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

by Richard Parry

  The silence sat in the cab with them, thick and dirty. Adalia spoke first. “I want to get out.”

  “It’s below freezing outside, kid.” Carlisle frowned. “She doesn’t want to hit you anyway. Not really me either.”

  “Who’s she want to hit then?” Adalia looked between them. “I don’t understand you at all.”

  “Makes two of us,” said Carlisle, rubbing her arms in the chill of the cabin. “Nice work on the wheel, Kendrick.”

  Danny started to cry then, great choking sobs that shook her shoulders. She looked down at the wheel in her hands. “I never wanted this. Never.”

  “No, I suppose not,” said Carlisle. “I didn’t want to be on a road trip in Alaska either. Sometimes shit happens.”

  “Mom?” Adalia was looking between the two of them, her face more confused than ever. She reached a hand out to Danny. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” said Danny.

  “I guess it’s good Everard’s not here after all,” said Carlisle.

  Danny looked up, confused now. She—

  We are strong. For Pack.

  —wiped a hand at her face, trying to brush the tears away. “You said … why not?”

  “Because you don’t cry pretty,” said Carlisle, pushing her door open. “We’d best try and find those fucking keys.”

  • • •

  The big Yukon lapped up the miles, trampling the ice and asphalt as they sped along. Danny’s hands were steady on the wheel as she looked over at Carlisle. “Thanks.”

  “Eyes on the road,” said Carlisle. “Two of us can still die in an auto accident.”

  Danny felt herself start to smile, and she looked forward again. “Sure.”

  “Statistically speaking, this is a terrible idea. Driving at night in the snow with the lights off is up there for a Darwin Award.”

  “I’m not sure I’m the product of evolution,” said Danny.

  “I am,” said Adalia, her voice coming from the big back seats. She was watching something on the TV in the back of Carlisle’s seat. “I think I’m too young to die.”

  “Pretty sure I am too. Thing is, I’m just old enough to know what life’s got to offer,” said Carlisle. “With you, you’d never know what you’re missing out on.”

  “You’re not going to die,” said Danny. “I’m a good driver.”

  “You’re a werewolf,” said Carlisle. “Being a good driver is a sometime accidental benefit. You get road rage like a rising red tide.”

  “If people would just pull the hell over—” Danny caught herself, then laughed.

  So did Carlisle. “How’d you find the keys?”

  “Knew where I threw ‘em,” said Danny. “More or less.”

  “Fair enough,” said Carlisle, before turning to Adalia. “Kid. What are you playing with?”

  “Facebook,” said Adalia.

  “Facebook?”

  “Some of the time.” Adalia shrugged. “Coverage is shit out here.” The expletive sounded forced, like she needed practice.

  “Watch your mouth,” said Danny.

  “Why?” said Adalia. “It’s not like there’s anyone to hear me except you two, and you say cu—”

  “Kid,” said Carlisle, “there are some words it’s never safe to use.”

  “But—”

  “Kid?”

  Adalia looked sullen. “Yeah?”

  “Have I ever lied to you?” Danny could feel Carlisle’s smile in the dark of the cabin.

  “No,” said Adalia.

  “Some words you can never use. Trust me.”

  “But you—”

  “Never.” Carlisle started fiddling with the radio in the dash. “You’d think for the money they spent on this there’d be satellite radio.”

  Adalia crossed her arms, sullen, and Danny laughed. She kept driving, the feel of the big machine around her almost alive. “Thanks,” she said after a while.

  “What for?” said Carlisle.

  “You know,” she said, still smiling.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  “You can’t say anything,” the boy said. His eyelashes were long and black against his pale skin. “The Facebook line was good.”

  Adalia typed on her phone, knees scrunched up to her chest. The back seat of the Yukon was huge, like two couches sewn together. It must have taken a whole herd of cows to make the seats. Why can’t I just tell them?

  “They’d think you were crazy,” said the boy. “You thought you were crazy, remember?”

  Still do. Adalia sighed, deleted the line of text. She liked that the back seat was dark, as if she was alone in the whole world. Except for the boy. I don’t know why you’re here.

  “Neither do I.” The boy tossed himself back against the plush leather, the seats not indenting at all. Dark shapes of trees raced past the window, their tall black clothed in the luminous gray of snow. Warm and snug in the back seat it felt like they were sitting still, alone as the universe sprinted away behind them.

  We’ve seen some weird shit. Adalia pointed at the phone’s screen. She deleted the last word, then typed, stuff.

  “I don’t mind if you swear,” he said to her. “It’s not the worst thing I’ll hear today.”

  What will be the worst?

  He turned away, face to the window. No reflection was cast in the glass as he sat there looking out. “You don’t want to know.”

  You said when we first met—

  He laughed. “When we first met, you screamed.” He looked abashed, ran a hand through his black hair. Adalia wanted to reach out and straighten a few of those strands, just tug one away from his face. “Remember?”

  I remember. Her phone ticked as she entered the text. I was in the shower! She underlined the last word. The shower is not where I thought I’d meet a boy.

  “Believe me, it’s a good place to meet a…” He stopped as all his words guttered out. “If you meet the right kind of boy, is what I meant.”

