That was the situation; I stood with a handful of resistance fighters, including Katya and the resistance leader, Sharpe. Connery stood beside me, holding the urn with the ashes in it, waiting to see what would happen next.
“Maybe,” I was actually surprised to hear my own voice, “we should talk about this. Perhaps we can come to a diplomatic solution.”
The leader of the guards snorted derisively. “You are resistance scum. Maybe we should kill you all where you stand and take the urn from your dead hands.”
On an impulse, I snatched the urn from Connery and held it close to my chest. “Look at me; I’m human. If you kill me then I fall and the urn breaks and my blood gets in the ash. You know what happens then and I think that’s the last thing your bosses want.”
I saw the stiffness pass across the face of the Guard Captain. I had him – my blood would resurrect the King and that was what the Court of Clubs was trying to avoid.
“Now,” I continued, “how about you just let us out of here before something bad happens?”
“That would not suit me,” Jack spoke. I had had a hunch that he would be the sticking point. Without knowing his motives, it was impossible to guess how to play this. He pointed at me. “You have greatly upset me, Ursula. For many reasons. Your abuse of my generous hospitality not being the least of them.”
“Who are you?” snapped the Captain.
“Call me Jack.”
The stiffness that had entered the Captain’s face was now replaced with blank fear. He had heard of Jack – Bronx Jack – and the stories were conflicting. Some said he was the champion of the little guy, some said he was a holy terror, others that he was just a selfish prick. But they all said that he was powerful, not to be crossed, and disliked authority.
“That urn,” Jack pointed, “is not safe in the hands of either of you. I will take it.”
In the months that followed, I would often wonder if that had been the point when everything might have been different. Had there been a deal to be done with Jack? But we did not know what he had in mind, and he was too arrogant to back down. Perhaps it was partly because I had angered him in the past, but he wasn’t letting me stand in his way.
“Ursula.” As Jack spoke, he raised his hand again and closed the fingers of it into a fist. As he did so, I felt a clutch inside of me, as if his hand had closed within my chest, holding on to my spine or my heart. My body jerked spastically.
“Ursula?” Connery was quick and attentive.
“Take the urn,” I gasped. I was managing to resist Jack for now but I knew that I would go to him. My feet were already moving against my will and I had not the strength to stop them.
“No,” Jack said, simply.
Connery tried to take the urn but my arms tightened about it - I could not let it go. From the corner of my eye, I saw the Guards move in anticipation. Perhaps it was just as well that I could not let it go, because the moment I did, they would attack, even with Jack there. It was only the proximity of my human blood that was keeping them in check.
“Ursula,” Jack said again, in a tone of gentle remonstrance, and this time, I began to walk towards him, one faltering step at a time, desperate to hold back and yet unable to do so.
Moving at the same time, Katya and Connery both rushed Jack. Katya had been standing closer and so led the way, but before she reached him, Bathsheba stepped out and grabbed her, hurling her back against the wall. Bathsheba was not an old vampire – nowhere near as old as Katya – but there was a power in her that seemed fueled by her own anger at the world.
Connery lunged for Jack. Jack was in good shape, fit and trim, but he couldn’t compare with Connery’s ripped body. But such things do not always make a difference in vampires. With a flick of his left hand, Jack batted Connery across the room, hitting the wall with a sickening thud.
“Connery!” I shrieked, struggling against Jack’s possession.
Jack shrugged. “Next time, I’ll kill him. This ends one way; with me leaving with that urn. None of you have the power to stop me.”
He was right. None of us had that power, assuming that we all acted in a considered and measured way. But the Imperial Guards were now shaky and on edge, confused by what was going on and frightened by how it might play out. This was not what they had signed up for – it was supposed to be a good, steady job with a decent paycheck and a smart uniform to impress ladies – or the gentlemen; women could be Guards, too. You were not supposed to get involved with the potential resurrection of a bogey man whom your mother had told you scary stories about. You were not supposed to face vampires as powerful as Bronx Jack. All these things put them on edge, they made them careless.
