The Night's Champion Collection: A supernatural werewolf thriller trilogy

by Richard Parry

“No. You’re right. I don’t regret it.” Elsie looked off to the side at something Val couldn’t see. “It’s possible I’ve lost some perspective through all of this.”

  “Perspective?” Val cleared his throat. “It might be more than perspective.”

  “I’d do it again, you know.” Elsie looked back at him. “If it works, it’ll be worth it. The things we can do with it—”

  “Yeah, I get it. You’ll cure HIV and cancer.” Val studied her. “Ah. Cancer.”

  “Our client—”

  “Is dying.” Val held his hands up like balance scales, tipping them one way and that. “You’ve put one client in this side. Wagered everything. Against this other side.” He lifted his other hand. “Hundreds of people. They’re all gone, Elsie. They can’t come back. They’ll get no benefit from this.”

  “No, Mr. Everard.”

  “And you’re willing to pay.”

  “I’m willing to pay.”

  “At the cost of your soul.”

  That tired smile came back. “I don’t believe in such things, Mr. Everard.”

  “Whether you believe or not, the cost is high.” Val gestured out the window. “Not just money. There’s things you can’t come back from. If this ever gets out—”

  “You think this is the worst thing that we’ve ever done? That I’ve ever done?” Elsie leaned forward. “The business of curing the sick is not a philanthropic one, Mr. Everard. It’s exactly that — a business. Profit and loss. Curing people is incidental to the business of making the cures themselves. They don’t need to work — people just need to buy them.” She stopped for a moment. “But this is different. This virus you have? It’s the real thing. It will cure people. If we corner the market, we’ll have a drug people will pay any price for. And — finally — it’ll be a real cure.”

  After a moment, Val nodded. “That’s how you justify it.”

  “There’s no need to justify it. It is what it is.”

  Val looked at his shoes. “You realize it’s a curse, right?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your cure. It’s a curse.”

  “Not wearing silver is hardly a curse, Mr. Everard. Perhaps one mining industry is adversely affected. A drop in the bucket.”

  “I’m not talking about miners out of jobs. I’m talking about a real, honest to God, actual curse.”

  “You’re being melodramatic.”

  “Am I?” Val held his hands up to the screen. “Elsie, I’ve killed people. I can’t remember doing it—”

  Salty, hot spray. The hunt.

  “—but I’m sure it’s happened.” Val swallowed. “I … I see things. Memories. Flashbacks. I don’t know … something.” He shrugged, sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

  “A possible side effect of the virus. You may be running a fever, having hallucinations—”

  No. We are the Night.

  “No.” Val shook his head. “It’s nothing like that. When it takes over, I’m gone, and then…” His shoulders slumped. “It’s why I’m here.”

  “You want a cure?” Elsie shook her head. “Anti viral meds are a long way—”

  “I want an end.” Val gestured at the window. “When it takes over, I’m not me. It—”

  “It?”

  “Whatever.” Val thought for a moment. “How old is your kid?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Your kid. The one who’s got cancer.”

  “Don’t be—”

  “Elsie. Remember, no lies. Not between us.” Val looked at the screen. “You owe me that.”

  Elsie sighed, looking down off screen. “Birkita is her father’s daughter, really.”

  “Ah. A daughter.” Val’s mouth quirked. “Birkita?”

  Elsie smiled in return. “Her father’s daughter, as I said. You’d like her, I’m sure. She’s full of the small concerns for people that seem to plague you.”

  “I like her already.” Val shook his head. He felt sad. “You want to give this to a kid?”

  “She’s going to die, Mr. Everard.”

  “She’s dead either way, Elsie. You let her die now, it’s the cancer. You give her this, it’s her soul.”

  “I’ve already told you, I don’t believe in such things.”

  “She will.” Val shrugged. “In the end. Why haven’t you just,” and he waved his hands, “given it to her? I’m sure you’ve got my biopsy.”

  “Yes.” Elsie tapped off screen. “Let me show you.” A magnified view of a cell appeared in the corner of the screen. “Here’s a cell of blood — not one of yours. It’s healthy, normal blood, coming from a clean skin.”