  A shudder ran through the Yukon as a wheel scrabbled outside in the cold snow for purchase. Adalia ignored it, passing her phone from hand to hand. Gross.

  “You won’t think that in a few years.” He looked down his nose at her, his face arch. His eyelashes looked very long from this angle, and Adalia smiled to herself. “You probably don’t think that now.”

  The boys out here have webbing between their toes. She thought for a moment, then typed, That’s not it. I just don’t like the boys out here. They’re into shooting deer and racing snowmobiles. Boring.

  “I’d bet your Mom would be into hunting deer.”

  Below the belt.

  He laughed. “Sorry.” He shrugged, leaning back in the seat again. “I think that’s why, though.”

  Why what? You know I hate it when you get cryptic. I get enough from the front seat not telling me anything.

  “I’m not trying to be cryptic. I just don’t have the words. It’s like there’s this place, and you can only know what it is when you’ve seen it.”

  Are you quoting The Matrix?

  “The Matrix?”

  An old movie, she typed. I liked it. The sequels were shit. She deleted the last word. Bad.

  “I haven’t seen a movie in years,” he said. “I don’t get called to watch them.” He looked at the back of her mom’s head. “I don’t know why I was called to you, though. Can’t work it out. I’d have thought it would be one of them.”

  They have their own problems, she typed. She deleted it, then, I’m glad you came to me.

  He looked at the writing on her phone, then up at her. He gave a small smile, tentative as a new dawn. “Me too.”

  • • •

  I still don’t get it.

  “We’ve been over this. It’ll come out eventually.”

  We can work it out. Together. It’s not like we’ve got anything else to do here.

  “We could watch the snow outside. It’ll be light in a few hours. Or you could get some sleep.”

  Not sleepy. Adalia ran a hand thro
ugh hair a little too long for her liking. Let’s start with something simple. Why am I the only one who can see you?

  The boy shook his head. “Other people can see me.”

  They can’t. She waved her phone at the front seat where Melissa and Mom were talking. They would freak.

  The boy looked between her mom and Melissa, then nodded. “I think so, at least for a little while.” A small smile tugged at his face. “You freaked.”

  I was in the shower! Adalia wanted to laugh, but it would have given her away. She hid a smile with her hand, then typed, Who else can see you? Stop avoiding the question.

  “Special people,” said the boy. “I don’t know the rules.”

  I’m special?

  “I guess,” he said.

  She looked away, crossed her arms.

  “Jeeze,” he said, “I didn’t mean it like that. Look, pro tip, for when you meet a boy—”

  She held up a hand, typed, You’re a boy.

  He looked at her phone, then up into her face. “I think I should go,” he said, his voice soft.

  No. I’m sorry.

  He scooted away from her on the wide back seat of the Yukon. “So the pro tip is this. If a boy ever says something to you, and it can be taken two ways, see? And one of them makes you feel sad or angry, he meant it the other way.”

  Adalia thought about that, then gave a grudging nod. Why can’t you tell me your name?

  “I could tell you,” he said.

  Then you’d have to kill me? Overused, lame, try harder.

  “Ouch,” he said. “Tough crowd. It’s not that.”

  What is it? She glared at him, then made herself relax. I’m trying to take this the other way, but your whole fortune cookie thing isn’t helping me not feel angry or sad.

  “Got it,” he said. He thought for a moment, then swallowed. “I don’t remember.”

  You don’t remember any lines not full of cheese?

  “I don’t remember,” he said, leaning forward again, “my name.”

  Oh. Adalia looked down at the small word on her phone. What do you remember?

  The boy seemed about to answer, taking a deep breath. His mouth opened, then snapped shut as the Yukon slewed, snow thrown up in big sheets around them. Her mom screamed in the front seat, hands wrenching at the wheel. Melissa was reaching over, yelling something at her, before the big machine shuddered as the back hit something. Adalia was tossed against the door, knocking her head, her phone falling from her hand. There was a crash and glass blew through the cabin, the cold of winter suddenly hungry on the inside, tearing at her face, her hair. Adalia screwed up her eyes, the spinning of the vehicle going on and on, like it would never stop, and she screamed—

  Silence. The soft tink of cooling metal. Someone groaned, then her door was wrenched open and her mom was there. “Baby? Are you okay?

  “I’m okay, Mom,” said Adalia, blinking. The boy was still sitting next to her on the back seat. “What happened?”

  “Good question, kid,” said Melissa from the front. She coughed, then raised a hand to wipe some blood from her nose. The airbags in the front looked like big marshmallows. “Last time I let you drive.”

  Her mom looked into her face, then at Melissa still belted in the front seat. “Something terrible,” she said. Adalia saw that her eyes were yellow, something feral glinting behind them.

  “Mom?”

  “I remember,” said the boy into the silence, “that not all special people are good.” Then he was gone, a wisp of memory caught by the wind and tugged away.

  Her mom blinked yellow eyes at her before licking her lips. “They’ve stolen my Valentine.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Something was tearing at the air, clawing and howling, pulling the walls of the room closer. John squinted as the air rushed around, picking up scattered papers, the curtains flailing long frantic fingers into the room. He saw Val next to the silver case, arms straining.

