Thrill of the Chase (Hunters & Heartbreakers 1)

XXII - Wells

^^Above: The port of Brest, France, circa 1910s.^^

(Early update, because it's the last chapter, folks!)

La Grenouille — Bed and Breakfast

"Oui, c'est possible."

Rue Beaumarchais, Brest.

1 June.

We were woken early by the two siblings. Curran knocked on our bedroom door and said "Time to go" gruffly. Then I heard his footsteps thudding down the stairs.

Once we were all up and dressed, the sky still black outside, Roisin greeted us in the dining room with some breakfast and spare hunting leather. Five sets, one for each of us.

"Curran, you help the boys," she said, setting down the tray laden with tea and pastries. "I'll go with the girls, since a little more is involved."

Then she plucked two sets of leather off the back of the chairs and breezed out of the room. Curran grumbled as he told us to take off our morning-coats and waistcoats, because the hunting leather wouldn't fit over them. Our trousers would do, but our shoes wouldn't — and for some inexplicable reason they had extra pairs, all soft and pliable leather that went up to mid-calf. Then that was wrapped up with black puttees, to keep anything from getting in.

"You get a lot of hunters coming through here?" Cornelius asked, busy with wrapping up one of his legs.

"Some," said Curran. "Not many that need to escape, though."

"How'd you get all this extra gear anyhow?" Wilkes asked.

"Always have extras," he said. "For things like this."

By the time we were all finished, Roisin and the girls were coming back. I was used to seeing Naomi in hunting leather, although she hadn't thought to pack it when we'd left. Marjorie was a different story — she looked good in it, like she'd been wearing it all her life. Although I couldn't say I'd ever seen her in anything but a dress before.

Once we had our bags and bat-Gifford's cage, we left the house. It was Roisin who led the way, just like Naomi does on our hunts, and Curran who brought up the rear, like me. Both of them were bristling with weapons, blades strapped to the belts at their waists and across their backs. Curran even carried a quiver with bow and arrow.

"Any of you bring weapons with you?" he asked when we reached the dock, two motor boats tied up nearby.

We all shook our heads. Weapons were too much weight. And too much risk.

"Marjorie's a crack shot, though," I said, nudging her next to me. "Best target shooter I've ever seen."

"Here. You'll want this, then." Roisin slung the rifle she'd been carrying off her shoulder and handed it over to her. After that came the magazine of bullets. Not silver, or anything special. Just normal bullets. So they really were expecting the worst.

She took both, reluctantly and without a word. And briefly I wondered when we'd have to stop being soldiers like this.

"How about the rest of you?" Roisin turned to us, like a military officer, and gave us all a stern glare. "What can you do? Fightin' off the enemy wasn't part of the deal."

"I can shoot those arrows," Naomi said, nodding at Curran's quiver. "They aren't bullets, but I've never missed a target. Hand to God."

"Holding you to that, then." Curran handed over the quiver.