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

by Richard Parry

  Everyone was staring at him. He shrugged. “They’d have to find out sooner or later.”

  “Vampires,” said Ginger. “Werewolves.”

  Diego spoke for the first time. “Fucking awesome,” he said. “When do we start?”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE

  When John Miles was a child, he’d thought the world was pretty cool and nothing so far had done much to change his view. He sat in the back of Sam Barnes’ limousine, drinking Scotch out of a crystal tumbler, looking at the back head of a vampire — who was driving — and sitting across from War, one of the Riders of the Apocalypse. He was next to a beautiful woman he’d met at a bar who turned out to be War’s sister, which was crazy, right, and she was Famine. Except she’d stopped starving people to death a couple thousand years ago after she met Jesus Christ, who sounded like an okay guy as well, except most of the stories about him were wrong. Apart from the one about being a carpenter.

  Yeah. The world was pretty cool. It might have been something to do with the benzos, but the Scotch had a soft, comfortable flavor in his mouth, like a Twinkie. He didn’t eat Twinkies, not since he was about four, but maybe now was a good time to rekindle that passion.

  “I’d have to say,” he said, “that Sam has a good quality Scotch here. Fragrant rose wood. Lavender. Hint of … I’m going with caramel.”

  “Sounds like a shampoo,” said Jeremy.

  “Tastes better,” said John. “I mean, I don’t drink a whole lot of shampoo.”

  “Not a lot?” said Jeremy. “Which is the best brand?”

  “I don’t like where this conversation is going,” said John. “I’m a little under-prepared.”

  “You’re drugged out of your mind,” said Jeremy. “Here’s the thing. Night’s falling, so I can be out here with you. Hit the town, paint it red, if you know what I’m saying. But the thing is, the rest of my less morally inclined brothers and sisters will also be out. I’m just letting you know so you can make the call on whether you want to do this thing sober.”

  “Seems more fun my way,” said John. “Man, the world is a pretty cool place.”

  • • •

  The plan was to pick up some of their own intelligence. The A-team was out getting Adalia from work, which was taking a whole lot longer than a trip to Starbucks usually took John, and the other A-team was out buying munitions or bombs or explosives or whatever the flavor term of the moment was. So here he was, with the vampire and half of the Horsepersons. Still, any team with John Fucking Miles on it was definitely A-grade, top-shelf, like the Scotch.

  The problem with the Garden was that there was about a hundred entrances to it. The trick was going to be working out which one to go in, get down, lay the bombs, and get out. Jessie had handed him a camera, an expensive one by the looks, a lens stuck on the front of it big enough to get action shots of Mars with. He was supposed to pull up outside The Garden, take some photos, and head on back to their lair — God damn but we have a real lair this time, it’s got a garage and a weights room and everything — and talk it over. That sounded more fun when there was a better ratio of benzos to blood in his system, so when Jeremy pulled the stretch up on 8th John gave Liselle a kiss and then just kind of stepped out, camera in hand. There was the scream of a horn as a yellow cab went by a little too close, and from John’s frame of reference, a little too fast. John took a breath, realized he wasn’t holding the camera anymore, and looked down at the pieces of it broken on the road.

  Here’s to hoping it wasn’t that expensive.

  Jeremy was at his elbow. “You cool?”

  “I’m cool,” said John. Holy shit, but they moved fast. How’d he even get out here? He was driving two seconds ago. “Who’s driving the stretch?”

  “Details,” said Jeremy. “What are you thinking?” He was pointing at the Garden. “It’s an icon, right?”

  “I’m thinking,” said John, “that someone with a very small penis designed how it looks from the outside. Let’s go.” He swayed a bit, pulled out his phone, ignored the notifications about a hundred messages no one had time to read, and took a photo. “I’m figuring we should probably take the train when we come back.”

  “To Penn?”

  “Yeah,” said John.

  “With a hundred boxes of explosives, assorted assault rifles, and a couple werewolves?” said Jeremy.