  It looked like he was trying not to fall in to the case. No — he was trying not to be pulled into the case.

  “Val!” John was yelling against the storm in their apartment, the sun outside the window somehow dimmer, further away. He tried to sit upright from where he’d been thrown, reaching a hand towards his friend.

  Val was still screaming. It looked like the color was being drained out of him, all the light being drawn into the silver case still on the table. John could see the edges of his own hand, see the edges of his fingers blurring as if something — essential — was being pulled into the case.

  He scrambled back. Looked at the case, looked at Val. Saw his friend screaming a long, impossible breath out.

  It’s times like this that John Miles knew his destiny. He knew that he wasn’t fated to be the major act in the stage play of life. He wasn’t going to save the world — that shit was for other people with more time and a better give-a-fuck meter. He wasn’t the quarterback.

  Hell, he’d been a quarterback, but that was a completely different thing. That was a thing with girls and beer after the game. Right here and now, Val was the quarterback, and Val was dying. Val, who carried something inside him bigger and stronger than anything John had ever seen — that Val — was being pulled apart, being pulled into a metal case that had arrived in their apartment sometime last night.

  John Miles knew his destiny, and his destiny was to close that fucking case.

  He stood up, moving towards the case. The air in the room was savage and wild, and he felt like he was being drawn towards the case, but almost accidentally. Like it wasn’t him that the case wanted, but it’d take everything it could get. His feet slid on the floor, the carpet catching against the bottom of his shoes. He sank into a crouch, took another crab step closer.

  Looked up at Val. Saw the gray of his face, the shape of something—

  An animal, claws and teeth, with yellow eyes wide with rage and fear.

  —being torn loose. It was ghostly, the edges indistinct, and it reached back towards Val with imploring claws as it scrabbled frantically for purchase. John had seen that thing a couple times before, and each time it had been solid, taking over the body of his friend.

  Not this time. This time it was being pulled away like an old tooth—

  Fuck that. Close the case, asshole.

  John took one more step, reached out—

  Don’t think about it. Just grab the edge of the case, flip the lid closed, grab a beer, and go home.

  —and forced the lid closed, the clasps snicking into the silence of the room. The edge of the metal felt hot and cold at the same time against his hand.

  Silence?

  John looked over at Val, saw his friend’s eyes rolled back in their sockets, watched as he toppled over onto the ground. The room was calm, the curtains settling back into their old habit of falling straight down. Sun pushed its way back into the room, the light warm and welcome.

  Raising the hand he’d used to close the case up before his eyes, John saw the burns on his fingers, the skin blistered and red. That’s gonna hurt. He looked down at Val, then ran his other hand through his hair.

  The case sat on the table, the wood underneath it blackened with heat. John coughed, then said, “Well, that could have gone better.”

  • • •

  “Here.” John held out a steaming mug. “Drink this.”

  “What is it?” Val was propped up on the sofa, his skin still—

  Gray.

  —bleached, colorless.

  “It’s coffee.”

  Val looked at the mug, then at John, and then at the otherwise empty apartment. “Who made it?”

  John looked at the mug, then at Val. “Who do you think made it?”

  “I think you made it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “No one else here,” said Val. He took the cup, sniffed it. “Also, it smells like pickled ass.”

  “Doesn’t look like your brain is hurt,” said John. “Your manners could use some work.”r />
  “I feel terrible.”

  “You look worse,” said John. He rubbed the burns on his fingers, then stopped when that made it hurt more. “I mean that in a nice way.”

  “What happened?”

  John shrugged. “Hell if I know. Above my pay grade.”

  Val sipped at his coffee, then winced. “This is terrible.”

  “You can make your own damn coffee next time you’re almost killed by a suitcase,” said John. “What’s terrible is that a suitcase—”

  “Briefcase.”

  “What?”

  “Briefcase,” said Val. “Suitcase is bigger. Has clothes ‘n’ shit inside it.”

  “Are you serious?” John looked at Val, then stood up. He gestured at the room around them. “There was a storm in here. A storm, with wind.”

  Val seemed to sober a little. “I remember.”

  “How often you see wind inside, Val?” John walked towards the window, looked outside. The world was much the same as he remembered — humans doing things that humans do — and the light was warm against his face. “I don’t mean when you leave the window open, or—”

  “I know what you mean.” Val’s voice was tired.

  “I don’t think you do.” John turned around, holding up his burnt and blistered hand. “You ever see shit like this coming from a briefcase?”

  What little color remained in Val’s face left, and he tried to stand. The coffee spilled, black joining the blue of his jeans. “Ah, shit.” He put the cup aside, then looked up. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “No,” said John.

  “No?”

  “No,” said John. “You don’t get to say sorry.”

  Val blinked up at him. “You’ve lost me.”

  “You’re like some kind of really smart dumb guy,” said John. He rubbed his hands together, felt the tension in his shoulders wind up a notch. “It’s not often I have to explain stuff to you.”

  “Unless it’s about women,” said Val. He paused, then: “To be fair, I’m not sure I should be listening to you about women.”

  “I don’t think this is one of those times,” said John.

  “One of what times?”