  “Clean skin?”

  “Ah. Yes, what we call people who go through life without getting a serious malaise. If we were insurance underwriters, we’d want this person as a client.”

  “Got it.”

  “Here is where we introduce some of the virus — courtesy of your blood — into the cell.” The image showed the virus moving up to the cell. “It’s lysogenic.”

  “Lysowhat?”

  “It makes the host cell replicate for itself.” Elsie cleared her throat. “You can see the virus invading the cell.” The image showed the cell started to grow, then split. “Here we are. Two copies, each with the virus.”

  “It looks the same.”

  “It’s lysogenic.”

  “You said that before. I work in computers.”

  “It’ll become clear soon enough, Mr. Everard. Ah.” Elsie nodded. The screen showed the cell break down, falling apart. “There.”

  “What just happened?” Val looked at the image on the screen. “It looked like it fell apart.”

  “Yes. Lysogenic replication usually involves a lytic cycle, and the cell breaks apart and releases new virus structures.”

  “I didn’t see any new virus particles. I don’t know what they’d look like, but that sucker just … melted.”

  “Melted. Curious word.” Elsie nodded, tapped something, and the image went away. “That’s what seems to happen. Can I show you something else?”

  “Sure. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

  Else typed some more off-screen and a new image came up. It showed a man strapped to a chair, metal restraints holding him down. A complicated set of machinery sat to the man’s side, a drip going into his arm. “He seems quite relaxed,” said Val. “Why are you chaining him to a chair?”

  “In case we’re successful.” Elsie pressed a button, and the image started to play. A timer down the bottom of the screen started to count up the seconds. “Here, we inject the virus.”

  The timer showed five seconds. “He volunteered?”

  “Yes.”

  Ten seconds. “Why would he do that?”

  “You killed his friends.”

  Fifteen seconds. The man in the chair had started to sweat. “I did?”

  “You, or Volk. It doesn’t matter. He wanted revenge.”

  Val didn’t ask what for. Twenty-five seconds. The man was pulling at the restraints. “He doesn’t look happy.”

  “No.” Elsie’s mouth was pressed into a line. “Here.”

  Thirty seconds. The man said something, but Val couldn’t make it out — there was no audio. “What did he say?”

  “We think he said, ‘Turn it off.’” Elsie shrugged. “It wouldn’t have mattered. There’s nothing to turn off. He’s already infected.”

  Forty seconds. The man started to thrash in the chair, and his mouth opened. “My God,” said Val. “He’s screaming.”

  Elsie nodded. “You’ll see the reason for his discomfort shortly.”

  Fifty seconds. A line appeared on the man’s cheek, blood seeping out. Tears of blood started from his eyes. “Christ.”

  “It’s not much longer now, Mr. Everard.”

  The man was thrashing his head about, blood and spittle leaving his mouth. He convulsed in the chair, back arching, the metal clamps biting into his wrists. Blood was streaming from his eyes and ears freely. He g
ave a massive convulsion, and one of his arms tore free from its socket. He thrashed for what seemed an age, then was still. Blood continued to flow, and his skin peeled off and sloughed to the ground. Big lumps of muscle and other tissue slid free.

  One minute, ten seconds. The video stopped.

  Val stumbled back, hitting the edge of the bed. He sat down hard. “Christ.”

  “Quite.” Elsie tapped, and the image disappeared. “Simply injecting the virus into a host does not appear to have the desired result.”

  “Desired result?” Val wiped his face. “The man—”

  “Melted. As you said before.”

  “His skin came off, for God’s sake! He … he ripped his own arm off!”

  “Yes. The clean up was distressing for our staff. The tissue just wouldn’t hold together. We have a theory that there’s something unique about the way the virus spreads. Improper transmission of the virus leads to a flaw, and the host dies.”

  “But. But. Even I know viruses don’t work that fast.”

  “We know. We don’t understand. That’s why you’re here.”

  “You want to give this to your daughter?”

