Dragon's Fire Read Online Free PDF Page B

got somewhere I can stash my bags?”
     
     
     

 
     
    Chapter Four
     
    I stood behind the bakery, a flame-thrower strapped to my back, as I tried to figure out where the wendigo had disappeared to. Special Agent in Charge Beck was definitely on my good side. He was well-prepared and more than willing to loan me his very cool toy. The last wendigo I'd gone after, I'd been armed with a lighter, a can of bug spray and a flare gun. I'd gotten the job done, but had a nice set of scars on the back of my neck for my troubles. I'd been very lucky not to have been decapitated. It was probably my most narrow escape. Have I mentioned how much I hate wendigoes?
     
    I wasn't that fond of reporters either. A few of them had figured out that I'd gone out back and were now trying get pictures as I worked. I ignored them for the most part, though I did catch a glimpse of the good-looking one watching me with an intensity that seemed above and beyond just journalistic interest. I didn't let him distract me though. I'd more thoroughly acquaint myself with him after I'd dealt with the creature I was hunting.
     
    It only took me a few minutes to spot the manhole cover and realize that the wendigo had gone into the sewers. I swore under my breath. I hated tracking into the sewers. It always took forever to get the stench out of my hair and clothes. But, that's what they paid me for and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't well compensated. At least I didn't have to try to lift that stupid cover by myself. I may have been stronger than the average girl of my age and size thanks to a lifetime of training, but I was still human.
     
    The two agents standing behind the sewer entrance gave me doubtful looks as I lowered myself into the darkness. I took a couple of deep, steady breaths as I waited for my eyes and nose to adjust. Once I was certain I could proceed without gagging or tripping over anything, I turned on the dim flashlight I'd clipped to my belt and started to move. The wendigo was almost as good a hunter as I, so I wanted as little light as possible to warn it I was coming. The best thing about wendigoes is that they all followed the same sort of pattern no matter where they were living. They may venture into populated areas to feed, but they would still choose the area with the least amount of people to make their home. That meant I was headed south, out of the city.
     
    One of the things I hated the most about being in the sewers while hunting was the loss of time. I couldn't tell if I'd been down here for hours or days. Common sense told me that it couldn't have been later than late afternoon, but the darkness around me suggested that I'd been here for years, wandering, lost. I shook my head. Thinking like that got people killed. I slowly shuffled through the inch-deep dreck and allowed my mind to fall into its hyper-focused state where everything else faded away and all that was left was the hunt. I'd been training since I could walk and my muscles knew each part of the process as much as my brain did. That was why, even at nineteen, I was so much better than late-in-life hunters. For me, it wasn't second nature. It was first.
     
    Suddenly, I heard it coming from around the bend in the pipe, the strange chittering sound that only a wendigo made. They were said to have been human once, twisted and perverted by generations of cannibalism and violence, but they no longer had the power of human speech. No one was entirely sure if they bred or just turned because no one could get close enough to study them.
     
    I flattened myself against the wall and shuffled forward. I'd been being cautious, but I hadn't really expected to catch the creature in the sewer. I'd assumed I'd track it to its nest. There was no way I could catch up with a wendigo with such a huge head-start. But as I peeked around the bend, I could see the shadowy outline, almost humanoid in appearance. I watched for a moment, trying to determine if it was injured or if