May
20, 2085
New
Washington, VA
Interview
with Maat Ferris at the Presidential Mansion
By
Erica Natalio
The vice president, Lowell Parr, asked me to
interview this woman in the presidential mansion. I wanted to refuse. The
request and going to the mansion terrified me. Not just the guards with guns,
but all the dreadful tension that pervaded every person there. I didn’t know
exactly what he wanted from me either. But I couldn’t say no. Vice President
Parr is friend of my father, plus I owe him for getting me into the upper level
school. I’m studying psychology and he said it would be an interesting take on
people living in our world. Human people anyway. We didn’t know enough
werewolves and vampires.
Thank God, I’m proficient in shorthand to write it
all down as we spoke. One day we might have tape recorders again. I dream of things like that.
I walked into
a room the vice president called the library. It had bars on the windows. Ms. Ferris waited for me. Such an interesting
looking woman. I could tell from her long legs she was tall. She had a tight,
slim muscular body and that mop of wild curly brown hair had to be a challenge
to control. Jeans, T shirt…and guns. Two of them, one at her side and the other
under her arm. She wasn’t exactly
pretty, but it didn’t seem to matter. Somehow, her presence seemed to fill up
the room. She didn’t speak, but watched with an amused expression while I
settled and opened my notebook. Then I
realized I hadn’t introduced myself. I
managed to choke out a moderate hello, Ms. Ferris, I’m Erica Natalio.
“Call me Maat. So, Erica, you’re Parr’s…what
are you? An interrogator? If you are, you better up the intimidation skills.”
Oh, God. What did I say to that? Did I deny or
explain? She’d left me speechless.
“That’s okay, Erica. I’m not intimidated.
I’ll bet you haven’t seen your 20th birthday. Get a few years on you
and you can learn to terrify anyone. A gun would help, too. So, you got
questions?”
She grinned when she spoke, apparently enjoying my
fumbling. I managed to go on. Was she a
werewolf hunter? Werewolves were extinct so what would she do now?
Yes, I’m a hunter. Werewolves are not
extinct, Erica. I killed three the other day by myself and another eight or so
with help. Parr, the president, all of them are lying to you to keep you calm. I
bet you’ll know for sure soon.
It’s an interview. Just words, even if the surety in
her voice frightened me. I tried to be professional and went on. I only
stuttered a tiny bit. Where were you born and raised? What about parents?
“I was born in North Georgia and raised
in Pennsylvania by my crazy Uncle Jake and dear Aunt Nell. Jake wasn’t all
there in the head sometimes. He made moonshine in the barn and consumed most of
the yield. He was military man once. Crazy or drunk, he remembered how to kill.
He started training me to kill werewolves when I was five. Aunt Nell taught me
to read and write. My parents are dead. Werewolves killed them.”
Such and expressive woman. In her voice I heard
amusement and the deepest love. I
remembered the limited background information the VP offered and asked about
her army service. She shook her head
then shrugged.
“Army?
Well, I guess. I was in the Freak Squad. A military special force dedicated
to killing werewolves. And believe me it
was freaky. And terrifying. We were mostly
young, about your age, and they told us we were going to save the country from
monsters. Most of us, not me but others,
were under trained, under armed, and underappreciated. I got out before a gang
of werewolves slaughtered all of them in one single night.”
Oh, oh, I did not like this. Why did the vice
president send me here? I couldn’t speak. I did, however, automatically take
notes. Ms. Ferris…Maat shook her head.
“Okay, Erica, let’s speed this up. I’ve
killed a lot of werewolves. I’m basically an outlaw. I’m an excellent thief.
Just ask the army. I’m also a braggart and a liar. I’ve killed humans too, but
only to protect myself or others. I can’t tell you why I’m here. I don’t know. I’m
bored. My only entertainment is picking fights with Colonel Xavier. So far,
I’ve lost all of them, but I’m an optimist. Is there anything else?”
She said Colonel Xavier. I’d seen him. Big strong
man with a horribly scared face. I shouldn’t, but I had to ask about him. She
laughed out loud at that.
“Oh, yeah. Colonel Xavier kidnapped me
from my peaceful home in the mountains and brought me here. We’ve discussed his despicable deeds since
then. Crude discussions, but what the
hell else is there to do around here? Sorry, sweetie. Gotta go.”
She rose and walked…no. She strolled out, loose and
confident, like a predator in search of a victim. I don’t know if I had the
information Vice President Parr wanted. I doubted it. Maat Ferris is strange,
dynamic, and dangerous, I think. I doubt that I’ll ever meet anyone like her
again. But I wanted too. Maybe I should study something more active than
Psychology.
Huntress Rising
Angel of Death
Book One
Lee Roland
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Angel of Death
Book One
Lee Roland
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Wild Rose Press
Date of Publication: December 9, 2019
ISBN 978-1-5092-2887-4
ISBN 978-1-5092-2888-1
ASIN: B081DR5SBJ
Number of pages: 378
Word Count: 99, 281
Cover Artist: Debbie Taylor
Tagline: The Angel of Death is no angel, but a world in ruins needs her guns more than wings.
Book Description:
In a post-apocalypse world besieged by monsters, Colonel Xavier, a military man with a deadly temper, deliberately challenges Maat Ferris, a fierce, werewolf hunter. When Xavier meets Maat, he can't decide whether to shoot her or kiss her. There is no uncertainty in her. She promptly stabs him. His hot then cold attitude makes her crazy, and his tendency to protect her is even worse.
