Choice of the Cat (Vampire Earth 2)

"What, you never looked at the blade closely?"

"To oil it, sharpen it... Wait, the CFS on the blade, in little letters right by the hilt?"

"Cobb Family Smithy, Valentine."

He drew his old, notched parang with its hardwood handle. He held the blade so the light fell on it, and looked again at the faint letters scrolled in tiny, precise calligraphy up against the hilt. "Funny, I never thought to ask what it meant."

They reached the smithy and outbuildings early in the afternoon. Faint hammering sounds from two different workshops sounded in the little hummock of land between Arkansas ridges. A stream ran down from the high hills to a half-pond, half-swamp on the other side of the road.

A pair of sizable but indefinable dogs trotted up to greet them, warily hopeful. Valentine took a step forward to greet the canines, and the pair began barking to raise the dead. A boy on the short side of ten ran down the drive to meet them.

"Who are you, and what's your business?" he squeaked. Then to the dogs, with more authority, "Still, you two! We know company's come."

"Smoke, Cat of Southern Command. Her Aspirant, Ghost. He needs a weapon or two."

"You're welcome here, then," the boy said, swelling with self-importance. "Follow me."

The house was a single-story conglomeration, a long rambling rancho growing like a rattlesnake's tail: an extra part every year. Whatever their skill at steelwork, the Cobb family knew little about architecture esthetics.

A middle-aged woman came out onto the nearly endless porch and squinted down at the visitors. She broke into a grin and clapped floured hands together. "Why it's Smoke, our little Kansas State Flower. How's that straightsword working out for you?"

"Needs a professional edge put back on. The hilt could use some rewrapping, too-the cording is a little frayed."

Valentine looked at the Cat, puzzled. "Did you bring it? It must be awfully small."

Duvalier exchanged glances with the woman and shrugged. "He's new, Bethany." She twisted her walking stick at the knob on the head and exposed a black handle. In a flash, she had the sword out from concealment within the stick. Valentine guessed the blade to be about twenty-two inches, single edged, with an angular point. The metal was dark, burnished so as not to reflect light.

Bethany examined the hilt with an expert eye. "I'll get a man on this. Can't have our precious Smoke losing her grip in a fight. What does your Aspirant need?"

"Apart from about two years' training in the next two months-which is my problem, not yours-he's going to need a set of claws. I'd like to see about getting him a decent blade, too. He's a Wolf, but by the look of it, he's been digging holes with that cotton chopper of his. He needs something to bite a Reaper."

"You want the old man to work with him, or my brother?"

"The Ghost here has had a hard enough week. Nathan will do."

"I'll be happy to oblige," Bethany said, moving to the screen door and holding it open. "C'mon in, and I'll make some tea."

"I've got better than that. Coffee," Duvalier said, handing over the rest of the bag.

Bethany Cobb smelled the beans. "I declare! You are just too good, rosebud."

They went into the kitchen, a vast cavern with two stoves and a large brick oven. After ringing a bell on the end of a carved wooden handle, Bethany reached high on a shelf for a coffeepot and grinder, and began to work on the beans while the water heated. "My brother will be with you shortly."

Nathan Cobb was a lumbering man with bulging arms and a substantial potbelly. He clapped Duvalier on the back, a blow she absorbed with some grace, and came close to crushing Valentine's hand in a vigorous shake. "Always, always happy to see a new Cat out there. Raise some Hell for me, would you, ummm, Ghost?" he said before getting down to business.

"I take it you need a set of claws?" he asked Duvalier.

"Yes, please, and time is a little bit of an issue."

"He seems to have average-size hands. You want talons like yours, or blades?"

"Talons, and make the fingers stiff-concealment won't be an issue on this job. I want him to be able to climb with them as well as fight."

"That'll save some time. Let's measure you up, son." Cobb extracted a stained tape measure from his work apron, and wrapped it around Valentine's palm. He then measured each finger from the litde well in the center of his hand to its extremity, making notes in neat block numbers in a little pocket pad. "How about a weapon or two, Smoke? Are you going to train him?"

"I'll have to."

"Then you'll want a sword for him, I suppose. We may have something already made up."