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

by Richard Parry

  “Thomas,” said Carlisle. “Let’s say for a second that I buy your voodoo—”

  “Vodou,” said Ajay. “You say it wrong, like we are in a Hollywood movie.”

  Carlisle blinked. “Whatever. Let’s say that I agree you’re some kind of voodoo—” and here, Ajay winced “—sailor. You go and buy us some time, or whatever, because we all know we’ve driven further and faster than is possible even if we had the Starship fucking Enterprise. So tell me, Gandalf, and this is important. I want your full attention. Who did you buy the time from?”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” said Ajay.

  “It works exactly like that,” said the boy.

  Danny was looking at the space where the boy sat, blinking her eyes and turning her head. “I think I’m seeing things.”

  “You’re not seeing things,” said Ajay, “because they aren’t there to be seen.”

  “Maybe you should have ridden in the front,” said Carlisle, “because all I want to do is punch this guy.”

  Ajay breathed out a sigh. “I know what you want, Detective,” he said. “You want what you can’t have.”

  “Can’t have?” said Carlisle. “Like, world peace?”

  “No,” said Ajay. He tossed his head backwards, as if in Adalia’s direction. “Your job is to be her Shield. Your chance to become what you were made to be is fast approaching.”

  “Wait,” said Danny. “Melissa’s a good friend—”

  “Thanks,” said Carlisle.

  “—But I’m Adalia’s mother,” said Danny. “And, lest we forget, a werewolf. I think I’ve got the job of shield.”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” said the boy.

  “What do you mean?” said Adalia. “I don’t understand.”

  “I mean that I’m going to look after you,” said Danny. “It’s kind of what I signed up for.”

  “You each play a part.” Ajay’s jaw clenched. “The … roles we are given.”

  Adalia leaned forward, almost touching the boy. He looked like he wanted to pull away and stay at the same time, and she gave him a little smile before speaking. “The Shield. The Sword. The Knight.” She licked her lips, wanting to stop, but the words kept tumbling from her. “Sacrifice, Guide, and the Doubtful Soldier. The Good Right Arm. The Lost Warrior.”

  Ajay was nodding as she spoke, until she hit the last role. Lost Warrior. “Who is that?” he said.

  “Her,” said the boy, pointing out the windscreen. They were rounding a bend formed from a bank lined with trees. On the other side of the bend was the remains of a barricade, an overturned Humvee lying on the road, wheels still turning. Carlisle slammed on the brakes, the Yukon slowing as the ABS stammered against the snowy ground. Soldiers were running around with what looked like ordinary people running among them, biting, clawing … and feeding.

  The hammer of automatic weapons fire sounded close to them, holes appearing in rapid succession across the hood before the windscreen of the Yukon was gone in a shower of fragments. Without it, the cold and the noise of the outskirts of Chicago poured in to the cabin, the sound of fighting and dying. The sound of war. Carlisle was wrenching the wheel, her eyes squeezed shut as the Yukon bucked and slewed across the road, tires screaming. The vehicle almost tipped before sitting back on its haunches.

  Ahead of them, standing in the middle of the road, was a handful of soldiers in combat fatigues, rifles firing. In their midst was a woman, a little older than Melissa, and Adalia could see the burden that had made her lose her way pushing her to the ground and carrying her up at the same time. It gave her fear. It gave her strength. It gifted her with purpose. “There,” said Adalia, a kind of nervous energy making her shift in her seat. It wasn’t fear of what was happening outside the Yukon — it was something that clicked inside her as she saw the woman. “Right there. The Lost Warrior.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  They were standing around, looking at the case. It sat on the table in the middle of them. The rounded metal corners of the thick case meant Val couldn’t help but think of a bloated spider, heavy after feeding. The front was still chipped and scratched, the latches buckled from when Val had forced it. They’d pushed them closed, but a casual flick would set them open again.

  Rex was reaching for it. Val stopped him, a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  Rex looked at him, then at the case, then back to him. “It’s just a box with a handle.”