  “Makes it sound a little more tricky when you say it like that,” said John. He pushed through the crowds, got through the doors, and started taking photos with his phone as he walked around. He looked at Jeremy. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a couple pointers on how to identify a vampire from a distance?”

  “Aside from the PlayStation tan?” said the vampire.

  “Lots of pale assholes spend too much time in front of their televisions,” said John.

  “Okay,” said Jeremy. “Quick check on vampires. They’re usually the ones who will run towards you screaming for your blood.”

  “Usually?”

  “Sometimes they just walk over,” said Jeremy, “like those two there.” He pointed at two pale figures walking towards them, bright lighting doing nothing to flatter their pallor. The male had some kind of tattooed tear on its face, full Goth black lipstick, and a leather jacket covered in metal studs. The female was dressed in pink — pink leather jacket, pink hair in pigtails, pink hot pants, and a pink belt. No studs, just pink.

  “Uh,” said John, and took another photo with his phone.

  “Really?” said Jeremy. “A photo? Shouldn’t you be running and screaming?”

  “I thought they did the running and screaming,” said John. “Besides, you’re here.”

  “Did you not get the part where I’m not a real vampire yet?” said Jeremy. “Did you not see two of them?”

  “There’s two of us,” said John. “You, with the vampire stuff, and me, John Fucking Miles.”

  “We’re going to die,” said Jeremy, just before the vampires made it to them. The male stepped close to John, while the female stepped close to Jeremy.

  The male leaned in close, sniffing. Taking in John’s scent. The studs on its jacket twinkled in the light. It said, “You are so far from home.” Its breath reeked.

  The female grinned, teeth all sharp points. “We can make them a new home. Here.” Her pigtails bounced.

  “Hey,” said Jeremy. “About that.”

  “Worm,” said the female. “Be still.”

  “Cool,” said Jeremy.

  “Being still is being silent,” she said. She ran her tongue over her pointed teeth. “Being silent is better than being dead.”

  “It’s just—”

  “Silent,” she said again.

  “I’m already on the team,” said Jeremy. He pointed at himself. “No beating heart. Hate sunlight. You know how it is.”

  The male grinned, giggled, then coughed. “And you have brought us a gift. We’ll be sure to let Anatolie know who brought him a new recruit.” He grabbed John by the arm. Fuck me, thought John, this guy’s been using Fat Gripz or some shit, because that is some serious grip strength. Serious.

  “Say,” said John. “I don’t suppose we could talk about this?”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” said the male. “There is just an end that lasts for eternity.”

  “That’s not super appealing,” said John. “Look, can I phone a friend here?”

  The male started walking, and John had to follow. It was like being towed by an uncaring tractor, one that held your arm so tight that the bones rubbed together. They were getting further away from the entrance; John was being pulled towards a dark doorway, one that no doubt went into a hole of concrete and stone and brick that made up the underbelly of the Garden. Which would, no doubt, be away from the sun. John wasn’t sure — he didn’t have the list — but he was positive this wasn’t part of The Plan™. The Plan™, the one that that Val had somewhere in his head, and that Jessie drew all over with a Sharpie. The Plan™ seemed to have survival
of the team as a primary outcome.

  “Look,” said Jeremy. He was craning his head around the female, who wasn’t letting him follow. “I’ll call you. After. Okay?”

  “After?” said John. “What the fuck?”

  “It’ll be cool,” said Jeremy. “Don’t eat the yellow M&Ms.”

  John looked at the male holding him. “Yellow M&Ms?”

  “They’re Anatolie’s,” said the male.

  “Anatolie’s a vampire?”

  “The vampire,” it said. It looked back at him, eyes glinting like mirrors.

  “Look, hold up,” said John.

  The vampire paused. “You are taking this very well for a man who’s about to die,” it said.

  “This is not the worst situation I’ve ever been in,” said John. “Before I get out of it, can I ask a question?”

  “Get out of it?” The thing laughed, lids closing over those mirrored eyes for a moment. “We have all the time in the world. Ask.”

