No rest for the wicked … or for Hunters.

Now Jude made breakfast for himself, three eggs and more sausage. He also scrambled an egg for AJ, omitting the spices his father preferred. AJ ate the egg without making too much of a mess, then gnawed on the cracker again. Jude added a bit of pepper sauce to his eggs, savoring the warm fire and peppery flavors. “I need to make shiftale,” he informed AJ. “We’ve not had that for a while.”

“Please?” then a yawn came from the hallway. “Sorry. I’m glad you’re back.” Jude got up and kissed her, then cleared her path to the coffee maker. 

“When did you get home?” she asked once the coffee had begun to brew.

“One thirty or so. I love you.”

She hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I love you too, and I know you have to go out, but I don’t like it,” she whispered, then hugged tighter. 

He returned the embrace, stroking her back and rocking a little from side to side. “I wish I didn’t either. And I wish the sorceress had been paying attention, so I would not have been required to deal with what she summoned.”

Beep, beep.

Jude let go so Lucy could get to the now-ready coffee. What did mankind do before coffee was discovered? Or was that why the old days had been so violent—morning people being beaten up by night people, and vice versa? It was a supposition best kept very much to himself. 

Instead, he undid the tray on the high chair and managed to intercept AJ before he descended under his own power. “Young man, you are not a monkey or bird,” Jude warned him yet again. 

“Blaaaaagh,” AJ stuck out a crumb-covered tongue, then giggled and raced for the living room. Jude caught him and plunked him into his playpen, tossed in some soft blocks, and went to use the restroom as Lucy finished dressing and waking up. 

Once she departed to take papers to a client and drop AJ off at Mothers’ Day Out, Jude cleaned the karabela properly, checked his other blades, and got out the ingredients for the spicy meatballs. He also had more tea. Work done for the moment, he sat in his chair in the living room and called up the photo of the pattern he’d finished breaking. “That’s … misdrawn?” 

The sorceress had started with a basic summoning pattern, then added the illusion component. The illusion part appeared correct, but something about the summoning looked … Jude stood, got dressed for the cold morning, and took the phone outside. Shoim lurked on his shed perch, in the sun. Jude said in his own tongue, “Partner, look at this, please.”

“Fence,” Shoim replied, and relocated. 

Jude met him there. “The summoning appears lopsided?” He lacked a better word for it.

The harrier cocked his head left, then right as he studied the image on the screen. “Can you expand the bit at the top, where the summoning star ought to be?” Jude did. “That’s strange. Didn’t the book on basic pattern magic say to always use the star in order to limit the call?”

Jude tried to recall. He squinted against a little glare off old snow as he stared into the woodlot. “Ah, yes, unless you seek a specific Elemental or, ah, something that was called before and got away, as happened at the high school two years ago.” 

Shoim swept one wing over his head, a sort of face palm. “The teddy-bear construct thing. Right.” Both partners sighed, then Shoim lowered his wing. “But the sorceress was summoning an illusion? Or was the illusion supposed to summon something?”

Jude bared his teeth. “Like the idiot in Georgia who tried to steal ginseng from those allowed to gather it?” He’d been a touch amused by the story, since he was not the one who had to deal with the would-be thief’s remains. As best the responding officer and forest ranger could discern, the guilty party had been unaware that ‘sang gatherers went armed, if only because of rabid animals that had been reported in the area. He’d cast an illusion that summoned people to help the “lost child.” Then he tried to rob at knife-point the two ginseng collectors who arrived. They’d perforated him, then called the sheriff. Since it had been on the edge of a National Forest, a ranger had also responded, just in case. 

“Natural selection? Or in the case of last night, it would have been unnatural selection,” Shoim chuckled. Then he sobered, “Which still implies malice aforethought.”

“It does, but I’m not reporting it yet.” Something in his gut warned to take care on the stalk, should it turn into a true Hunt.

The harrier nodded. “Don’t. Wait and watch. And I still have no idea why she cast a horse with antlers on the bridle.”

Jude shrugged. “Ne skian,” no clue. “I need to read more, while it is quiet.” He tapped on the wooden fencepost.

His Familiar sagged a little. “Yeah. There haven’t been any really lousy books out since last fall, and the movie all the magic workers were bracing for got pulled before release. And Lent starts in two weeks.”

