“Let’s say,” said Rex, “that the night holds some special terrors for you.”
“We’re not talking about special terrors,” said the speaker. “We’re talking about fucking vampires. I saw what they … look, you’re here, you know.”
Rex thought about that, then nodded. “We know.”
“So you kind of understand, we can’t let you in. Hell, we just need to wait.”
“That’s one possible option,” said Rex. “It probably won’t end well for anyone, because we’ve got werewolves on speed dial, and son, I’m going to be honest but I cannot believe that these words are coming out of my mouth, five years ago I’d have slapped my own self silly. But son? We’ve got werewolves on speed dial. And let’s say your special vampire friends get here, and these wheat threshers we call werewolves get here, and they’re all going crazy outside. How long do you suppose this door is going to stay shut for?”
“Long enough?” hazarded the speaker.
“And when it’s opened, who do you think’s gonna be on the other side?” said Rex.
“Hold on,” said the speaker, a different voice this time. “You’re saying that we got two choices. One, we open the door now, and you shoot us, or we shoot the kid, or whatever.”
“Okay,” said Rex, nodding. “I’m listening. Work it through, son.”
“Second option is we wait until dark, and then maybe the bad guys open the door and kill us all, or we shoot the kid.”
“I’m still listening,” said Rex. “I mean, we can argue about who the bad guys are, but I’d like to see where you’re going with this.”
“So the way I’m thinking,” said the speaker, “is that we stand a better chance if we wait.”
“It’s a nice theory,” said Rex, “but I think it’s predicated on a poor assumption.”
“Predicated?” said Carlisle. “Are you going for a high Scrabble score? You should put an X in there or something.”
Rex sighed. He pressed the button again. “What I’m saying is that we’re the good guys, because we’re not stealing children, and the vampires are, by an actual and very real definition, the bad guys because a) they steal children and b) drink the blood of people, turning them into other unholy monsters.” He paused, licked his lips. “And, if I was an unholy monster, there would be a time when I’d like to see all witnesses erased.”
“One second,” said the speaker.
Rex stepped away, rolling his shoulders. He nodded to Jessie, who frowned. “Don’t get shot,” she said.
“I didn’t walk up fourteen flights to get shot,” he said. “It hurts the whole intent of my cardio regime.” He looked at the huge rifle stock poking out over her shoulder. “So, Jessie. Getting shot, and all. I’m just thinking, and this isn’t meant as a criticism or any sort of advice where it might not be needed, but I’m thinking that you’re the one with the gun, so perhaps, and again — no criticism — but perhaps you could try really hard not to shoot me in this next bit.”
Jessie looked at him, then looked at Carlisle, who shrugged. Jessie turned back to him and said, “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if you could hit a target at ten paces.”
“Just don’t shoot me,” said Rex. “This is a bit more serious than a trust fall.”
She gave him gun fingers and then jogged away, her Light Fifty tapping her back as she went. Carlisle watched the two of them. “Daughter you never had?” There was something wistful in her voice beside the usual sarcasm.
Before Rex could answer, the speaker broke into life. “Where’d the other one go?”
“Which one?” said Rex.
“The one with the M107,” said the speaker.
Rex looked at Carlisle. She shrugged. “It’s what her gun’s actually called,” she said. “It doesn’t come in a box with ‘Light Fifty, Little Psycho’s First Gun,’ on the side.”
Who knew. “Thought she would make you nervous,” said Rex. “Or the gun would. We asked her to back up a little.”
“We’re coming out,” said the speaker.
“Wise choice, son,” said Rex, and gestured Sam back, and a little to the side. Wouldn’t want the money getting hit along with the talent now. The man seemed entirely too nervous. Jumpy, and jumpy people got shot. Sam gave a tight nod, walking back in the same direction as Jessie, but along the wall.
“But we want you to put your guns down,” said the speaker.
Rex just laughed. “Son,” he said, “up until now I’ve been doing you the genuine and honest courtesy of assuming you’re not stupid. Do not, and I repeat, do not make me believe that was a serious error.”
