by Jack Conner
"Relieved?"
"Because I'd been forcing all this on you. I got to thinking that if someone else were trying to force a new lifestyle on me, I'd resent it, and ultimately I'd resist it just on general principles, no matter what this new lifestyle's merits might be. So now I respect you more for resisting me than I would've later if you'd gone along with what I'd wanted. I guess I was too anxious to have things back like they used to be. I didn't stop to think about making you comfortable with it. When I first met you, you were already quite on the opposite side of conventional morality, so I didn't have to do any persuading; that's why we were so close."
"You taught me things ...”
"I taught you how to be honest with yourself, how to love life from all angles. Things are different now. You've changed, and the harder I push you the harder you're going to push back. Please, forgive me."
"I can't, Kharker. You've gone too far."
"What, cutting out the girl's tongue? Is that anything worse than I do nightly in the Hunt?"
"I suppose not."
"There you are. Come to think of it, we did some much worse things back during the War, didn't we?"
"Those times are past."
Kharker buttered a tortilla and sopped up the last of his plate with aplomb. "I'm glad you inspired me to get those Mexican cooks," he said. "I'd forgotten just how delicious this stuff is."
"Kharker ...”
"Yes, my son?"
"I need to leave. I need to find Danielle. If you hold me here, I'll only resent you more."
Kharker nodded, took a swig of his orange juice. "Yes, things can't go on like this for any longer. I've anticipated this and have made preparations to shake things up around here."
"I don't want to be shaken up. I want—"
Kharker raised a hand, commanding silence. "Look, Ruegger, you can't go back to Danielle yet. I don't say this just to keep you around here longer—although I would like that. I say this because in all likelihood she hasn't finished what she needs to do. She has a decision to make, and if you interfere before she's ready you’ll only make things worse. So, please, stay here a few more days and I’ll arrange transportation for you to Roche's Castle. I'll make sure that he understands that you're to be given special protected treatment. Does that sound like a deal?"
Ruegger shoved his plate away. Slowly, he nodded, because despite Kharker's ulterior motives, the Hunter was right: what Danielle needed to do, she needed to do alone.
"It's a deal," he said, and stood.
"Going somewhere?"
"I need a walk."
Kharker wiped at his lips with a napkin. "I’m sorry about all this. You know I love you, Ruegger. You do know that, don't you?"
"I know," Ruegger said, and left.
He returned to his room, hoping to find the girl for company, but she was gone and he realized that Gavin must have waited for him to leave before abducting the girl from her slumber.
Gritting his teeth, Ruegger pushed downstairs and into the forest. He tried to turn his mind to the beauty around him, to focus on it and not himself, but it wasn’t easy. Please, Danielle, he thought. Be strong. Be safe. Before long, he stumbled into a small clearing and upon the remains of the two men he and Kharker had killed the night Danielle left him. Little remained of the corpses except for the bones, most of which were broken at least once; what Ruegger and Kharker hadn't finished off, the creatures of the jungle had.
He examined a black collar on the ground, where he had thrown it after ripping it off the human's neck with his teeth.
"I’m so sorry," he muttered, inhaling the ripe and rotted scent of death and taking a step backwards. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know ...”
Another scent hit his nostrils. A shade. Crouching, Ruegger glanced all around. What was this?
Something stirred in the jungle.
Ruegger caught a flash of pale skin. Then, insanely, the bare-chested creature stepped forward into the clearing, his eyes green and his expression grave. His chest, covered in blood, signaled that he had recently fed.
"Jean-Pierre," Ruegger growled.
"That's me.”
With a howl, they flew at each other.
* * *
In the Elephant Room, Lord Kharker glanced up from an ancient hard-backed book as Gavin entered.
"You bring news?"
"I'm afraid so. The scout party you sent out to discover the remains of the lost retrieval unit ... They too have disappeared."
"Shit." Kharker clenched his fist and forced his breathing to become regular. "Do we at least know the area in which they vanished?"
Gavin cringed. "We have it narrowed down."
"Narrowed down ...”
