Knights of Black Swan, Books 7-9 (Knights of Black Swan Box Set Book 3)

by Victoria Danann

  He was moving as quickly as he could, keeping to one side of the alley. He wore dark clothes and was glued to the shadows on the wall while his partner mirrored his actions on the other side. He was so intent on reaching the girl in time, that he never saw the shadow in front of him take form until it had sunk its teeth into his trapezius. He yelled out from the shock or the pain or the anger at being overtaken.

  In less than five seconds his partner had staked the vampire from behind. It slumped to the ground between them. The two knights stood and stared at each other in the dim light, a world of communication passing between them. It was a rookie mistake. He’d let his emotions, his desire to save that girl, override his training.

  Rev had been partners with Jorge for seven years. The bond they shared couldn’t be described to anyone who’d never had the experience of being certain they were going to die. He’d shared that experience with Jorge many times.

  They couldn’t say how long it would be before Rev was overtaken. The resurgent strain was converting humans much faster than the old virus. Minutes.

  In the darkness he could see the shine of tears streaking down Jorge’s face. There wasn’t anything to say. They both knew the score. They both knew that, if Jorge had been given the choice, he’d trade places with his partner. For seven years they’d patrolled together. And for seven years each had silently reaffirmed that he would give his life for his partner. If it came to that.

  Rev didn’t look panic-stricken. He didn’t even look upset. He simply smiled at his partner and Jorge would never forget what he said. “I love you, brother. Quit this madness. Find a girl. Live a long life. Give your babies a kiss from me. And remember there’s never a good day to die.” Then he held his arms out to his sides.

  According to the explicit instructions they’d been given on how to proceed in such a circumstance, they both knew what had to be done. Jorge raised his stake, but the uncontrollable sobs were racking his body so hard he was afraid he would miss Rev’s heart. He knew he had to get control of his feelings long enough to dispatch his friend or cause unnecessary suffering. And there was already enough suffering. He loved Rev Farthing far too much to let his execution be anything besides quick.

  So he sucked in two deep breaths, gritted his teeth, gave his head a vigorous shake, and screamed at the same time he summoned all his might toward driving the stake into his fellow knight’s heart. He did a good job. Rev didn’t linger. Jorge sank to his knees next to the body and called the cleanup location in to his Sovereign.

  For a while he sat motionless next to his partner’s corpse, feeling a hundred years old and wishing he had died, too. Then he leaned down, planted a kiss on his Rev’s cooling forehead, left the cell phone lying on top of the body and walked away. Away from the alley. Away from his partner’s corpse. And away from Black Swan.

  When cleanup arrived a few minutes later, all they found was one dead vampire and Jorge’s cell phone lying on the ground not far away.

  The following morning, the Rio Unit Sovereign set down his coffee, opened his portaputer and TOP SECRET file on the transfer of Sir Farthing to Jefferson Unit in New Jersey. Everything seemed to be in order. He’d just never heard of an urgent middle-of-the-night transfer before. “Nice of them to tell me,” he grumbled before getting to work on revising the schedule rotations.

  Shamayim

  Kellareal found Sol in the library that had been created for his benefit, sitting at a table in the middle of an immense room with a four story ceiling and gallery views of the stacks on every floor. Sol was looking down at the book he was reading, but looked up when he caught movement in his peripheral vision. He watched the angel approach and stop in front of him on the other side of the table.

  “Mind if I sit?”

  Kellareal was wearing the white robe that was his customary uniform when he visited the planes of Phase One. Sol’s eyes drifted over him before making a conciliatory gesture toward a chair on the other side of the table. He closed the book he’d been reading. “Do I know you?”

  “The answer is no, but only because of chance. We narrowly missed meeting. There was an incident involving one of your knights and I ended up being in and out of Jefferson Unit for a while. You were away on holiday.”

  “What incident?” Sol’s brow furrowed as he instantly slipped into caretaker mode and became more concerned about the fact that one of his knights was involved in an “incident” than about the fact that he was stuck in some kind of pastoral purgatory. “Which knight?”

  Kellareal responded with the barest of smiles. “All was resolved and is well. At present, the topic of conversation is what to do about you.” The angel glanced around. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Instantly they were seated at the bar where Sol had conversed with Ragnal over a beer. The same pleasant-looking bartender put two chilled Lone Star beers on the bar.

  “Anything else?” He looked from Sol to Kellareal and back to Sol.

  Sol shook his head.

  Kellareal said, “No. Thank you,” and watched the man until he was out of sight. His black eyes slid back to Sol.

  “You were saying…” Sol did revolutions in the air with his right hand to hurry the Enforcer along. “…what to do about me.”