Unfortunately, the combative pair must join forces on a treacherous journey, across the bleak, barren country. Pursued by a dictator president and the vampire who holds him in thrall, they carry precious cargo that will give democracy seeking rebels a chance to remain free.
Maat and Xavier, true to their aggressive, passionate natures, must also battle their way through a most unusual courtship. Can their love grow amidst the destruction and rebuilding of a society under siege? Or will they kill each other first?
Excerpt:
Chapter One
May 18, 2085 A.D
Avalon
Agricultural Commune
Appalachian
Mountains
Christopher
worked his way down toward paradise. His tongue flicked in my navel and his
fingers had already reached the gate. The lantern’s golden light played across
our warm, flushed skin. I twisted my own fingers in his thick red hair, urging
him on to the heart of gratification. He stopped, raised his head, and stared
at me.
“What?” I didn’t
expect him to answer. Christopher never spoke. One of the other members here at
the AG Commune told me he could speak but wouldn’t because he was a Prime
Oracle. His prophecies always came true—and he hated it.
To my dismay,
Christopher rose from the bed, grabbed his robe, and drew it over his head. A
frantic knock sounded at the door. The knock came again, this time accompanied
by the voice of Julia, our leader Anolia’s young assistant.
“Maat? Maat, are
you there?”
I glanced at
Christopher, but his face remained impassive. The dark night terrified Julia.
What was she doing at my door?
“Maat? Maat,
please.”
Each word came
with a higher and more desperate note. Christopher gave me one of his sweet
smiles. Yes, I knew I had to answer.
“I’m coming,
Julia.” I rose, grabbed my own robe, tossed it on, and went to the door. Julia
jammed herself inside before it completely opened. She stood gasping, eyes
wide, and pale hands clenched tight around her lantern handle. She shivered,
even though summer had almost arrived, and it wasn’t cold outside.
“What is it,
Julia?” I touched her arm. She jerked.
She closed her
eyes and whispered a broken version of the serenity prayer. She didn’t seem any
calmer when she finished. “Anolia wants you in the chapel dining room right
now.” Julia blurted out the sentence like a single, multisyllable word.
“Why?” Anolia
often sent Julia on errands, but she wasn’t cruel. What caused her to send the
girl into the darkness she so feared? Julia shook her head, unable to continue.
She glanced over her shoulder toward the door. “I have to go.”
I wouldn’t get
anything else from her.
“Tell Anolia
I’ll be there soon.”
Julia nodded. I
opened the door and watched her lantern sway as she hurried up the path and
over the hill. After I closed the door, I turned to Christopher.
“Something’s
wrong. I better go see what she wants.”
Christopher
seized my shoulders with hands made strong by his work at the forge. His
fingers squeezed in a savage grip, and his striking face twisted in anguish.
“Take your guns,
Maat. Take your guns.”
He spoke with a
gravity that stunned me. He gave me a sweet kiss, and he too hurried out into
the night. Seconds passed while I recovered from the shock of hearing him speak
for the first time in over a year. Then I took his advice. I dragged my old
suitcase from under the bed and threw it open.
The scent of gun
oil and saddle soap filled the room. All my weapons lay there as they had for
the past two years while I’d lived in peace here at the commune. Regularly
cleaned, they patiently waited for the once familiar killing urge to strike
their mistress again. I pulled on well-worn, black denim pants and a knit
shirt, both softened with age. The supple boots that allowed me to tread softly
across most terrain still fit comfortably.
I’m tall, lean, and
have a moderately androgynous face. I’m not beautiful. Beauty is a blessing for
women who need it to survive in this dangerous post-war, post disease world.
I’ve never envied them, those lovely things with their smiles and sparkling
eyes. All I needed was a gun, a blade, and a little luck. I may even run out of
luck, but I kept my blade sharp, and my well-oiled guns didn’t age. The bullets
retained their devastating punch.
I pinned my mass
of unruly and not so lovely brown curls at the nape of my neck and wedged a
small sheathed knife into the knot. The .44 Magnum Rudra, loaded with high
impact silvers, the only ammunition I used, went into the unwieldy and
uncomfortable holster at the small of my back. A more accessible shoulder
holster carried a .45 caliber Aries under my left arm. I strapped a leather
knife sheath to my left forearm, so I could grab the hilt with my right hand.
I’d seen sheaths that buckled to the thigh, but I preferred my legs free, so I
could run better. Knowing when to run had saved me more than once.
I pinned my mass
of unruly and not so lovely brown curls at the nape of my neck and wedged a
small sheathed knife into the knot. The .44 Magnum Rudra, loaded with high
impact silvers, the only ammunition I used, went into the unwieldy and
uncomfortable holster at the small of my back. A more accessible shoulder
holster carried a .45 caliber Aries under my left arm. I strapped a leather
knife sheath to my left forearm, so I could grab the hilt with my right hand.
I’d seen sheaths that buckled to the thigh, but I preferred my legs free, so I
could run better. Knowing when to run had saved me more than once.
About the Author:
After twenty years in public service, Lee Roland retired to become a full-time paranormal romance and urban fantasy writer. Her first three published novels, the Earth Witches, series tells the stories of strong men and women who battle the evil hiding under the surface of the modern world. Lee hasn't always been a writer, but has always been a daydreamer, constantly making up stories and noted for rewriting her school day into happy endings when telling her mother. Winner of numerous literary contests and a Golden Heart nominee, she currently lives and writes with her beloved dogs and cats in North Central Florida.
Website https://www.leeroland.com/
Twitter https://twitter.com/LeeRolandM
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