"It’s a large area, my lord, and our tracking devices have been destroyed utterly."
"Christ. Is there anything else?"
"Nothing.”
Bowing, Gavin departed. Kharker re-opened his book and stared down at its heavy pages, but the words had lost their meaning. He groaned, closed it, and sat there smoking in silence.
* * *
Ruegger wrapped his hands around the albino's throat and threw himself forward so that his greater weight sent them crashing through the rib cage of one of the corpses. They thrashed, filthy bones snapping beneath them, each seeking some advantage, each knowing that, if they made a single mistake, this could end very quickly.
Jean-Pierre shoved his fingers up towards Ruegger's eyes. Ruegger tilted his head back as far as it would go, but still they kept coming. He snapped his mouth, causing Jean-Pierre's fingers to retreat, but not fast enough. Blood spurted Ruegger’s mouth and for a moment he thought he'd severed the digit, but no such luck. With a surge of strength, Jean-Pierre hurled his body back and yanked his finger from the Darkling's mouth.
"I'm sorry, did that hurt?" Ruegger said.
"I just hope you enjoy pain as much as I do, because if so you're going to be having a lot of fun here in a minute."
Jean-Pierre's hands shifted into claws, which raked across Ruegger's abdomen, eager to spill his intestines. Ruegger released his grip on Jean-Pierre's throat and flung himself away.
They leapt to their feet. Crouching, they circled each other warily, their hands and teeth primed for combat.
Ruegger feinted to the right. Jean-Pierre out-guessed him and struck in low towards the Darkling's midsection. Caught off-balance, Ruegger jumped sideways and out of the albino's reach, landing on the ground with his feet in the air. Jean-Pierre charged, but the Darkling caught him with his feet and hurled Jean-Pierre into the jungle.
Then they were on their feet again, circling.
"This is getting dull," said the albino.
He leapt effortlessly into the arms of a tree overhead, disappearing into the overbrush.
Ruegger followed, scrambling past twisted branches and gnarled vines, chasing the albino's scent as they went further and further up the tree. He could see his quarry moving above him and knew that sooner or later Jean-Pierre would have no place to go.
Ruegger gained on him. He could almost reach out and grab the albino's bare heel. Ruegger thrust himself upwards faster, almost tasting victory on his tongue.
Triumphantly, Ruegger pounced onto the same branch that Jean-Pierre occupied to discover that the albino was no more. In the Frenchman's place stood a large hairy beast with large pointed ears, unnaturally red eyes and a snout so long and wicked it looked surreal. One of its claws slashed across Ruegger's chest.
The vampire stumbled backward, arms out to steady himself. Quickly, he bent and retrieved a long silver knife from one ankle holster and a .38 caliber pistol from the other.
"Come on, you bastard.”
The werewolf took a step forward.
Ruegger shot the two-legged, translucent-haired beast with his pistol, emptying his clip into the monster's throat and face. The pain didn't stop it, but it did enrage the creature.
Jean-Pierre stormed towards Ruegger. Using his mindthrust, Ruegger cracked the b
ranch at its base, spilling both branch and immortals into the clutch of gravity. Before he started to fall, Ruegger launched himself into the air and grabbed at an overhanging limb, smiling to himself as he watched the werewolf fall away beneath him to the ground almost a hundred and fifty feet below.
The creature threw its arms around a branch about fifty feet down and hung on for dear life. It knew that a fall from this height would incapacitate it long enough for Ruegger to be able to finish it off.
Jean-Pierre poised on the branch, red eyes glaring up.
"Having fun down there?" Ruegger said.
"Not yet! Soon I’ll be eating your liver."
Jean-Pierre climbed.
Without looking back, Ruegger did the same, knife clutched between his teeth, the pistol discarded and forgotten. Propelling himself upwards as fast as he could, he made a bee-line for the top of the tree. Sweat stung his eyes. It was then that Ruegger remembered that Jean-Pierre had tasted not only Kharker's blood, but Vistrot's as well. And Vistrot was one of the Elders.
Not only that, but Jean-Pierre had just fed.
