Shadow Born: A Joseph Hunter Novel: Book 1 (Joseph Hunter Series)

hours before midnight, you will attend a meeting.”
“Will I?”
“If you want to know what happened to your wife, you will. The one responsible for your loss will be there.” The vampire showed her bloodied teeth again, then lay on her back and stared at the ceiling.
“Where is the meeting?” I asked.
“Parking garage on Third and K Street. Basement level.”
I chewed on my lip, fighting against the urge to drive the stake through her dead, un-beating heart. I also tempered myself from using my magic. If I reached into my abilities, I could discern whether she was lying to me or not. But I had sworn off my power. Using it could create a type of aura discernible to other magic users—an aura that would expose me and possibly expose Mel. I couldn’t take that risk.
I had to take the vampire at her word.
“If you’re lying to me,” I said. “I’ll bypass Hades and Lucifer, and I’ll personally see to your damnation. We clear?”
“As blood, Mr. Hunter.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I said, exiting her cell and slamming the door behind me.
Xander wore a scowl. “How did it go?”
“I hate vampires, that’s how it went,” I muttered. “Clear your schedule, though. We have a meeting tonight.”

4
“You still know how to work one of those things?” Xander asked, nodding to the Glock 17 in my hand. He had offered me the weapon before we left the monster prison-slash-detective agency. Also, since I had refused to dig up my rune-inscribed guns, Xander figured I should probably have some kind of protection before stepping into a meeting conducted by a supernatural being.
We sat in the cab of a run-down Honda, a company car meant to blend in, much like his office building, and we waited outside the Sacramento garage for the clock to register nine o’clock—or three hours before midnight, for you sex-crazed immortals. The interior of the car smelled like energy drinks and cigarettes, and sunflower seeds littered the floorboards. A light rain pattered onto the windshield, though a sliver of moonlight beamed across the November sky, hopefully teasing that the weather would clear. I lived in California for a reason—rain and Joseph Hunter didn’t go well together.
I studied the Glock 17 by the scant moonlight. Part of my pact with Hephaestus was to serve in the United States Military—position classified. During that time, I had coated my weapons with runes. Like other magic, activated runes left a unique aura that any trained magic user could identify and possibly follow. That was the main reason I had buried my guns, to hide their magical properties from anyone who might be searching for me.
Xander had not only provided me with a gun, but he had equipped me with a hunting dagger and an armored jacket. Everything was normal, no rune inscriptions marred the armor or the weaponry. The ordinary world—or the world as most people called it—didn’t believe that it shared its existence with cursed and blessed humans and the Nephil. One of the implied pact rules, when a Nephil grants a human with their power, is to keep their magic secret from the world. The power can only be used to serve their patron, and never, under any circumstances, for individual fame or fortune. Or, in my case, vendettas.
Besides, only Acolytes of certain Nephil, such as Hephaestus, could enchant inanimate objects. So, the absence of magic imbued in Xander’s gun didn’t surprise me, but it did make me feel vulnerable. A full vampire, one who has fed recently, is more likely to die by a normal bullet—though more likely doesn’t mean likely. A starving vampire, one who hasn’t eaten and has devolved from their human form into a monster, would barely feel a normal bullet if it somehow, miraculously penetrated the creature.
“I know how to work it,” I said, turning my attention back to Xander. “Question is, will this thing work against a Cursed?”
Xander leaned back against the headrest and grinned. “Hollow points are filled with silver dust. It won’t kill something cursed, but it’ll hurt them. How’s it feel?”
I popped the magazine and checked the rounds, counting ten, and I shook my head. Though Xander had the ability go above California gun laws because of his past and current career, he still chose to follow the restrictions. After sighing and clicking the magazine back in place, I adjusted in the seat so I could fit the Glock in a side holster near my hip. “It feels…” I grinned, “like holding a woman after a long time away.”
“Squirmy?” Xander asked, glancing at me, his lips curled up. I didn’t understand the joke, but that’s the thing about the celestial pacts. The Guardian Angels—yeah, I know it’s a clever name—are about as funny as a box of tacks. Which means not funny at all.
I snickered out of politeness to his ego. “Right as rain, baby.”
“Right as rain, huh?” Xander asked, repeating my answer and shaking his head. “Joey Hunter, always the romantic.”
I had personally lost track of our conversation, but apparently Xander knew what was happening, so I continued to play along. “I watched too many princess movies growing up,” I said, shrugging. “I can’t help but feel the love every night.”
That shut him up for a solid two minutes. Rain fell on the windshield in light titters. A gust of wind occasionally slapped against the side of the car. I started to get fidgety, waiting and doing nothing, and three hours to midnight was my usual shot of Makers time. The thirst was coming on strong.
Xander cleared his throat. “How many women since Callie?”
I frowned, glaring at him. Xander had never beat around the proverbial bush. He was more the type to grit his teeth and lower his head and charge headfirst into a subject. Me, on the other hand, I beat a rut around that damn plant. “What do you mean?”
“Seriously? You’re avoiding the question?” he asked, finding some long-lost humor and spreading those pursed lips into a light grin. I didn’t find