They looked at each other, and sagged even more. “So, the high sheriff will give up coffee, the bakery will have daily orders for late-season pumpkin pies, apples will appear in February, and at least two magic workers will be foolish. All at once. Thank you,” Jude said, scowling.

Shoim perked up. “Just being helpful and reminding you that it could be worse!” He surged into the air, then landed on the birdbath. Splash, water scattered across Devon County.

At least his Familiar was predictable. Alas. Jude went in, filled the big pitcher with water, and added it to the birdbath once Shoim finished his ablutions. After getting more tea, Jude took advantage of Lucy’s absence to take a quick hot shower and rebraid his hair. He studied the knife and backlash scar on his left hand. It appeared no worse despite the small ache. He rubbed salve into it, then pulled on a clean protective glove. The glove also concealed the darker color of the skin, another legacy of the blood turned poison that had dissolved flesh almost to the bone. “It functions. Be grateful,” he reminded himself, stretching and flexing it as much as it would move. 

He settled into his chair in the book room with the pattern spell book, and set the Celtic lore book on the small table beside his tea mug. Should Shoim care to join him, the harrier could open the window from outside. He sensed the shields on the house open, then close. Lucy had returned. He heard her come in, murmur, hesitate, murmur once more, then go straight to her office and close the door. A business call, then. 

Indeed, the red tag hung beside the door when he went to get more tea. After he returned to the book, he compared the image on his phone to the notes in the book. “Shoim was correct,” he whispered. Except one glyph had been different—the summoning sought people. “I like this not.” He sent the image to his magic instructor, and to Master Chan, so they could see what had been done and warn others. Then he cleared the image and tucked the device away. 

By time for dinner, he had finished the tea, drunk water, checked on the rabbits, and read more than he cared to about actual Celtic lore as best people could discern versus the too-sweet versions found on many web sites. The latter ranged from “So off base it is harmless” to “Too warped to be believed.” The Morrigan as a role model for the modern woman left him wondering what the blogger thought traditional women to be. He personally would not care to marry a hot-tempered, ferocious woman with a very long memory for slights and who haunted battlefields in order to inspire warriors into battle frenzy and to collect the dead, no matter how beautiful and majestic she might be. Lucy when unhappy was sufficient female terror in his life, thank you.

He heard the office door open as he got ready to fetch AJ. “I’m here, I’m alive,” she assured him, then hurried to the downstairs washroom. She emerged before he could leave. They kissed, and she said, “I’ll have dinner ready when you get back. I need to stop looking at numbers for a few minutes.”

“Thank you and I love you.” He departed. The church child care had a small sign reading, “Children left after 12:30 will be given espresso and sent home with a puppy.” It was a threat to strike fear into the heart of a parent. 

He joined the child-collection line at Augsburg Lutheran Church a little before noon. High clouds had moved in, dimming the sun. No breeze moved the cold air for once. The days had grown longer, but winter remained in control of Devon County. “Even in a cold frame it is too early,” the young matron ahead of him tutted.

“Far too early,” Mrs. Detweiler replied, clicking her tongue. “Did she get the plants through the mail?”

“Yes. From a source in Florida, of all places. She really should know better.” All within hearing distance shook their heads and made sounds of mild disapprobation, Jude among them. Even he knew that starting plants in the ground this early led to nothing good. Cool weather greens still needed somewhat warm soil, and other plants? No—someone had wasted money and would be disappointed. 

Mr. Carlisle, waiting to get his grandson, sniffed. “The almanac says February thaw, then cold March. I’d trust that more than any out-of-state greenhouse.”

As do I. March has yet to go quietly, or come quietly. Granted, they’d not suffered a house-high snow storm in decades, but that did not mean Pennsylvania had become tropical. 

The line moved, and soon parents and offspring began to flow out of the wide doorway ahead. Part of Martha’s estate had been designated for child care for AJ and for Levi if needed. Again, Jude gave thanks. Tax season and canning season both demanded a lot of Lucy, even more so with her pregnancy. He moved to the head of the line, showed his ID and receipt, and beheld AJ grinning, already minus one boot. Mrs. Tighman held the other boot along with the boy. 

“Da!” AJ announced to the world. 

Jude smiled a little and took his open-armed offspring, then the diaper bag and boot. “Thank you. Any problems?”

Mrs. Tighman shook her head, then hesitated and leaned forward. Jude leaned as well. She whispered, “We might need someone watching the doors next week, depending on a court decision. And he’s growing.”