Ruegger mounted the highest branch that would support his weight. Reluctantly, he glanced down. Jean-Pierre ascended rapidly, his speed only enhanced by this other form. Studying him, with his eyes of brimstone and his ears that looked like devil's horns, Ruegger felt a momentary punch of fear. He forced himself to examine his options. There weren't many.
He closed his eyes. Summoning all the considerable powers of his telekinesis, he forced the tree itself to obey his will, made its bark ripple and its branches extensions of his own arms.
He sent the limbs toward Jean-Pierre. They beat him and wrapped their hard lengths about him. For a moment the albino was caught in this wooden cocoon and Ruegger could hear his cries of pain, but then the limbs cracked and splintered around him, and the demon surged upwards, covering the final stretch that separated him from Ruegger.
The Darkling removed the knife from his mouth and looked at his reflection in its moonstruck blade. (Unlike depictions in popular media, vampires did cast reflections.) Ruegger’s black eyes had become livid, and a hot red ember seemed to burn in each one.
Using all his strength of mind and body, he flung the knife downwards, hurling it end over end towards the angry head of Jean-Pierre.
The albino threw a shaggy forearm in front of his face. The blade passed clean through the bone and muscle of the limb to bore straight through the Parisian's skull and lodge there, the blade poking out the back.
The albino reeled, blood and brain fluid leaking down his pale back and onto the forest floor below—but still he hung from the tree, his lips quivering. Slowly, very slowly, he started back up the tree.
Fuck this. Ruegger dropped onto the wounded creature, dislodging it. Jean-Pierre wrapped monstrous arms around the Darkling. Locked together, they plummeted past small limbs and large branches—smacking them occasionally—toward the hard ground now nearly two hundred feet below.
Ruegger twisted for position, but when the impact finally came, it didn't make much difference. They landed side by side, tangled and bleeding in each other's arms, and the blow only drove them closer together. They each lay there for several minutes, motionless and unconscious.
When Ruegger came to, he tore himself loose and rolled away. He'd broken several bones, he could tell. They'd mend, though.
Carefully, he rose to his feet and searched for the pistol, which, he was glad to see, had survived intact. He retrieved an extra clip from his ankle holster and loaded it.
Something caught his eye. A lizard. Reaching for it, he caught the reptile and strode out into the clearing, where Jean-Pierre lay lifelessly.
Ruegger approached the body—it had resumed its human shape—and, when he was sure the albino wasn't playing 'possum, held the lizard over the Frenchman's face, which still displayed the handle of the knife. Ruegger squeezed the green reptile until it broke in his hands and watched the blood fall into his enemy's mouth.
Jean-Pierre woke. He raised his hands to his head, exploring, and, with what had to be great pain, withdrew the blade from his skull. The knife still in his hand, he collapsed, the hand falling softly to the ground. Ruegger snatched up the blade and returned it to its holster, moved off into the woods again, retrieved another lizard and made a second sacrifice to Jean-Pierre.
This time the albino stirred more readily, licking the reptile's blood from his lips and opening his luminous green eyes. At first they seemed unfocused, but they quickly locked onto Ruegger. Seeing the remains of the lizard in the Darkling's hands, Jean-Pierre smiled.
Ruegger raised the pistol and aimed it at the albino's head. Slowly, deliberately, he cocked it.
"Well?" he said.
The albino wiped a hand across his mouth, only smearing the blood more, and gave it some thought.
Then, reluctantly, Jean-Pierre nodded.
"Uncle," he said.
Ruegger lowered the gun.
* * *
When Kharker found them some time later, they were lying in the high grass of the clearing, either asleep or unconscious. It wasn't readily apparent who’d won the battle, but Kharker guessed that since they both still seemed to be undead, the victor had been Ruegger. If Jean-Pierre had won, the Darkling would probably be a memory by now.
The theory was further confirmed by the blood on the albino's lips, which matched that on Ruegger's hands and which must have come from the discarded reptile bodies on the ground nearby. For whatever reason, the Darkling had chosen to revive his enemy. Chuckling, Kharker shook his head.