  “It is,” said John, “the gateway to Abaddon.”

  “Isn’t Abaddon a dude? Like an angel?” Sky was crouched down in front of the case. Val felt a tingle of apprehension as she sat there — as they all sat there — around this thing that had done so much harm.

  “It’s a dude and a place,” said John.

  “Bottomless pit,” said Just James, scratching behind his ear.

  “My point,” said John, nodding at Just James. “Thanks, kid.”

  “No problem,” said Just James. “So, are we going to open it?”

  “No,” said John and Val, at the same time. Val looked at John, then said, “I think it would be a bad idea to open it again.”

  “Maybe,” said Just James, “it was just you that had issues.”

  “I must say,” said John, “you’re taking this whole sorcery thing pretty well. Not having much trouble suspending disbelief.”

  “I got pulled out of a burning bus by a guy with superhuman strength,” said Just James. “It got me thinking.”

  “The only superpower that Val has is doing our laundry,” said Sky. She cocked her head to one side. “Also, the place has been spotless since he moved in.”

  “I lived alone for a while,” said Val. “I learned some skills. Look, just don’t open the case.”

  “Val,” said Rex, looking up at him. The old man rubbed a weathered hand against stubble growing strong despite the gray in it. “We need to open it. Find out what we’re dealing with.”

  Val turned and walked to the windows looking out over the city. Smoke was rising from down the street, cars scattered in a panicked gridlock. There had been no orderly exit, just a rush for the exits as madness descended on the city. The old man had a point — there was a responsibility to put this right. He nodded to himself, then turned around. But a bit of caution would go a long way. It seemed unlikely that just one of these cases had been in Chicago, and Val had to wonder what happened to the other ones, or the people that had found them. “Rex—” Val froze. The old man had moved away to the kitchen, the breakfast bar between them.

  John was standing with an astonished look on his face. “The old timer moves pretty quick.”

  “I used to pull people out of buildings that were on fire,” said Rex. “That kind of thing motivates you.” He had the case with him, and he laid it on the breakfast bar. “I owe you one anyway,” he said, his eyes on Val, before he turned his face away and flicked the lid open.

  The silence held in the apartment as they all looked at Rex. The case rocked a little before it settled, lid open and hiding whatever was inside from the rest of them. Rex opened one eye, looking into the case. “Well, shit,” he said, and tried to slam the lid closed.

  Something was inside, clawing its way out. Legs, long like an insect — except insects don’t grow that big … do they? — edged out of the case. John was already moving, launching himself to land on the case, his bodyweight slamming the lid close with a snap. The legs that had come out of the case sheared off, falling to twitch against the breakfast bar. A green liquid, almost like a sap, was dripping from the ends of them.

  “Don’t open the case,” said Rex. “Don’t open—”

  The case blew open, tossing John away like he weighed no more than an old sheet of newspaper. The lid wrenched free in a splinter of metal as the hinges gave, tumbling and bouncing across the floor of the apartment. Spiders the size of dogs were climbing out of the case to skitter across the bench and on to the floor, or scaling the walls. Val had Raph in his hand, no
clear memory of how it had got there, and he took three quick steps across the floor before swinging the bat into the side of a spider. It burst like a piñata, green gore spraying from the end of the bat. Val caught a glimpse of Sky running into the room she shared with John, the door slamming behind her.

  Another spider jumped, landing atop Just James. The kid went down with a scream, holding the spider away from his face with both arms. Val ran towards them, punting the spider away with his foot. He looked back at John, who was — only John would do that — using a spider as a flail against others circling him on the ground. He was alternately swinging the massive arachnid and punching it to keep it subdued.

  Rex. Where’s the old guy? Val hefted the bat, rounding the corner of the breakfast bar. Rex was on his knees, swinging the base of the metal case against the remains of a spider on the ground. Val looked at the bat in his hands, then turned his attention back to John, who still seemed to have the lion’s share of opponents.