They waited. After a length of time that felt like twelve minutes but was probably only that many seconds, there was a series of clunks and as some hidden mechanism in the door unlocked. There was a hiss, then the door slowly slid sideways. It revealed two soldiers, one with a boy — Charlie — held in front of him like a tiny human shield. One of the man’s hands was holding Charlie and the other was holding a sidearm at the kid’s head. The other man had a rifle pointed at Charlie’s head. The one using Charlie as a shield said, “Now, here’s what’s going to happen.”
Carlisle’s eyes had turned hard, too hard, and that wouldn’t end well, so Rex crouched down so he was at Charlie’s height. “Charlie, is it?”
Charlie nodded, sniffing. Red eyes, probably over the tears stage and into full on therapy-for-life stage by now.
Rex tried a smile on. “Son, it’s going to be okay. Can you shut your eyes for me?” He looked up at the soldier. “You ever think it’s wrong to use a kid as a human shield? I think it’s wrong. Do the right thing, and we’ll all make it out of here. All of us. But. You need to put the kid down, and you need to do it soon, because what we’ve got here is a hair-trigger situation. Mistakes can get made. Put the kid down, live. Keep holding the kid, well.”
“You’re not in charge,” the one using Charlie as a human shield said. “I’m in charge. I make the rules. I’ll tell you what’s right. This kid? He’s my insurance. Anything happens to me, I’ll end him. Like I said, here’s what’s going to happen. Hey. Are you listening to me?”
“It’ll be okay,” said Rex, looking at Charlie. “You’ve just got to shut your eyes.”
Charlie nodded, then screwed his eyes shut. His lips were moving, like he was whispering to himself.
“I said—” said the man holding Charlie, before his head exploded into airborne slurry. No more than a quarter second later the man next to him spun around like a top, blood spraying from where his shoulder used to be, arm flopping by a tiny piece of skin, and then a third bullet pierced him dead center, tearing his spine out in tiny, bony fragments. Carlisle was already moving, catching Charlie, holding his face to her so he wouldn’t see, wouldn’t see anything more, and she said something into the boy’s ear. Rex couldn’t be sure, but it might have been got you.
Sam was there, and he grabbed Charlie from Carlisle, and he was crying, and hugging his kid.
Rex looked at the two of them, at Carlisle’s face, now softer, and then back towards where Jessie crouched. Behind a couch, her Light Fifty’s barrel smoking. He walked back to her. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“It’s why we do this job,” she said. “To save the world.”
“Yeah,” said Rex. “Because the world’s full of families.”
She nodded, racking her Light Fifty and slinging it over her shoulder, the suppressor almost touching the ground. “Yeah,” she said, with a smile. “Because of that.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-THREE
Pack.
Val stood next to Danny in the doorway, Adalia a little behind them. Adalia was trembling, Val could sense the tension, the fear and confusion, pouring off her in waves. Danny by contrast was hard, all angry edges and sharp corners, teeth ready to rend, to bite, to end—
The betrayer.
—this thing that stood in front of them. This enemy from before, the one who’d made him. Volk. Truth be told, Val
could use a little of that action too. He couldn’t remember that night he’d been … made, as if the Night was manufactured in a factory. He’d been drunk, pretty much like always back in those days. Feeling sorry for himself, except he couldn’t really remember that either. Just: a bar, too many drinks, and then waking up the next day. Hungover. Everyone else in that bar had died except for him.
You’re just lucky. Val reached out a hand and touched Danny’s elbow. He leaned close. “Not yet.” There might be time to get some answers. They could remember a lot about what had happened to their makers, and their makers before them, and so on. But not everything. Sure, they could get some of their skills — fighting, flying machines, how to act, even be a poet. But the reasons, the feelings behind those lives were lost, leaves in an autumn fall.
The betrayer killed his Pack.
Danny’s head turned, quick and angry, to look at Val. Her eyes were so yellow, so bright. When she spoke, it sounded like she was trying to force the words out around the animal trying to escape from within. “He is everything that is wrong with the Night. You. Know. This.”