“I’ll pass the word.” He leaned back and said more loudly “Thank you for warning me. We’ll get larger diapers from now on.”

“You’re welcome. Have a blessed day. Good afternoon, Mr. Carlisle.” Jude hurried past the other parents, and opened the sedan, then tucked AJ in before he shed the second boot. “Young man, why will you not keep your boots on?”

Laughter and a grin were the only answer. Jude triple-checked the security of the car seat and son, then closed the door and checked his phone. No messages, so he slid into the front seat and drove to the house.

(C) 2026 Alma T. C. Boykin All Rights Reserved

Jude contemplates the life of a Hunter.

“Take the blood, cleanse the land,” Pasaru ordered. Jude shook off the falconer’s gauntlet and set the karabela on the leaf litter, then got a steel bottle out of the hard leather case on his belt. The creature’s blood, now red, still flowed, and he caught some, then capped the flask and returned it to the case. 

From a jacket pocket he drew a fabric pouch. “In the name of the Great God who made the earth and called it good, the Son who cleansed the unclean, and the Spirit that brooded upon the waters, be cleansed if the Great God wills,” Jude commanded. He scattered the dried basil onto the remains. Blue-green rose high as his shoulders, then danced back along the creature’s path to the blackberry tangle. It flickered among the thorns before disappearing. As small flamelet touched his leg before the blue green vanished. When he turned back to the beast’s remains, nothing remained. Jude wanted to sit, now. 

“Not just yet,” he told his body. First, he got water from his rucksack and poured half on his leg, hissing as it diluted and washed away the last of the thing’s blood. He set a bit of magic on the ground beside the karabela. Shoim landed, and Jude used he rest of the water to rinse Shoim’s talons. Jude got his Partner’s food out of the rucksack and gave it to him. Only then did he limp to the remains of the pattern. 

The sorceress had defaced part of it before she fled. That was good. He found a stick and drew another line through it. After a moment he gave up trying to study the shape. Instead, he dug his phone out of a pocket and took a picture before scuffing and erasing the remains. “Later,” he told the air. “I’m too tired to think.” Phone stowed once more, he wove an unsteady path back to his rucksack and the sword.

The ground that received his rump was cold. Jude drank some water and gulped trail mix. Butterscotch was not his favorite, but it gave energy and fat. Once his hands stopped shaking, he cleaned the karabela and worked it into the sheath. “Someone needs to learn to divide her attention,” he told the night.

“Ne [crap],” Shoim rasped, then gulped another chunk of organ meat. As his mage had a over-done cookie, the harrier said, “Even Numbers and Cat don’t get that super-focused. I’m not sure she’d even have heard the Last Trump if it blew. And why a horse with antlers?”

“Ne skian,” no idea. Jude had more water. “I didn’t study the pattern, just got rid of it. She’s going to have a headache.”

“Benes.” Good. Shoim devoured the rest of his meat as Jude ate a rather toasty prune kolache, followed by a meat stick. “We’ll worry about it after sunrise. The breach closed, thanks be.”

“Amén.” He crossed himself as the clan did. “And I do not have work, and we are not teaching class, or taking apples to market.” His left hand ached along the old scar, as did his right leg. The bruise would be impressive. “We go rest.”

“Anno. Too bad the little house is no longer available.”

Jude made the “strong agreement” gesture, then got to one knee. He stowed the empty box in his rucksack, put it on, and stood. The leg still held weight. That was very good. He pulled on the gauntlet and leaned down. Shoim stepped aboard and they returned to the house at a slower pace. Slower for a Hunter, still a very brisk walk for normal men. His right leg warned that leaping fences would not be wise. 

The little hand on his pocket watch touched the two when he fell into bed, almost. Four hours later, he woke. Thanks be that I am not working today. He stretched, moving everything. His right leg stung. He’d wiped it with salve after washing the burn again. He’d left the pants in the trash bin. They’d begun to show heavy wear, so he felt little guilt for the loss. Everything worked with only the usual complaints, save his right leg and left hand. 

He dressed and tidied his hair, then checked on AJ. The boy still slept. Jude went down to the book room. He bowed to the shrine in the corner, then lit one taper and knelt on a small pad. Shoim opened the window and came in. Together they recited the morning Office, and chanted one of the Hunters’ prayers, a thanks for a successful Hunt. The icon of Our Lady of Victory seemed to smile in the flickering light as shadows danced on St. Michael, St. Jude, and St. Lucy. 