  The door to John and Sky’s room opened, Sky charging back through it holding something red in her hand. She took one look at the spiders circling John and ran straight for them. She pointed the red device at a spider and there was a crack, a hole punched through the fat body of the creature. She pointed the device at the ceiling and fired again, an arachnid falling to the ground, limbs still twitching. John was still swinging the remains of his insect as Val joined them, laying about with his bat.

  With a final crack from Sky’s device, followed by a thud as a spider fell from the wall, they looked around the room. Just James was poking his head up over the couch. Rex was leaning with one arm against the breakfast bar’s counter top, the other braced against his back.

  Sky’s eyes were still wild, and she swung the red device back and forth.

  “Hey,” said John. “Baby. It’s cool.”

  She looked at him. “What?”

  “I said, it’s cool.” John let what was left of the spider he was holding fall to the ground.

  She blinked at him, then laughed, the sound a hysterical bark. “Does this … does this look cool to you?”

  John looked around. “Truth?”

  “Truth.”

  “More or less, this is a regular day at the office.” John reached over to carefully ease her fingers away from the device. “Huh.”

  Val leaned forward to look at it. “Is that … is that a Ramset gun?”

  “Yeah,” said John. “I bought it a couple months back.”

  “Why’d you buy a Ramset gun?” Val waved his arms at the room around them. “You live in an apartment. You don’t need those kinds of things.”

  “Thank you, Val,” said Sky. “That’s what I said.”

  John looked hurt. “Two things,” he said. “First, a man always needs tools. Always. Second, does it not look like it’s come in handy?”

  “Son,” said Rex, his hands out in a placating gesture, “now’s probably not the time to be having this conversation. This ain’t how you’re going to build your business case for a Skilsaw.”

  “You know, you’re right,” said John, turning to Val. “Where were you?”

  “Me?” said Val. “I was helping. I helped.”

  “You ran around a lot.” John pointed with the Ramset gun at the walls. Impaled spider corpses hung, and Sky’s few misses were shown by protruding nail heads. “Sky shot some of these things.”

  “I still don’t feel my best,” said Val. He wiped his nose, then noticed the blood on it. “See?”

  “You’ve got a bleeding nose?” said Sky. “That’s it?”

  “Hey,” said Val. “We probably need to brief you on the killer virus.”

  “True,” said John, nodding. “Before we do that, how about a Coke and a smile? Also, how the hell are we going to explain the bodies of giant killer spiders?”

  Val looked around the apartment, taking in the spider corpses, the Ramset holes in the walls, the nails, the green stains on the carpet. “You know, I actually don’t think anyone’s going to care. I think that if giant spiders are the weirdest thing anyone sees in Chicago today, they haven’t gone outside yet.”

  • • •

  “It started with a wish,” said Val. “A woman named Elsie Morgan wished that her little girl wouldn’t die.”

  “She was a complete bitch,” said John. Val shot him a flat stare. John shrugged, then gestured with his Coke. “No, you’re right. My bad, it’s your story. You go.”

  “Thanks,” said Val. He looked around at them — Just James, cross-legged on the floor, Sky standing back and leaning against the wall, her face turned away. Rex on the single seat across from them. John sitting next to him on the couch. They’d thrown the spider bodies out the window, then followed them with the remains of the metal case. It had been empty, the matte black interior innocuous, but Sky had said she wasn’t having that thing in her house. It had looked okay, the general vibe of despicable evil having left it with the spiders, but out it went. “So, Birkita—”

  “Wait a minute,” said Rex. “Birkita? What the hell kind of name is that?”

  “You want to tell the story?” said Val.

  “No,” said Rex. “All I’m asking is, who names their kid Birkita? She want her daughter to go into the wrestling team? Because she’d sure as shit learn to fight well, a name like that at school.”

  “Elsie,” said Val, “was the CEO of Biomne. Sam Barnes took over … after. Biomne is — or was, Sam and I don’t really swap postcards — the largest pharmaceutical company on planet Earth. I don’t think she was going to send Birkita to public school.”

  Rex seemed to chew that one over. “Shame. We could probably use more female pro wrestlers.”