  “Not quite, Mr. Everard. Obviously what we’ve tried is a death sentence. Oh, we’re sure we can crack it, given time. But we don’t have time.”

  “How long does she have?”

  “My staff believe no more than a month. That’s being optimistic. She’s already on borrowed time.”

  Val sighed. “What’s next?”

  “You’re familiar with the werewolf legend.”

  “I’ve seen movies. Barking at the moon. Shit like that.”

  “Barking at the moon. Yes.” Elsie nodded. “It’s a bit deeper than that. We had to find a carrier, first.”

  “Volk.”

  “The Russian, yes.”

  “We’ve met.” Val flexed his left wrist. “He’s not very nice.”

  “No. He wasn’t as cooperative as we’d have hoped.” Elsie smiled. “We’d have thought in exchange for his freedom—”

  We will not be caged.

  “Freedom?”

  “Yes. He was in a dingy prison in Siberia. It took us a long time to find him. Most of his records weren’t computerized.”

  “Russia, huh?”

  “Oh, it’s not because of their outdated technology in government.” Elsie looked to the side again. “It’s because he’d been there for a very, very long time.”

  “How long?”

  “We’re not sure.”

  “Ten years? Twenty? He didn’t look that old to me.”

  “No.” Elsie raised her hands upwards. “Think higher. Perhaps two hundred years.”

  “Two hundred!” Val leaned forward. “He looked in his twenties.”

  “The virus, Mr. Everard.”

  Oh God. I’m going to live for a hundred years, and kill everyone I love. The thought punched him hard, and he swallowed.

  “Mr. Everard?”

  “I’m okay, Elsie. Just … acclimatising.” Val ran his hand through his hair. “There’s just one carrier?”

  “Only one that we could find. The Russians were experimenting on him.”

  “They’re trying to find the magic bullet too.”

  “Perhaps. They engineered this virus, with inconsistent results. But we have the edge in medical science.”

  “So you busted him out and shipped him here?” Val gestured around the room. “Where is he?”

  “Containment is … tricky. It’s why we’ve adopted a different approach in your situation.”

  Val’s stare went flat. “Adalia.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry about that. I have a daughter too.”

  “I know.” Val felt tired more than anything else. “How is it done?”

  “We’re going to need you to bite Birkita.”

  “You’re joking, of course.”

  “I’m quite serious, Mr. Everard. Saliva appears to be the universal carrier within all the werewolf legends.” Elsie frowned. “I’ve read them all.”

  “All of them?”

  “Aside from recent pulp literature, yes. Did you know many cultures had a shape shifting lore?”

  “Like skinwalkers?”

  “Ah. You’re familiar with other sources of the truth.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I saw a really bad movie with the same title. I’d hardly call it historical canon.” Val shrugged. “Rhona Mitra is fine.”

  “Regardless.” Elsie waved a hand. “A bite that breaks the skin seems to be the necessary means of transmission.”

  “That’s a little surreal. Have you briefed your daughter about this?”

  “Not yet. I’ll be talking to her shortly.”

  “Can I suggest an alternative? It seems a bit unhygienic to follow your path.”

  “I’m listening.” Elsie crossed her arms on the screen.

  “Why not give her a cut, and swab me for some spit. That way she doesn’t have to have some scary man bite her arm.”

  “It might not work.” Elsie took off her glasses, and tapped them against her hand. “The legends are all fairly specific.”

  “One second you say it’s a virus. The next it’s a legend. Can we at least try it my way first?”

  Elsie seemed lost in thought, then said, “Yes. It’ll need to be a fresh sample though. Mr. Everard, let me talk to my daughter, then we’ll try it your way.”

  “You’re forgetting something.”

  “Adalia?”

  “Yes.” Val shrugged. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “If I may be blunt, you’re here to die.” Elsie shrugged. “That seems to be what you want.”

  “In the end, yes.” Val looked at his hands, turning them over. “But first, I need to see she’s safe.”

  “Once our business is done, I’ll have Sam fly her to the city. Will that suffice?”