Refreshed in spirit, Jude put out the candle. He stood, then genuflected. His right knee popped, drawing hisses from both Partners. “I’m glad my joints can’t do that,” Shoim said from his perch.

“I wish mine didn’t,” Jude admitted, quietly. The miles begin to tell. How long before—? He stopped the thought aborning. Today alone was his to worry with, not the future. “Do you need breakfast?”

The harrier rocked from side to side before admitting, “A snack would be welcome.” Jude offered his forearm and Shoim stepped with care, mindful of his talons. Jude took him out to the wood rack beside the mudroom door, then got a dish of hearts and livers and set it down. As the raptor dined, Jude started water heating and poured a small dish of cream for the cat. Bauxite gave him a look that strongly implied that he should have done that task at least an hour earlier.

Jude rolled his eyes, then went upstairs and made certain that Levi had begun to stir. He already heard Claire-washing sounds from her room, so he busied himself making breakfast and tea. 

“Good morning, Dad!” Levi bounced in just as the sausage finished. Jude served him two eggs and the sausage. A peek into the oven revealed golden brown toast, so that came out. Claire appeared, yawning mightily. She sat, Jude said grace, then she got up and served herself. Levi devoured everything, nibbled the heart out of the toast, then gobbled the crust. Jude nursed tea, letting the heat ease the aches in his hand. Would that tea also worked on knees. 

“Let’s go check on the rabbits,” Claire offered, as she put her dishes on the counter beside the sink. Levi hesitated, then nodded once and bounced up, almost racing her to the mudroom. Jude let himself sag for an instant, then gathered Levi’s dishes and washed them. It wasn’t worth calling the boy back, this time. Care for living things took priority. 

Levi returned, gave his father Shoim’s dish, then slouched off to get ready for school. Jude followed at a more dignified pace and checked on Lucy and AJ. AJ yawned and fussed quietly, so Jude changed him, then dressed him. They went back down and Jude made a travel cup of milk for his son. “Breakfast when we get home,” he assured AJ. The toddler looked doubtful. Jude got him into his snow suit and boots, then carried AJ, cup and all to the sedan and strapped him in. The bus sighed to a stop as Clair zoomed out the open garage door. Levi trudged to the car and heaved himself into his booster seat. Jude checked his belt, then backed the car out, closed the garage, and drove to town. 

“When can I ride the bus, Dad?” Levi asked again. 

“When you can get all your morning chores done and breakfast eaten by seven ten.” The grade school bus route ran by the house twenty minutes earlier than the junior high bus did. Claire self started. Levi took after his mother—mornings did not appeal. Jude shared their opinion, but life had not cooperated thus far. 

A first grade sigh whispered from the back seat. A softer echo followed. Jude smiled a little to himself. “How were the rabbits?”

“They were OK. The brown doe tipped over her food pan again.” he sounded frustrated. ‘Why does she do that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t speak Rabbit, or we could ask.”

“Is there magic that lets you talk to animals?”

Jude thought, slowing, then stopping for an oblivious soul backing onto the road from a driveway. “I do not know of any. I suspect their conversations are rather boring by our standards.” 

A bit of quiet, then “What does Mr. Shoim talk about, Dad?”

“Food, what he ate, what he wants to eat, what I did wrong, our work, food, and food.” And other things that you do not need to know about just yet. All too soon he’d have to teach Levi, then AJ, about the Hunt and their duties as Hunters. His heart stung for a moment, then eased. That was a long time away yet. 

“Boring,” Levi opined. 

“Burp,” his brother added. 

Son deposited, Jude checked his phone. Nothing from the sheriff’s department. That was very good. He drove back to the house. Had AJ unbooted himself yet? Yes, as his father observed when they got home. Jude carried his sock-footed son into the house, then returned for the footwear. “I wonder if they make straps for boots like they do for mittens?” he asked the air.

Toddler giggles greeted his question, followed by a disgruntled, “Mrow.” Bauxite stalked out of the kitchen, AJ following behind. The black cat now sported a ridge of back-brushed hair down her spine. She gave Jude a dirty look as she passed, then accelerated and dove to hurry under the guest room bed and recover her dignity. Jude intercepted AJ before he could follow, removed his snow suit, and set him in the high chair with a teething biscuit and cup of water.

(C) 2026 Alma T. C. Boykin All Rights Reserved