Val’s eyes moved towards Adalia, saw the confusion there, the panic of the violence she could see coming. She could see it, almost smell it, but didn’t understand it. Violence had been a part of her life for more than ten years, and that was on Volk. On Volk, and—
We protect our Pack.
—on Val, if he had to be honest. Because he could have just loaded everything up into a truck and moved to Alaska with Danny and Carlisle. Followed her there. Made it right, like patching up an old roof that only leaked a little in the rain. Val looked at Adalia again, at that hurt and uncertain guilt in her face. That’s the problem with being the Universe’s conduit at the age of twenty. Or maybe it was just one of those problems with being twenty. He almost laughed then. Damn, but you sound like Rex. Val turned back to Volk. “You’re dead. You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Nyet. Is difficult, no? To kill one of us.” The other man shrugged, his bathrobe not quite closing over his muscled frame. He still looked the same as he had last time Val had seen him. Square jaw and two-day stubble. Moved like a dancer. Not a gray hair on his head, still with that youthful twinkle in his eyes as if he was laughing at some joke only he could hear. And maybe he was. Even after thousands of years, he’d draw the eye of any woman in the market. “Is lucky.”
“You’re lucky? You bet,” snarled Danny.
“Nyet. Is lucky that Maksimillian Kotlyarov is still alive. For your sakes.” Volk shrugged. “You war with the enemy of the Night. Not much Night left. YA posledniy … I was last one. Is difficult, but not impossible. The vampiry have killed us before. They have always killed us.”
Val narrowed his eyes. Volk … or Maksimillian? The difference was crucial. What a man called himself. What the world called him. What his enemies knew him as. He looked at Adalia. “Do you know who this is?”
“This is Maks,” she said. She looked like she was close to tears. “How … what—”
“Is familiar face,” said Volk, gesturing at himself. “Adalia, she make best coffee in whole city. Maksimillian Kotlyarov needs good coffee, good breakfast.” His eyes lingered on Adalia. Val saw emotions bunch and hustle across the man’s face shutter-quick. Yearning. Loss. Envy. Possession. Something else Val couldn’t put his finger on. “Life too short for bad coffee, da?”
The deceiver knows nothing of love. It was lost to him long ago.
Danny rounded on Adalia. “How could you not see? How could you not know?” She flung an arm towards Volk. “This isn’t Maksimillian or Maks or whatever you think he is. Why weren’t you looking?”
Adalia took a step back from Danny’s anger. Universe’s chosen she may be, but she’s still her mother’s daughter. “I … I don’t want to look,” she said, her voice small. “Someone always dies.”
“Well, congratulations. Someone’s definitely going to die now.” Danny turned towards Volk, took a step.
Val touched her elbow again. “Not yet.” He looked at Adalia, saw her stunned face. “Adalia, this guy? He’s not who you think he is.” Val knew he needed to choose his words with care. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Who is he?”
“I am, how do you say,” said Volk. “I am man who made you. I gave you wondrous gift.”
“You gave us,” said Val, “a curse.”
The Night is the Night.
“You look good, for man with curse,” said Volk. “I remember you. I remember fat man, tired man. Old, before your time. Carrying something with you. Is first man I saw after crash. After van.” He paused for a moment. “Is good question, da? Would you take curse and save world? Or would you leave gift, how do you Amerikantsy say it, on table? And table, along with world, die. All gone.”
“Don’t,” said Danny, “make this something fucking noble. You … came for my daughter?!”
“Nyet,” said Volk.
“Then why is she here?” Danny’s hands were bunched into fists.
“Is long story,” said Volk.
“Sum it the fuck up,” said Val. “Small words. Short sentences.”
“Power calls to power,” said Volk. “Ona derzhit mir v svoyom serdtse. The Universe, da? Great wrong must be put right.”
“You mean the vampires,” said Val.
“Nyet,” said Volk. “I mean me.”
• • •
The hotel room felt small with three werewolves and the power of the Universe in it, but it was better than arguing in the hall. Val knew they weren’t going to kill Volk, not then, not right away. Danny seemed to know it too, although she paced like a caged beast, back and forth, back and forth, by the door. Guarding.