  “I’ve a question first. Are you expecting company?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “It’s just that when I looked out the window before, I saw a couple guys creeping around at the edge of the forest.”

  “Two men?”

  “Yes. One of them was your crazy Russian. The other was that soldier you sent after me.”

  “Spencer?”

  “Spencer, that’s the guy.” Val sighed. “It figures. You’re going to kill Adalia anyway.”

  Elsie looked off screen again, then back to Val. “You must believe me, Mr. Everard. Our agreement. I intend to honor it.”

  “Hm. Spencer still on the books?”

  “The books?”

  “Look.” Val spread his hands. “You guys make me sick. This whole thing is a cluster fuck. You’ve killed people. You’re threatening the people I love. You’ve brought my friends into danger. That’s on you. Your methods are not exactly above board.”

  “I…” Elsie stopped, then looked off screen again. She tapped on her keyboard. “Mr. Everard, I need to go.”

  “Elsie—”

  There was a muffled whump, and the building shook. Val stood. “That’s not good news, is it?”

  “Did you bring friends, Mr. Everard?”

  “Do I look like I need backup?”

  Elsie didn’t answer. The screen faded back into being a mirror. Shit, thought Val. This just got a little more complicated. He wondered where John was. He looked at the door.

  They kill within their own Pack.

  It was time to find Adalia. He walked to the door, gripping the handle with one hand. He leaned back, pulling, and after a moment the handle popped free in his hand. He stared at it for a moment, then at the door. “No expense my ass. What kind of lousy workmanship is that?”

  He shrugged. Stop talking to yourself, Val. It’s the first sign of madness.

  Val looked around the room, then backed away from the door. He braced himself, then charged the door with his shoulder. It crashed free of the frame, landing in the corridor outside. Val coughed at the dust, waving it from his face as he looked around. There were no
damn signs.

  There are no clever symbols that guide us to prey.

  He looked left, then right, then closed his eyes, listening, his breathing and pulse slowing. Yelling. A scream. Gunfire. An engine. A child’s voice.

  It is not cub.

  There. He’d bet dollars to donuts that was Birkita. Finding her was a step in the right direction. Hell, maybe he could even ask her what she wanted. Whatever — he’d need to head up to get there. He knew it wasn’t Adalia, but—

  Another explosion shook the building and he stumbled, a hand going to the wall to steady himself. A child’s scream.

  Cub!

  “Wait!” He gritted his teeth, holding himself back. He wanted to run, to climb, to get to her, to—

  Kill them all.

  “I said wait!” A sliver of saliva ran down his chin. “No. Think.”

  They have cub.

  “The explosions. Are down. Adalia. Is up.” He breathed in and out, talking himself through it. “They want me. We need to get her out first. To safety. To John.”

  Kill.

  “We need to be silent. Not draw … the hunt to us.” Val swallowed. “We can’t lead them to Adalia.”

  There was silence in his head. He swallowed again, relaxing a little. Slowly, he walked towards the elevators — there should be a stairwell up. Then — well, one step at a time. But there’d be no killing until she was safe. He needed to be discrete. After that—

  They will die.

  Val nodded. There’d be plenty of time later. For everything.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “I can tell that you work out.” John leaned against the wall.

  “Stow it, Miles.” Carlisle didn’t turn to look at him. Which was fine by John — she didn’t look pretty when she was angry. She was on his left side, peering around the edge of one of the low prefab buildings of the complex. They’d run to the edge of the building; the prefabs were the only cover between the central building and the forest’s edge.

  “No, really. And your back especially.” That earned him a glance over the shoulder.

  “What?”

  “Well, it’s all I can see. Because you’re in the way.” John gestured at the building’s corner. “What’s the play?”

  “I’m in the way because you’re a civilian. Both of you are.” Carlisle leaned back against the wall next to them. She pulled her sidearm out, checking it for the hundredth time. “You shouldn’t even be here. The only reason you are is because I’m doped up on benzos and I’m not thinking straight. Pretty sure I’ve taken more than the recommended daily dose, if you get me.”