Vampire Thriller (Book 2): The Living Night

by Jack Conner

  She’d chosen well, in a manner of speaking. A high-ranking officer with the respect of his men. It seemed to Jean-Pierre that the tactic had also paid off in that these men called themselves Libertarians, implying that their cause had not died with its father.

  "Now," she said, shoving D'Aguila away and addressing them all, "follow me."

  * * *

  The Elephant Room lay in darkness, only a few torches and the fire throwing light. In his usual chair sat the Great White Hunter, Lord Kharker. Stirring, as if trying to awake from slumber, Kharker struggled against the chains that bound him. Large and gleaming, the chains were tightly drawn across him, and a dozen different Libertarians kept guard.

  "He put up quite a fight," explained Maleasoel. "We shot him with bullets and tranquilizers for a long time until he finally went out. He's only now coming out of it. He killed ten of my men himself, not to mention what damage his bodyguards did. See all that blood? Only half of it's his own. But we got him, and I suppose that's what matters. For the cause.”

  "Just what cause is that?” asked Ruegger. “I thought you'd abandoned the idea of taking over the world."

  Maleasoel shot him a sharp glance and he shut up. Jean-Pierre didn't know exactly what was going on and he didn't think Ruegger did either, bur perhaps there were some things the soldiers really weren’t meant to know.

  "So what are you going to do with Kharker?" Jean-Pierre asked.

  For the first time, she smiled, but it was not a kind smile. "We're going to find answers," she said.

  Half a dozen pairs of hands seized Jean-Pierre from behind, fixing him to the spot despite his struggles. At the same time, he saw D'Aguila come up to Ruegger from behind and wrap his large arms about the Darkling, immobilizing him. All this done with not a little satisfaction on the part of the Captain. From the shadows another shade was brought forward, also restrained by Libertarians: Gavin.

  "What the hell is going on?" Gavin said.

  "That's just what we're going to find out." Malie nodded to one of her soldiers, who injected something into Kharker's arm. "He'll be coming around shortly, and then it begins."

  "You've changed," Ruegger said.

  "Yes," she answered. "I have."

  "If Ludwig were still alive ...”

  "But he's not. Now shut up, both of you. As I said, this is business."

  Kharker's heavy eyes fluttered open and stared about him in impotent rage. He strained against his chains and, with what slack they would allow, pounded his fists on the arms of his chair. He bared his teeth, his face momentarily losing its humanity, and fixed his gaze on Maleasoel.

  "Goddamn you.”

  "You brought this on yourself, wolf," she said.

  At last he let his anger ebb. "I suppose I did at that. I'm sorry about Ludwig, my dear."

  "Sorry isn't going to cut it."

  "Of course not."

  She turned her head to encompass Jean-Pierre, Ruegger, and Gavin. "Now, you bastard, tell us what we need to know and these three individuals will live. For every lie you tell us, we’ll kill one of them."

  "Jesus," Ruegger muttered, struggling in D'Aguila's arms.

  She turned to the Darkling, her face cold. She started to say something, then stopped.

  Ruegger nodded at her in disgust. "Business," he said.

  "Exactly."

  She turned back to the Hunter.

  "You're bluffing," said Kharker.

  "I'm not. The only one of the three that means a thing to me is Ruegger, but he's been jeopardizing his life for some time in an effort to find Ludwig's killer, so I won't feel too guilty if I kill him now in the conclusion of that quest. The others I couldn't care less about. But I'm sure you could. Other than these three individuals, I know of only one being who you love on this earth, and that’s Roche Sarnova."

  "What if you think I'm lying and I'm not?"

  "If you tell the truth and these men die anyway, then your conscience will be clear. I will be the one at fault."

  "What if I just tell you what you want to hear?"

  "You have no idea what I want to hear."

  "I've an idea. Obviously, since I'm still alive, you assume that I didn't kill Ludwig, that I'm covering for somebody. Logically, that person would be Blackie—and that's what you want me to tell you. I won't do it, so save yourself the trouble."