  Val rubbed a hand over his face, then looked up at Rex. “Wasn’t it thinking like that that got you into a car crash?”

  “Fair point,” said Rex.

  “So,” said Val, “where were we? Right, Birkita. So, near as I can tell, the kid had cancer, or some other equally shitty disease. All diseases are shitty, but any that kills a kid before they go to their prom is a special version of shit. Elsie had this wish, like I said. She wanted her girl to grow up. You got to figure a thing like that fucks with you, right? You’re head of the company that makes all the drugs, yet your kid is going to die of a disease. I’m using a bit of artistic license here—”

  “Artistic what?” said Sky.

  “License,” said Val. “It’s where—”

  “I know what it is,” said Sky. “You’re telling a story about werewolves. You’re exercising your license already. Just the facts.”

  Val shot John a look. “She always like this?”

  John looked at him, then at Sky, took in the expression on her face, then looked back at Val. “It’s your story, man.”

  “Coward,” said Val. He leaned back against his seat. “Elsie starts doing a Hitler. She looks all over the globe for things that can help, that conventional medicine doesn’t know about. Somewhere in Russia, she finds a rumor. Some tiny scrap of information that leads her to some ancient cold war gulag.”

  “A gulag,” said Rex. “An actual internment camp?”

  “No clue,” said Val. “I wasn’t there. The person who was there was named Volk.”

  “Cute,” said Just James.

  “Say what?” Val blinked at him.

  “It’s Russian.” Just James looked around at them all. “I mean, he’s from Russia, sure, but his name means wolf.”

  “How you know that?” said Val. “That’s a really weird piece of information to carry around in your head.”

  “My Dad — my real Dad, that is — was … I mean, is … heck.” Just James looked at his feet for a minute, then tried again. “My Dad’s Russian. I’m learning Russian, you know, so I can…” He trailed off.

  Rex cleared his throat. “What the kid’s trying to say,” he said, “is that it’s probably not his real name.”

  “Was,” said Val.

  “Was?” Rex scratched at his stubble. “You
mean, he changed his name?”

  “Was,” said Val, “as in my girlfriend ate him.”

  The silence hung in the room for a little longer than was comfortable before John stepped up. “So,” he said. “Who wants a beer?”

  “I’ll take a beer,” said Val.

  “Me too,” said Rex.

  “I’ll try one,” said Just James.

  “No,” said Rex.

  “What do you mean,” said Sky, “that Danny ate this Russian guy from a gulag, and what’s it got to do with Elsie Morgan?” She looked at John. “Do we still have any Sol?”

  John winced. “I can look.” He moved around to the kitchen and began rooting through the refrigerator. “Good news, bad news.”

  “What’s the good news?” said Val.

  “We’ve got Sol.”

  “That’s not good news,” said Val.

  “The bad news is that the power’s out and all the Sol is warm,” said John. He came back carrying a few bottles. He handed them around. “Back to your story.”

  “Thanks,” said Val, taking a long pull from his beer. He made a face. “That’s really terrible.”

  “It’s the end of the world,” said John. “You’re going to complain about the beer?”

  Val nodded. “I kept saying we should stock some Peroni. But no. You said—”

  “I said that it’s our apartment and you can buy Peroni when you get your own place.” John shrugged. “You know how it is.”

  “That was cold then and it’s damn cold now,” said Val. “Anyway, Sky, to your point, yes. The delight of my life did in fact eat Volk. Or we think so. Let me explain.” He looked across the room, thinking, before putting on an accent. “‘No, there is too much. Let me sum up.’”

  John tilted his head. “Inigo? Princess Bride?”

  Val clinked his beer against John’s. “‘Well remembered.’”

  “Tristan from Stardust?” said Sky.

  “Girl’s on fire,” said Val. He nodded. “Elsie heard that Volk was a man who carried a virus inside him that left him immune to aging, and gave him amazing regenerative powers. She dispatched a team to extract him. Turns out, the virus was a red herring, and he was a werewolf. He and I first met at the Elephant Blues—”