An interesting thought struck him: if Ruegger and Jean-Pierre had been awake and at peace in each other's presence, they might have talked, which is what the Hunter had wanted to happen in the first place. Kharker couldn't help but wonder what the two had found to say to each other, before they’d drifted off.
Well, it didn't matter. Not right now.
Kharker ordered the servants that had accompanied him to approach the slumbering duelists and resuscitate them. As one of the dark-skinned girls approached the albino, Kharker could see the green of the Parisian's eyes and was suddenly a little apprehensive. But Jean-Pierre must have sensed Kharker’s presence, as he let the girl alone. She and her partner bent over the pale creature and began cleansing him and dressing his wounds, while two other girls did the same for Ruegger, now conscious.
Once the girls were through nursing the immortals, they began to rejuvenate them with blood. One girl placed her wrist before Jean-Pierre's mouth, while another placed hers before the Darkling's, and the duelists fed. When one girl had passed out, the other took over.
After Jean-Pierre and Ruegger had both been sated, Kharker gave them each a cigar.
“On the house,” he said.
Ruegger narrowed his eyes.
Kharker shrugged by way of apology. "Well," he said, "I told you that I was going to make it interesting for us around here. When Jean-Pierre called me the other day and told me that he was on his way to see me, I knew he was just what we needed, so I allowed him through the cordon of local militias. Standard procedure.”
“But?”
"Well, I didn't want you two going at each other's throats the whole time."
"So you had him ambush me."
Jean-Pierre sighed. "For God's sakes, I didn't ambush you."
Ruegger considered. "I suppose you didn't. But it wasn't much of a hello."
"Don't talk to me about it. It was Khark's idea."
Kharker smiled; they seemed to be getting along well, which strengthened his theory that the two had talked during his absence. Well, damnit, he should have planned for that by having a surveillance team record their actions. It sure as hell must have been a Kodak moment.
"Anyway," he said, "I knew that you two had your differences to work out, so I arranged for you to meet. What you did with your time wasn't my concern. Hell, you could've played chess."
"Bullshit," said the albino. "You wanted us to fight."
"We could've killed each other," said Ruegger.
Kharker nodded guiltily. "As you can see, I came with girls to revive you in case you were hurt."
"It wouldn't have done us any good if we were dead."
"You had to fight each other sooner or later. I just provided the time and the place. Enough squabbling, gentlemen. Let's go inside and have a glass of wine."
As they rose, the former enemies noticed the large detail of soldiers deployed behind Kharker. Ruegger seemed to understand the precaution, but Jean-Pierre's face was a question mark.
"What's going on here?" he asked.
* * *
In the Elephant Room, they spoke for a long time. Ruegger told of his misadventures with Danielle, while Jean-Pierre talked about discovering his daughter, about becoming her lover and husband, and about his near brush with morality.
"You know we sent her to you," said Ruegger.
"Sophia? Yes, she told me. I was more surprised to find out that she was my daughter, of all things, that all this time Veliswa had kept it from me."
"Does she know? About you and Sophia?”
“Hell, she thought it was funny. I guess that means she’s over me.”
“She told me you hit her.”
Jean-Pierre nodded. "I did. First time. I supposed that’s what clinched it for her.” Suddenly, his face turned bitter. In a whisper that was almost a growl, he said, “Fuck love, or whatever it was. I've had enough."
"Is that why you left her?" asked Lord Kharker.
"Sophe? I suppose. To tell you the truth, I just wanted to be alone for awhile, and I was sick of the whole rotten city. After I found out what Vistrot had been up to all this time ...”
"Vistrot?" said Ruegger, leaning forward. "What did you find out about Vistrot?"
Jean-Pierre took a sip of his wine, then shrugged. "He's the Scourer."
Ruegger sat back in his chair, quiet.
"What? Did you already know that?"
"I’d been told, yes. I didn't want to believe it."
"Why?" When Ruegger didn't answer, Jean-Pierre nodded. "Right, he told me about her, too. Amelia."