  "Big words. Nevertheless, we will proceed and you’ll tell the truth or watch those you love die one by one. Are you ready?"

  His nostrils flared cruelly, but he nodded.

  "Very good," she said. "Now tell me this: who killed Ludwig?"

  "I did."

  "Strike one."

  She turned her head toward one of the groups of Libertarians. The ones holding Gavin. Without hesitation, they tore off the manservant's head. Kharker pitched himself forward, simultaneously trying to break his chains with physical and telekinetic powers. Apparently there were some good mindthrusters among the many Libertarians, as the chains held.

  One of the soldiers placed her face over Gavin's fountaining neck, and blood splashed down her throat and over her face, painting her in red. Below her, Gavin's body was being quickly dismembered. One of the jandrows plunged his hand inside the werewolf's chest and, after a gruesome sound, pulled the manservant's heart out of his body. The winged creature bit into the still-pumping muscle and began to drink.

  The Great White Hunter roared, his face contorting into a mask of fury. As he watched Gavin's body being torn limb from limb, a trickle of tears burst from his eyes.

  "You will die for this," he said to Maleasoel, although he did not look at her. "I raised Gavin from infancy. I loved him as a boy, instructed him in all manner of things, watched him grow into a fine man and then immortalized him. He's been my right hand for over a hundred years. It was understood that if I died, he would inherit the Lodge and everything that goes with it." Suddenly, his face went slack, drained of all emotion. "Yes," he repeated, "you will die for this."

  Maleasoel nodded without sentiment.

  "Now tell me who killed Ludwig," she said.

  He glared at her, silent. Then his face bloomed into an expression of sheer uncompromising defiance.

  "I did," he said.

  A rictor-mortis grin tattooed itself on her face, and she nodded to herself.

  "Very well," she muttered.

  She positioned herself between Jean-Pierre and Ruegger. The albino could smell her strange dark scent, feel the grip of her hand in his hair, holding his face up so Kharker could see. Craning his neck a little, he saw that she had Ruegger in a similar grip.

  "I cannot choose to kill Ruegger," she said, "because he’s been my friend for a long, long time. More than that, he was Ludwig's friend and that means a lot to me. Ludwig had few true friends. Most of them were just trying to take advantage of him for one thing or another, but not Ruegger. So I cannot chose to kill him, but if I kill the other one now, your Jean-Pierre, it will amount to the same thing, because Ruegger would then be next. The only thing I would have accomplished would've been to delay Ruegger' death. Therefore, it’s up to you, Kharker, which one dies and which one doesn't. One of them must. No longer is it in my hands, but I'll be forced to choose if you don't, and I think this might be a decision that makes some difference to you. So ... who is your pick?"

  The Hunter looked back and forth between the Darkling and the albino, silent and hateful. Finally, he closed his eyes and whispered, "Okay, you bitch. I'll tell you everything I know."

  She released her hold on her captives. "Good choice. But I don't want to know everything you know—just the part that pertains to Ludwig."

  "Fuck you, harlot."

  "Who killed Ludwig?"

  "I don't know," he hissed. "And that's the truth."

  "What do you know?"

  Taking a deep breath, he said, "Let me begin at the beginning."

  "If you must."

  "It starts after the safari I took with Jean-Pierre to celebrate my first millenium. We t
ook an abbreviated visit to Blackie's Castle and came back here to the Lodge. A few days later, Jean-Pierre left to return to New York. A few days after that, the Sangro Sankts arrived."

  "The Sangro Sankts?"

  "An order of kavasari that protects Roche Sarnova and the conquerors of his line."

  "I've never heard of them."

  "They're very secretive."

  "Continue."

  Knitting his thick eyebrows, Kharker said, "They made a proposition to me. They said that a pair of Balaklava had killed Ludwig and that Roche was presumed to have hired them simply because he was the only immortal the two had had any contact with since before their exile in Jamaica. Maybe that’s true, I don’t know.