  “You know, your sense of self-preservation doesn’t seem to be fully developed.”

  Sol searched Kellareal’s face. He’d made note of the angel’s height and unusual looks. White blond hair and black eyes wasn’t exactly a common color combination.

  “You want me to be afraid of you?”

  The angel grinned. “No.” He scraped a hand back and forth over his chin. “But most people are.” Sol started to open his mouth, but Kellareal held a hand up. “I know. You’re experiencing some anxiety and you want me to move toward the point.”

  Sol waited.

  “Well, it’s good news.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. We found you a body. One that’s perfect as a matter of fact. Actually better than your old one.”

  “Hey. There was nothing wrong with my body.”

  “Okay. Simmer down. I’m just saying you might accept the transition easier if you consider this an upgrade.

  “A thirty-one-year-old Black Swan knight was the victim of a vampire bite in Rio last night while on patrol. He was staked by his partner, according to procedure. But I guess you know all about procedure. We recovered the body in time to heal the wounds and purge the bacteria that interacts so badly with human biology in your world.

  “We also forged transfer papers to New Jersey. As far as his former unit commander knows…”

  “Sovereign.”

  “Yes. His former Sovereign. As far as he’s concerned Sir Farthing is on his way to Fort Dixon right now.”

  If Solomon Nememiah had ever been more excited, he’d lost track of that memory. He was going back. He tried out the name to see how it felt on his tongue. “Farthing.” He realized that he probably shouldn’t be giddy about some poor devil’s fate, but he told himself that it was circle of life stuff. One creature benefits from another’s misfortune.

  “Wait a minute. The vampire bite… it wasn’t, uh…”

  “No. No. Relax. It was pure fate. The man was in the wrong place at the wrong time and that’s all there was to it.

  “Sir Reverence Foster Farthing. Rev for short. There’ll be a scar over your heart where he was staked so you’ll need to come up with a cover story in case you’re asked. Bicycle accident as a child or something like that.”

  Kellareal grinned. “And I know you don’t care one way or the other, but most people who see you in your new body? The first thing they’re going to think is that you’re good-looking.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. I don’t care about that. What I do care about is the catch.”

  “Catch? Ah. The fine print. Very astute because indeed there is some.”

  “Thought so. Let’s have it.” Sol gave his beer bottle several rotations on the bar without lifting it u
p.

  “First, you have to agree formally that you will never tell anyone who you were.”

  Sol nodded.

  “Second, some of Farthing’s memories may be embedded in the brain circuitry and that could cause some confusion. Could take some getting used to.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “Last, you’ll be deposited into a healthy new body on its way to Jefferson Unit to take up the position of active duty knight. We’re putting you on the chess board with all the tools you require. What happens after that is up to you.”

  “I guess it’s the best I could hope for.”

  Kellareal smiled and put his hand on Sol’s shoulder. “It’s better than I thought was possible. You fought the law and damned if you didn’t win. Everybody knows it doesn’t get better than that.”

  “I guess I owe you a thank you. So. Thank you. When do I leave?”

  The angel laughed.

  Sol blinked and when he opened his eyes he was on a company jet that was taxiing. He looked out the window to a view he knew very well. The plane was pulling up to The Order’s private hangar at Fort Dixon. He moved his hands to unbuckle his seatbelt, but the action felt unfamiliar. No hint of carpal tunnel or reminder of the finger he’d broken in Seville.

  He looked down at the young strong hands in his lap, the long fingers and large knuckles, the smoothness and even skin tone, the healthy veins. All of a sudden he couldn’t wait to stand up and get to a mirror.

  When Kellareal had talked about his looks, he told the truth when he said that was the last of his concerns, but facing the very real prospect of a new identity put that in a different light. The desire to know what he looked like was as intense as a compulsion.

  When he felt the plane’s brakes make that final stop, he swung up and out of his seat with the easy athleticism of a much younger man. The flight attendant came toward him. She wasn’t just smiling. She was flirting.

  “Let me get that for you, sir.” She pulled a bleached duffel down from the overhead and put her hand on his bicep in a way that was clearly invitational. “Did you enjoy your flight?”

  He smiled back at her, appreciating the attention as someone who had once taken sexual magnetism for granted, then woke up one day to realize that he was no longer turning heads. “I must have. It seemed to go by really fast.”

  She giggled.

  A jeep was pulling up just as he descended the last step and set foot on the tarmac.

  “Airman Konolkin, at your service, sir.” The young driver took Sol’s duffel and put it in the back of the jeep.

  “Airman.” Sol nodded once and swung up into the vehicle. “Nice day.”