“By order of the Court of Clubs,” said the Captain, his voice shaking even as he tried to exert his authority, “you are not to take that urn.”
Jack smiled, thinly. “Why don’t you try and stop me?”
The Guards were armed with guns that fired wooden bullets. The weapons were largely outlawed in Lundercity, but the Guards had access to some to be used on special missions. Unfortunately, this meant that the men who handled them were inexperienced and had not always had enough training.
I seemed to see the man raise his gun, in slow motion, putting it to his shoulder, barely pausing to take aim, and firing. But he was not aiming at Jack, as perhaps he might have. If he had aimed at Jack then I was sure the powerful vampire would have been able to dodge something as slow as a bullet – Jack seemed to see the whole world in slow motion. But the Guard had aimed at me.
I could not say what he was thinking, or if he was even thinking anything at all. It might just have been nervousness or a bad aim. I saw the flash of the gun firing, I heard the shouts from the Captain, from the resistance, and even from Jack himself as he saw events moving inexorably and unexpectedly beyond his tight control. Even Jack couldn’t stop this. I heard the shattering of the terracotta urn, and saw the cloud of ash explode before my eyes, and in the next instant, felt the sharp, searing pain of the wooden bullet piercing my flesh, burning into my shoulder. Not a kill shot, but in this instance, that hardly mattered.
As I went down, carried by the force of the bullet and the shock of the pain, I seemed to see in the air before me, the blood and ash mixing. Perhaps it was just my stunned imagination, but I thought the ash was moving independently to seek out the blood. It swirled into dark, hazy patterns that descended onto a flying droplet of blood and absorbed it. As the blood vanished, the ash began to gain shape and mass, growing into an amoebic blob, pulsing and reshaping, joining with other blobs, massing into something that, with every passing second, became more unmistakably fleshy. The sound was indescribable as sticky flesh bulged, gristle and cartilage popped and bones snapped and drove their way into place.
There ought to have been nothing that could tear my eyes away from this gruesome and terrifying spectacle. But I could not help looking over to the wall of the chamber where Connery still lay. He wasn’t moving. I knew a vampire couldn’t be killed by being flung against a wall, but he could be badly enough hurt that he took a long time to recover, and now was a very bad time to be defenseless.
Jack rushed forwards, towards the growing blob of rapidly coalescing flesh.
“Give me a stake, damn it!” Whatever he had wanted the ashes for, it clearly had not been to bring back the 1st King of Clubs.
As no one was forthcoming, Jack crossed the room to one of the Guards, all whom were frozen, stricken with fear, and wrenched the stake from the belt of one. He raced back to the blob and raised the stake.
Suddenly, a hand shot out of the blob, fully realized with long, bony fingers. I had seen that hand before in a dream, it belonged to the 1st King of Clubs. It latched on to Jack’s wrist, even as he tried to stab the stake downwards, meeting him strength for strength.
With each passing moment, the King of Nightmares was growing larger, stronger, regaining shape. The pool of blood in which I ought to have been lying had all been leeched into his g
rowing body. Perhaps he was not yet as strong as he had been in his prime – I had no idea how this sort of thing worked – but he was already strong enough to hold back Jack’s stake.
There was only so much of this I could watch. The pain in my arm was fierce, I had lost a lot of blood and was continuing to lose it, but I have never known when to say die and that hadn’t changed just because I had been shot. Unable to suppress a cry of pain, I dragged myself up off the floor, fumbling in my jacket pocket for my stake. It was awkward because my right hand – my staking hand – was dangling at the end of a useless arm, and I fumbled to get the wooden shaft free. When I finally did, I lunged for the creature that was now all but fully formed in front of me.
It was monstrous. How old the King of Nightmares was I could not say, perhaps he could not even say himself anymore. He at least equaled the King of Hearts, who was over two and a half thousand years old, but the pair had aged very differently.