  “If Anatolie — whatever, nice guy I’m sure — is a vampire, what does he do with yellow M&Ms?” John smiled. “You know. Because of all the blood. And eating … is it drinking or eating?”

  “Drinking,” it said, smile gone.

  “Drinking all that blood, right, and the M&Ms, well, they just seem out of place.”

  “Everyone needs a hobby,” it said. It giggled again, more forced this time.

  John looked back at where Jeremy stood with the female vampire. They were talking about something, the female shaking its head.

  “Look,” said John. “You seem like a nice, uh, guy. Just following orders. I’m going to break it down for you. In about ten seconds everyone who’s a vampire in this general vicinity will be dead—” and here, he held up a hand to stall any interruptions “—and I’ll be running away through a crowd of screaming people. So you’ve got ten seconds to let me go, get clear, and enjoy a few more days.”

  The male sniffed at him again. “Are you … are you high?”

  “A little,” John admitted.

  “I remember those days,” it said, then made a sound like uurrrk. It opened its mouth, and blood came out, black as night. It started to paw at its chest, and then it’s ribcage exploded in a shower of gore. The spray hit John in the face, but he’d already closed his eyes and — very important, not often said — his mouth. He wiped his eyes clear in time to see Liselle’s hand coming through the vampire’s chest. The male looked down at the hand, then up at John, surprise on its face a moment before its torso and legs were torn away from each other. Blood rained on the ground, larger bits of meat falling with chunky plop noises.

  Liselle looked at him. “John Miles, you should run.” She frowned. “But first…” She stepped in and kissed him, hard.

  “What was that for?” he said.

  “The kiss in the car was insufficient,” she said.

  “Cool,” he said, then, “there’s more.” He nodded over her shoulder.

  More was a little vague, even for him, but it did the job. Liselle turned, took in the vampires boiling towards them. She dropped into a crouch. No sword, thought John. Still, doesn’t seem like she needs it. He watched her meet the wave of vampires as they broke against her — the first to hit her leaping through the air, hands hooked into claws, teeth bared. She met the leap with what looked to John like a karate chop, except that it crushed the thing’s skull, sheared through half its rib cage, and pulled clean out the other side. The one next to her saw what had happened to the first, and exploded into—

  Well, shit. An actual cloud of insects. Probably locusts, like it said on the side of the box. They swarmed past Liselle, reforming behind her into the vampire, but she was already turning, her hand out, and it reformed around her fist. She pulled it back, tearing the thing’s heart out of its reformed chest, turning away as the body staggered behind her.

  Problem was, they weren’t dying. Sure, they looked all fucked up with nowhere to go, but even that first asshole she’d torn in half was struggling along the ground, leaving a red-to-black smear behind him. John looked around, and there — glimpsed between the screaming people running around and getting underfoot — was a souvenir place. John sprinted to it, or started to before the hole in his torso gave a sharp stabbing pain, even through the benzos, so he slowed to a jog. No one was minding the register at the souvenir place anymore; presumably they’d run off to get underfoot with the rest of the people screaming and trying for a way out. John looked around, checking the racks and shelves. About a thousand different types of baseball cap. There, a huge selection of key rings. A tower of stacked coffee cups, which he knocked over on principle, before he found what he was after. Right next to the embossed paper and postcards was a stack of pencils. He grabbed a fist full then jogged back out.

  Found the male he’d been grabbed by — easy enough to track with the huge trail of red-to-black blood across the ground, deeper into the Garden. John leaned down with the pencil, stabbing it into the thing, right into its heart.

  At least, that’s what he tried to do. The pencil broke. Cheap shitty fucking souvenir pencils—

  “Seriously,” said Jeremy, at his side. “You ever tried to stab someone with a pencil? Never going to work.” He slammed his hand into the other vampire’s back, tearing out the heart, and holding it up. “Here.”

  John pulled out another pencil, skewering the heart with it. The vampire on the ground tried to scream — back arched in silent agony — before it died. They smelled worse after they died, if that was possible.

  “There’s a thing,” said John, after a moment.

