.

Chapter 2

When something went wrong, it was generally the start of a long cycle of bad luck. This type of misfortune follows you around, it’s the law of series.

When I parked my convertible beside my building, I could sense something: another problem lay ahead. It was in the air I was breathing, stronger than an intuition. I was right.

I was walking around the building to get to the main entrance when I heard a muted snarling. The hoarse sound was not new to me, I knew exactly what it was even before I saw it with my own eyes.

I stood still in the alley, which was deserted, obviously, it wouldn’t have been any fun otherwise.

Are you going to stay hidden for long or get down to business? Personally, I hate messed up introductions, and you’ve started off on the wrong foot. So you might as well not bother.

Another snarl from the badly-lit corner.

Oh, and stop playing the angry cat, it’s utterly ridiculous!

That was enough to fire up my enemy. If only it were always so simple. They had serious ego problems. I suspected all members of that particular species had an inferiority complex. Too bad for them, I had enough problems to deal with, and I was by no means a mother hen.

A huge shadow threw itself at me with a guttural snarl. I immediately unsheathed my weapon. Holding it in my right hand, I made the most of the opportunity to throw a lightning-quick feint at my assailant, who smashed onto the ground. Another one who thought his strength would do all the work! A bad choice. Preparation could often make a big difference!

I jumped on him and, when I was straddling his waist, took a split second to see who I was dealing with. Bingo! A male vampire with dark hair and scars. He looked like a man of around forty, or he would have done with his face back to normal. At that moment, he looked exactly like a killer, with deep creases marking his skin, revealing his rage and hunger. A monster.

I gave him no time to react, skilfully thrusting my stake into his heart with all my strength.

A scream ripped through the night, barely audible, yet so piercing. I would never get used to it. Even so, I contemplated the sordid scene: everything was falling back into place.

My victim’s body exploded into a million pieces like cold ashes from a volcano. My cheeks hit the tarmac, and the only trace left of the confrontation was the blood covering the tip of my stake.

It was as if the creature had never existed. A nightmare. He had turned into dust because I had decided to take some darkness out of the world. I was not built like a wrestler and I had not been endowed with super powers - the god had saved those for Wonder Woman and Sailor Moon, probably because they found them more attractive than they did me. They definitely smiled more.

I, however, had an inner strength that no one could rival: a brutal desire for revenge, a steely mindset forged over the years, a knowledge of demonic creatures that was second to none, and a complete lack of fear.

I