The 1st King of Clubs was still roughly humanoid in shape, but it was a slim concession to humanity. He was at least seven feet tall, his skin was that shade of veiny blue you get when someone is paler than white, and it hung off his prominent bones. His arms were long, and though they were bone thin, they also had an incredible strength. His black hair was thrown out about his head like a mane, framing a terrifying face; black holes for eyes, lit by blue flashes; no nose to speak of; and a mouth in which the vampiric fangs had rotted to ragged tombstones.
Of course, I didn’t actually waste any time taking all of this in, I just rushed at him, stake raised.
I never even got near him. Two sets of arms grabbed me from behind and dragged me back.
“What are you doing?” I shrieked at the Guards who were pulling me away. “Don’t you know who that is?” This was the last thing that they had wanted to happen. Why were they stopping me?
But then I saw their eyes; wide and blank, and no longer their own.
Most vampires exert some control over their human victims, as Jack had over me. But the King of Nightmares preferred to wield control over his fellow vampires. It was an overwhelming control, leaving no semblance of the person who had been there before. These poor men now knew nothing except to protect their new master.
The chamber was now chaos. Bathsheba rushed to Jack’s aid, and the strong young vampire woman was flicked back across the room as if she was made of paper. Katya was yelling at the resistance, getting them out of the door as fast as she could, away from the influence of the resurrected King. Perhaps it was heartless to leave others behind, but Katya was wise enough to know that retreat was the only option. Hard as she worked, she couldn’t save all of them. As the King’s gaze turned the way of the resistance, I saw the eyes of Turpin and Mercer fade to blankness, as he took their minds from them.
In the middle of all this, Jack and the King stood, their limbs locked in battle, in a trial of strength. But I could see the strain on Jack’s face, he had nothing left to give. He wasn’t trying to kill the King anymore – that idea was long gone – now, he was fighting to keep hold of his mind as the King sought to claim Jack as one of his own. The muscles of his arms strained as he tried to pull away from the King’s grip – if he could get out of that overwhelming presence then he might be alright, but the King anchored him to the spot with a grip like iron.
The gunshot rang out across the room. The King dodged the wooden bullet with ease but the shock of it made him turn to see Bathsheba, pointing one of the Guards’ weapons. Her arm looked to be broken from where she had been flung back against the wall by the King, and there were clearly other injuries telling on her as she could barely stand, her face smeared with blood, her hate-filled gaze locked on the King. She couldn’t kill him, but she could give her master a chance.
The momentary distraction allowed Jack to break free, wrenching his wrists from the King’s death-like grip. He moved like lightning, darting across the room to where Bathsheba stood, her eyes already widening as the King’s mesmeric power took effect. He scooped up his follower into his arms and was gone in the blink of an eye, bearing her with him.
For a moment, I thought I saw his gaze rest on me, and then past me, but I might have been mistaken.
The King of Nightmares howled in anger at being denied his prize. He was perhaps still too weak to follow, needing more blood to sustain his rebirth. Luckily for him, blood was readily to hand. Unluckily for me, that blood was mine.
The Guards who held me started to drag me forward.
“No you fucking don’t!” I slammed my heels into the ground to try to stop them, but there were too many. I was going to be the first meal of the resurrected 1st King of Clubs.
But then, seemingly out of nowhere, a body, moving with the speed of a bullet, cannoned into the guards, knocking them like nine-pins while simultaneously sweeping me into its arms.
Connery ran for the exit, as fast as he could, carrying me in his arms. His unconscious state had allowed him to escape the attentions of the King as he lay by the wall, and when he had come around he had simply acted on instinct, protecting me as he always did, saving me as he always would.
I could hear his breath coming in ragged, choking gasps as he ran.
“Are you alright?”
“Hurting somewhere,” Connery growled through clenched teeth.