  “Your girl,” said Jeremy, watching Liselle building a pile of vampire pieces. “Where’d you meet?”

  “Bar,” said John.

  “I like her work,” said Jeremy. “Let’s go stab some more hearts.”

  “You could do the whole thing,” said John. “Just take the pencils.”

  “Couple of things,” said Jeremy. He counted them off on his fingers, one of his hands bloody to the middle of his arm from where he’d punched through the other vampire’s back. “First, on general principle I feel uncomfortable around the only real thing that can kill me.”

  “Pencils?”

  “Wooden stakes,” said Jeremy. “Size really doesn’t matter.”

  “Second thing?”

  “I want you to feel included,” said the vampire, eyes reflecting the room around them.

  Josef — motherfucking War, thought John — entered. He was still dressed in his singlet and jeans, but he held a blazing sword, red as the new dawn. He didn’t seem to move with any particular hurry, but he was at Liselle’s side in a moment. They stood back to back as vampires circled them.

  “We should probably go,” said Jeremy.

  “Do you know where we’re parked?” said John.

  “I mean, outside,” said Jeremy. “Away from so many things that want to kill you.”

  “Us, you mean,” said John.

  “No, pretty sure they don’t really want to kill me,” said Jeremy.

  “You make a good case,” said John. The main entrance they’d come in through was a mass of panicked people, and mixed in with the mass were a whole heap of vampires tearing them apart as food. John pointed to their left. “There. Fire exit.”

  “It’ll set off alarms,” said Jeremy.

  “I don’t think that’ll make a huge difference,” said John. He set off towards the doorway, then cast a glance back. Josef was swinging his sword — blade as long as the man was tall — through vampires. As the blade touched the vampires, they were consumed by flame, faces an anguish of pain as the sword cut them down. John slowed, then stopped. “What the fuck is that sword?”

  “It’s a holy weapon,” said Jeremy. “Didn’t you go to Sunday school?”

  “Not a huge participant of any kind of school,” said John.

  The vampire’s eyes reflected the fight, the red of the sword a tiny mote of ember in them. “It’s called Fury,” he said after a
moment. “It is one of the four blades that will end this world. You’ve seen one other. Scourge. You … you should hope you never see all four.”

  John looked back at War, wielding Fury against the horde of vampires. “Man, those guys are so fucked.” He glanced at Jeremy. “Present company excluded, I mean.”

  Jeremy looked at him, then back at War fighting back to back with Famine, who was tearing the eternal damned apart with her bare hands. John saw something in the vampire’s face, something almost wistful, and said, “No, it’s okay. Present company included. Eventually. But we should be going.”

  John slammed a hand against the emergency door’s bar and it opened into the cool night air. An alarm went off immediately, red flashing lights bathing the interior of The Garden’s entranceway. A vampire looked over at them, its face desperate, and burst into a cloud of locusts. They swarmed towards John and Jeremy.

  This could be bad. John watched the swarm of locusts get closer, saw Liselle’s face turn fearful as she saw the vampire’s locust cloud getting close to John.

  John wasn’t too concerned. He’d seen the vampire’s face. That was fear right there, fear and a powerful need to be elsewhere, and he expected the vampire’s only desire was to be gone. To escape, to live — probably not the right word, but hey — to fight another day. And, also probably, to warn all the other vampires. A cloud of locusts surrounded John, he could feel them on his skin, in his hair, the sound of the swarm a buzzing that drowned out the alarm. His hand was still on the emergency door’s release bar, so he pulled that back shut with all his strength.

  About half the swarm had made it out, the other half splatting against the closed door. He saw the vampire reform outside, half of it anyway, a ruined line across its stomach where it just … ended. John pushed the door open again, and he and Jeremy walked outside.

  Jeremy punched through the ribcage of the half-vampire outside, and said, “Got another one of those pencils?”

  John stabbed through the offered heart with a pencil, then wiped his hands on his jeans. He took his phone out, taking a few more photos. He paused. “Seriously, who’s with the stretch?”