  “Whatever, they left Jamaica in order to do a piece of artwork for Sarnova. He commissioned them to do it, and I guess they figured it was worth coming out of their voluntary exile to build something for the Dark Lord. The created the Tree of Death, I think it’s called. Anyway, so the rumor got started that he was responsible for Ludwig's death. The Sangro Sankts believed otherwise. They appealed to my love of Roche, saying that Ludwig's widow had vowed to avenge her late husband's murder, and that she had at her disposal one of the largest immortal armies in the world. Maybe the largest. The Sangro Sankts said that with the soldiers of Liberty she just might have the ability to destroy Blackie, which was what their coven was designed to prevent ... that, and another stipulation which has nothing to do with the matter at hand.

  “The kavasari asked me to publicly take the fall for hiring Junger and Jagoda to assassinate Ludwig, hoping to take the pressure of Liberty off of Blackie's back and put it on mine instead. I hesitated. I love Roche, but I’d prefer to stay undead just the same. The Sangro Sankts sweetened the deal. They said that they have a small army of immortals that they would be willing to loan me until this whole thing blows over. I asked where this army came from, but they weren't very forthcoming, though they hinted that somewhere on the planet there was a place where all kavasari could seek refuge, and that in this place there was an army of lesser shades to protect them—a small army. One that couldn't rise up and kill their rulers; the kavasari got burned on that before.

  “At any rate, they loaned me this force, and I was glad to lend Roche a hand. I was expecting an attack from the air, though. I have rocket launchers and guided missiles, the whole works. At the very least, I was prepared to be raided from the jungle. Obviously, I wasn't fortified properly to resist an attack from beneath. So here I am."

  "Yes. Here you are...."

  Maleasoel stared at him for a long time, tapping her foot rhythmically, entranced by her own thoughts. At last her foot stopped moving and she shifted her posture to light a cigarette.

  "All right. I believe you."

  Kharker seemed to relax. "Please," he said. "Can you remove these chains so that I can light a cigar?"

  "I suppose.”

  "And release Ruegger and Jean-Pierre?"

  "Naturally. But there's just one more question."

  "Yes?"

  "WHO FUCKING KILLED LUDWIG!"

  Her volume pinned the Hunter to his seat.

  Suddenly sweating, he said, "I told you, goddamnit. I don't know. If I had to guess, I would say Ludwig's killer was Subaire, the leader of the half of the Dark Council that opposes Roche. But I don't think it's her."

  "Why?"

  "Because it's too obvious, and she's smarter than that."

  Cruelly, she smiled. “Actually, you’re right. I did a little ... investigating ... myself, and I determined that Subaire has nothing to do with Ludwig’s death. She was one of my first choices, but when she didn’t pan out I came to you.”

  He stared at her, as if realizing something. “When I went to London to try and figure this whole thing out, I learned that Subaire had been ... kidnapped.”

  Again, Malie smiled, but any joy in her face had vanished completely. "What makes you so sure Sarnova didn't do it, after all?"

  "For one thing, he had no reason to. For another, the poor man's in the middle of a fucking war, which he's losing by all accounts. Why add insult to injury and incite the wrath of the second largest immortal army in the world? It just doesn't make sense. Lastly, I believe that he would've told me if he had a part in your husband's death. That's all I know."

  "Do you think Sarnova knows more than he's telling?"

  After a long moment, Kharker said honestly, "I just don't know. It's possible."

  "It's possible?"

  "Yes."

  "Very well. If I have any further questions, will you answer them?"

  "I have nothing left to hide, you bitch. For the love of my boys, I've given up the only other being I love in this world. You were right about that. And, for the record, I too wish to discover the identity of Ludwig's killer. After all, whoever hired Junger and Jagoda has delivered more harm to those I love than I can ever forgive."

  "Good," she said. Her gaze drifted to the remains of Gavin. "Sorry for your loss."

  His features hard, he whispered, "You should know my answer to that."

  "Yes. But please wait for me to avenge Ludwig's murder before you choose to avenge Gavin's. Is that a deal, Lord Kharker?"

