HALO HUNTER by Michele Hauf

Chapter one excerpt ©Michele Hauf 2010

One

My name is Michael Donovan. I’m a thirty-something only child who sends Christmas cards to his mother and avoids the nine-to-five hell. The world is my office. There’s not a week that doesn’t see me in a new locale, hiking through a rain forest, kayaking uncharted waters, or trying to converse in a language I don’t know with a confused local.

I’m a halo hunter. And I want to believe.

Sounds like some kind of freak sitting in the basement of the FBI building throwing pencils at the ceiling, eh? Just call me the Fox Mulder of the angel set. That’s right, angels.

Do they exist? Do they walk this earth incarnate? I want to believe, but I’ve yet to see one.

Though I do have proof. Maybe. I’ve been collecting halos for ten years. My collection numbers seventeen. If you believe the mythology, there are two hundred halos to be found. Lost when the grigori purposely fell to earth to mate with human females.

It’s said that when a human holds a halo they feel hope. That hasn’t happened for me yet.

Legend also tells, if the halo is ever reclaimed by its original owner—the fallen angel—it’s supposed to grant them a human soul.

I buy into it only to the point where it becomes ridiculous. Like I said, I’ve never seen an angel.

So here I am in Paris, tracking a lead on another halo. I’ve been keeping my cyber eyes wide for any references to halos. The archaeology sites are not exactly the places to look, though you’d think if anything that had fallen to the earth thousands of years ago was going to be found, it would likely be by an archaeologist.

Not so. Most halos are found by the unsuspecting. They are walking along, trip over a funny disk, and will either toss it away like a Frisbee or into the garbage bin. I picked up one at a garage sale a few years ago for fifty cents. The seller thought it was some part from an appliance her husband had chucked in the junk pile. Good for me.

Rarely, I happen upon a person who knows what they have. I’m still working on the guy who wants a cool million for his halo. The things are worth it, but I am not a rich man. This trip has tapped my wallet and left it yawning.

Two days ago Versailles was mentioned in a post online. A woman who I believe knows what she’s looking for mentioned something about a sculpture in the palace. A halo is supposed to have been worked into the sculpture—a real halo.

I’ve been to Paris twice, but have never taken the Metro. I didn’t speak French, so it took me a while to buy a Metro pass and negotiate the various subway maps. Turns out you need an additional ticket to navigate to Versailles.

After half an hour of frustration at the ticket booth, I hopped on the RER Line C at St. Michel and anticipated a forty-minute ride out to the palace. It was night, and I knew the palace would be closed, but I intended to find a room close by in town, and tomorrow I’d take a tour and check out the statuary.

I sat toward the front on the top level of the double-decker train. There were only a handful of people on the lower level, chatting in a language that fascinated me only in that I knew I would never learn even the basics, such as “hello” and “if you shove me again, buddy, I’ll shove back”.

I sat alone up top. Or so I thought.

Raspberry, ginger and something dark with a sweet tinge, dusted the air around me. I didn’t realize she sat next to me until I’d pulled my head from the heady fog of fragrance. She didn’t say anything, only looked up at me sweetly, her hands pressed together and shoved between her knees.

Soft blue eyes sought something in me I wasn’t even sure I knew about. It was the weirdest, most startling gaze I’d ever met. And then she smiled, and tossed her head slightly to shift long blowsy brown curls over her bare shoulder. Her skin was pale but toned, her neck long and inviting. If she was French, I figured I should try to pick her up.

Hey, we men have fantasies just like you women. Sexy foreign woman in a popular romantic destination? I am so there.

“Name’s Vinny,” she offered in a rough voice that didn’t match her angelic features. “You headed to Versailles?”

“I am. You sound American.”

“Miami. All my life. You disappointed?”

“A little.” Hell, she took me by surprise. What can I say?

“Too bad for you. I live in Paris now. I’m stuck here.”

“Stuck?”
“It’s a long story. And a bad situation.” She drew her eyes up the front of my shirt, a worn blue summer sweater with sleeves I wear shrugged to my elbows. She stopped on my mouth. I think it was my mouth. Let it be my mouth, and let her thoughts be cruising toward the same kiss I wanted. “I know what you’re looking for, Michael.”
Whoa. Red alert.

I didn’t work with any partners, and did not have clients. The only one who knew I was in Paris was my travel agent. And the last girlfriend I’d had was six months pregnant—no, not by me; I’d broken up with her a year ago.

So when someone names a loner like me out of the blue, I have to wonder why.

“Don’t look so aghast,” Vinny said. “You’re not a ghost. Certain people can find other certain people if they look hard enough.”

“Why would a certain girl like you want to find me? Do I know you?”

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”

She twisted on the uncomfortable hard plastic seat and went onto a kneel on one leg, which put her eye level to me. Still that heady perfume seduced me into a lull. It was as if she were poisoning me into submission in preparation for the sweetest possible killing.

“I know what you’re looking for, Michael, and I know exactly where it is.”

I crossed my arms high on my chest. It was the only way to put distance between us when her shoulder brushed mine. If she tilted herself forward just a bit more—yep, she did. Now her breast crushed against my arm. Nice.

Watch it, Michael.

“What am I looking for?” I challenged. She couldn’t possibly have a clue—

“A halo.”

On the other hand...

“It’s in Versailles. Part of a sculpture.”

No sense denying it. And if she could further my quest… “Who are you working with? Another halo hunter?”

“I’m freelance.”
“Did you see the post online?”

“Certainly.”

Ah, the certain girl was most certain. I liked her despite the fact all my senses screamed for caution.

“So, do you want me to show you where it is?”

Caution, Michael. “Thanks, but I can find it on my own.”

“No, you won’t. It blends so well you’ll go mad before you even begin to get close to it. And it’s not part of an angel sculpture. That would be stupid.”

“Vinny, eh?”

She leaned even closer. Her lips were but a kiss away from mine. A man should offer some means of thanks for such an offer. But I like to keep my lips away from the suspicious sorts.

“Short for Venezia,” she whispered.

“Isn’t that in—”

“My mother had a thing for Italy. Here’s the deal, Michael. I’ll show you the halo. You pay me ten thousand for the information.”

“Ten thousand?”

“Euros. I’m sure it’s a lot less than you’ve paid for other halos.”

I glanced out the window. The city had become countryside, and rolling hills of twilight green rushed by. The verdant scene held no candle to the lush cloud of Vinny I sat in. God, she smelled amazing. I’d carry her scent on me long after we parted.

I hoped.

As for her offer to work together, I could find the halo myself. Maybe.

Versailles must have thousands of sculptures. I’ve never visited the palace. Going over each and every one with a fine-tooth comb would prove a slow and painstaking process. Not to mention, such fine-toothcombery wouldn’t happen without exclusive access.

“Is it in a public viewing area?”

“No hints.” Her finger waggled admonishingly before my chest. “Deal?”

Vinny’s bright blue eyes swam in mine a while. There were a lot worse ways to blow ten grand. And she didn’t look like the sort who would try to take the prize from me after I had it in hand. On the other hand, the pretty ones were always the tricky ones.

Hell, I like them tricky.

I slapped my hand into hers. “Deal.”

[copyright Michele Hauf 2010]

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