Still. The power of the Universe sat by herself, arms hugged to her sides, head down, not looking at any of them, but especially not looking at Volk. Val’s eyes strayed to the bed, sheets in disarray. The clothes scattered in a loose trail from the door to the bed. He looked at Volk, then at Adalia.
Then at Danny. Ah, fuck. “You’re good at stories,” said Val. “Why don’t you tell one.”
“Da,” said Volk. “Is long ago. You remember.”
“Pieces,” said Val. “Tiny bits. I remember … killing. Always killing.”
“Just so,” said Volk. “Do you remember my family?”
“You have no Pack,” said Danny.
“Not just Pack,” said Volk. “Semeynyy. My birth family. The village where I was born. Do you remember the face of my mother? Is hard, after all this time.” He shrugged. “I had to kill her first.”
Adalia’s head jerked up. “You … your family?”
“Da.” Volk looked at each of them in turn. “Imagine a time when there were no vampiry. Just you, and the Hunt. You have been on this world a little while, seen a few things, but have not become great in purpose or deed yet. You hear a story about a man who can turn water to wine. You love stories, but this one is different. Osobennyy, da? So you travel to meet this man. You never meet him, but you see him. See him killed. See the Four, turn against each other. See two of them, turn against us all.”
“The Four?” said Danny. “Who the fu—”
“Vsadniki apokalipsisa,” said Volk. “You would call them Pestilence, War, Famine. And Death.”
“You’re saying,” said Val, “that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse—”
“Horsepersons,” said Danny.
“—Riders of the Apocalypse, you’re saying you met them.” Val blinked. “The harbingers of doom. The ones who will end the world.”
“Da,” said Volk. “Is not best part of story.” He shrugged. “You remember this.”
“No,” said Val. “Only pieces. Tiny bits. I remember … I can fly a helicopter, but I didn’t remember your name.”
Volk shrugged. “Is always so. The Night? Is fickle. Is chance.” Volk looked out the window, a floor-to-ceiling pane of tinted glass. Manhattan stretched out below them. “The ones who thought to fight the vampiry
, they taught me to fly. Gifts, in their own way.”
We give favor to our chosen. This one is no longer our chosen.
“Wait,” said Val. “Someone else is fighting the vampires?”
“Nyet,” said Volk. “Not anymore. All gone. All gone, except for one final gift. Is present, for the head of all vampiry.”
“And what is that gift?” said Danny. “More fucking curses?”
“If only so easy!” Volk grinned at her, his eyes twinkling a little. After a moment, he grew thoughtful. “We share memories. I have long time to think. To remember, da? Always thinking. The Night, it chooses who it wants. The vampiry, they kill the Night. So I, Maksimillian Kotlyarov, have spent my life killing any who would change. To be like us. To be hunted. To become the Night.”
“Those you’ve bitten,” said Danny.
“Da,” said Volk. “Also, I kill vampiry. Is not choosy. But those like us? I save them from horrible death. I give them quicker death. Easier death, before dying becomes hard.”
“That’s messed up,” said Val. “With an army—”
“You did not see how they killed my friends, my family,” said Volk, the twinkle gone from his eyes over a grin that had become fixed. “The vampiry came to my village and tried to turn my Pack. Turn them against me. They had to … I had to…” He paused. “Is over now. All down to us.”
“There’s no ‘us,’” said Danny. “You’re fucking hamburger.”
“Is over two hundred vampiry in this city,” said Volk. “I lose count, da? So many. But if you take the head of snake,” and here, he made a scissors motion with his fingers, snip snip, “then the rest will die.”
“Who’s the head? These two … Riders?” said Val.
“Nyet,” said Volk. “Is not easy to kill Riders. They live in shells, fall for a time. Get back up again. Nyet. We kill the first of their children.” He looked at Danny, then at Val. “Three of us is not enough. But we will do it.”
“Four,” said Adalia, her voice a croak.
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