  Without inflection, he said, "They say that anticipation is the best part of the kill. They're wrong, of course. Tasting your flesh on my tongue will be the sweetest part, but have no fear. I'm in no hurry. Whether it's now or later, your meat will taste the same."

  * * *

  After Kharker's confession, Ruegger was dismissed to his room, accompanied by four guards who weren't to let him out of their sight.

  Trying his best to ignore them, he showered and donned clean clothes, then plopped down on his bed and lit a cigarette. Things weren't going his way, but it seemed selfish to be thinking about his own misfortunes when those of Malie and Kharker were far greater. Malie had changed. It was hard for him to believe that she’d cried on his shoulder not all that long ago.

  Kharker, though, was still the same, and Ruegger didn't know quite what to think about that. It all came back to the question of evil; if there was no such thing, then how could he deny the Hunter his love? Even if there was such a thing, shouldn't love be unconditional? Perhaps the main question was how Ruegger could love someone who was evil?

  On the other hand, he could understand Jean-Pierre very well indeed. The albino had retreated so far into himself that he had probably forgotten who he was. He yearned for redemption, for salvation, but mistakenly thought he required the assistance of someone else to do this for him. Ruegger was certain that what Jean-Pierre needed was not for someone else to find something of value in him; he needed to find it for himself.

  Frustrated, Ruegger rose from the bed and placed a tape (old technology for an old vampire) in a small cassette player he'd brought to the Lodge. The tape contained an array of some of his favorite songs and he hoped that they would comfort him. Stubbing out his smoke, he opened his ears and smiled as the waves of classical music washed over him.

  He raided the mini-bar for a bottle of Cuervo Gold, a shot glass, and the requisite salt and lime. He didn't know quite what was coming next and saw no good reason why he should face it coherently.

  "Here's to you," he said to the soldiers, and knocked back a shot. "Want one?" They just looked at him, and coldly. "Yeah, well, I guess somebody's gotta drive."

  He downed another shot, and another. To the strains of music, Ruegger danced around the room, carrying the bottle of tequila as he went. No longer did he require the assistance of the shot glass but drank straight from the source.

  He pulled the black-out curtains over the windows, withdrew to the bed that he'd shared with Danielle only a few days ago (he could still smell her perfume!) and snuggled up in the sheets. Another hour and it would be dawn. Perhaps it would be best just to slip off now and get the added sleep, not that he needed. What he needed to do was to think, to plan, to come up with a strategy—

  Someone knocked on the door. Captain Raulf D'A
guila entered, now clothed and looking much better than he had the last time Ruegger had seen him.

  "Darkling!" he roared. "Get out of bed, goddamnit. Maleasoel has ordered me to bring you to her."

  "She wants to talk to me?"

  "Get moving."

  Ruegger realized that D'Aguila was not alone; he was flanked by two guards. For some reason, that made the Darkling smile.

  They wound their way through the halls until they came to one of Kharker's most prized rooms, where he kept all his immortal trophies. The heads and bodies of werewolves and shapeshifters and various undead monsters that had died under Lord Kharker's hand decorated the chamber, some with plaques under them offering an account of the life and death of their subject. Several were legendary beings in their day, and their mythos only added to the Hunter's own.

  In every corner, torches blossomed with fire, throwing strange light across the eyes of the dead, whose shadows jumped and leapt as if they were the dreams dreamt by these trophies. At the far end of the room hunched a large antique desk and behind this reclined Maleasoel, booted feet thrown carelessly on top of the surface, her frame leaning powerfully back in a chair meant for Kharker.

  She smiled when she saw Ruegger and told him to pull up a chair, which he did.

  "Want a cigar?" she asked, opening a box on the desk.

  Without a word, he used his mindthrust to raise one of the brown tubes in the air, strip off its plastic shell and guide it between his lips, where he bit off the tip at the very end. Simultaneously, he raised the silver Zippo from the desktop and lit the cigar.

  "Don't be that way," she said.

  "Was that rude?"

  "You could have at least let me light it for you."

  "Tell me this: would you really have killed me?"