“Slow down, take a rest.”
He shook his head firmly. “Have to get further. I can feel him in my mind.”
The King of Nightmares had a long reach.
Chapter 3
Outside of the catacombs, we found the rest of the resistance regrouping and trying to deal with what had just happened. As Connery set me down, Sharpe grabbed his hand to welcome him back and Katya embraced him.
“Thought we’d lost you there.”
“You nearly did,” admitted Connery.
“I’m sorry.” Though she had done the right thing, Katya looked desperately guilty at having left her friend behind. “I didn’t…”
“You were right.” Connery stopped her. “You got as many out as you could.” He paused. “How many…?”
“Two.” Katya’s face was grave. “Mercer and Turpin.”
“Good men.”
“We may get them back,” said Sharpe, ever the idealist. “If we can get them away from him then Katya thinks their minds might return.”
“If we can kill him,” Katya corrected. “I hope their minds might return. But remember the Night Wraiths we met earlier. The King died and it had no effect on them – they remained his slaves.”
Sharpe nodded. “We’re still going to try.”
Katya clenched her fists. “Damn right.”
“What now?” I asked. After the events of the last few hours, not knowing what to do next was a strange sensation. Shouldn’t we be doing something?
“Everyone go home and get some rest,” said Sharpe. “I know it won’t be easy but we can’t face this creature if we’re tired. Katya and I will alert the authorities to what has happened. We might not like the royal ‘system’, and we might not always be on the same side, but in this case, I think our interests converge.”
Returning to Connery’s apartment after all that happened was like a dream. Actually… it was so normal that it made everything else seem like a dream. Last time we had been here there had been such optimism. It had seemed as if we had a chance to stop a war.
And we had, in a way. The King of Hearts would not be invading now.
But at what cost?
“How are you?” Connery asked solicitously as I awkwardly peeled off my jacket, the pain in my shoulder stabbing at me as I moved.
“I’ll live.” The words were out of my mouth before I could think about them, and about those who might not be so lucky.
I looked at Connery, and without a word between us, we embraced, each finding comfort in the other, but finding happiness there, too. We could not change what had happened tonight, but we had survived it. It did feel wrong to celebrate that when others had been taken
, but it would have felt more wrong not to be grateful that we had gotten away. So much had happened that could have torn us apart, and our survival, together, seemed to set a seal on our relationship.
“You want to go to the hospital?” His vampire body was already healing itself – my bullet wound would be much slower.
I shook my head. “It went through. Just help me bandage it.”
I sat on the edge of the bathtub, wincing occasionally as Connery cleaned my wound and dressed it. Though the pain had most of my attention, I also quietly wondered at the man I was with. To be this close to my blood had to have some effect on him, and yet it never seemed a factor. He would never have dreamed of as much as licking me. I never forgot he was a vampire, but I never thought of it as a negative thing. A year ago, such an attitude would have been unthinkable to me.
“It doesn’t look good,” he said, quietly.
“I’m sure I’ve had worse.”
“It’ll take a while to heal.”
I sighed. “I guess I could go to the hospital in the morning. But I doubt they can do much.”
“I could.”
I looked at him. What was he suggesting?
“Drink my blood,” said Connery.
I gaped.
“It won’t heal you completely,” Connery hastily added. “And it certainly won’t turn you, if that’s what you’re worried about. But I’m a few centuries old and, at my age, my blood should speed up the healing and it’ll take away some of the pain.”
“No.” I didn’t say it unkindly, but I had spent too long distancing myself from vampires to make this sort of decision lightly. I trusted Connery with my life and loved him with all my heart but this… this was a big step.
Then, like an idiot, I rested on my arm as I stood up and cried out as the pain shot through me. I had to bite my lip to stop the tears rising in my eyes.
Connery said nothing, but I could see from the look on his face that this was killing him. He hated to see me in pain when he knew he could help.
The King of Clubs 3 Page 2