  “Indeed it is, sir. Have you been to Fort Dixon before?”

  As Sol stared straight ahead he was overwhelmed by the deluge of memories that question evoked. He felt his face soften into a small smile. “Yes. I have. Looking forward to being back.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When he was dropped in front of Jefferson Unit, Sol shouldered his duffel and stood staring at the front of the building. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t really believed he’d ever be back in a body entering J.U. again. He heard his stomach rumble and laughed out loud. He was hungry! Hungry and eager to see what he looked like.

  He stepped inside the door and was standing on the outer circle of The Hub a few seconds later. There was definitely more hustle and bustle than the last time he’d stood in that spot. The extra activity looked good on J.U. His entrance hadn’t garnered any attention so he took the moment of temporary anonymity to turn right toward the men’s room.

  A man was coming out, someone Sol didn’t recognize, but who had to be a hunter based on his age and the way he carried himself. He breathed a little sigh of relief thinking there was no one else in the restroom, but had to rethink that when he turned toward the mirrored wall.

  His first thought was that there was someone else and that he’d have to wait. Then he realized that the stranger looking back at him, mirroring his every movement, was Rev Farthing. He let the duffel slide to the floor and approached the mirror, slowly examining every detail of the reflection.

  Cripes! No wonder the flight attendant was a little gaga. That angel fellow didn’t lie. The kid in the mirror was damn good-looking. Light brown hair, dark brown eyes, and tanned skin pretty enough to be a woman’s. At least he thought that would be the case once he shaved off the travel scruff. He hesitated at the top button of his shirt feeling a little gay about peeping, but by the gods, it was his body and he deserved to have a look at it.

  He pulled the sides of his shirt apart to reveal well-defined abs kept in top working condition. His eyes followed a natural path to the happy trail. He asked himself if he had a good excuse for a look at the package and decided that a piss stop was as good an excuse as any. So he unzipped, pulled out, looked up into the mirror and grinned at himself. Yeah. The angel was right. He could have done a lot worse.

  Once he got all that pretty hair buzzed away from his head he’d start to settle into the new house of flesh.

  Overseer Dimension

  “Enforcer. You need to keep an eye on the vampire aberration on that outpost.” Heralda didn’t bother to look at Kellareal when she addressed him.

  “Very well. What does ‘keeping an eye’ entail?”

  She stopped what she was doing and looked at him. “We’ll assist that band of boys. What was the name?”

  “Animal House?”

  “No. The human boys.”

  “The Order of the Black Swan.”

  “Yes. We’ll give them just enough support to begin turning the tide their way, but not enough to raise suspicion of divine intervention or something of the sort. The last thing we need is another era of people claiming to have gods on their side.”

  “You’re going to sponsor them? Black Swan, that is?”

  Huber barked out a laugh, stopped abruptly and began sniffing the air in every direction. “Does anyone else smell irony on the grill?” he giggled. “The mother of vampire is sponsoring vampire hunters. If this ever gets out…”

  “Shut it, Huber.” Heralda heaved a sigh while she considered goosing Huber with a small lightning bolt. She turned back to the angel, appearing more bored than anything. “Yes. I will sponsor them. Keep me posted.”

  “All right. Do you have a goal in mind?”

  “Um. How do they count time?” Kellareal showed her a vision of time in year increments. “Two hundred years.” Kellareal didn’t move or change expression. “Too long or too short?”

  “In terms of their life spans, that’s eight generations.”

  “Oh. Make it one hundred years then.”

  The angel bowed and vanished before she changed her mind. He knew her habits all too well.

  CHAPTER 8

  Jefferson Unit, New Jersey

  Rev Farthing went straight to the Sovereign’s office. He recognized the kid sitting at the assistant’s desk in the outer office. Bo Barrock.

  Bo looked up. “Yes, sir? Can I help you?”

  “Rev Farthing reporting for duty.” He looked toward the closed door. “Who’s the acting Sovereign?”

  “Sir Catch. Glendennon Catch.”

  “Sir Catch? Not Sovereign Catch?” Sol felt the same little rush of pride he always felt when one of his boys was inducted into the knighthood. That feeling of accomplishment never seemed to get old.

  “No sir. It’s kind of a long story. Basically though, the unit Sovereign passed away and Glen, um, Sovereign Catch is one of the people filling in until he can be permanently replaced.”

  “Thank you, Mr.,” Sol made a point of leaning back to read the on-duty-now name plate on the desk, “Barrock. Would it be possible for me to speak with Sir Catch?”

  “Just a second, let me ask.” Bo rose and turned his back to Sol to knock lightly on the Sovereign’s door. He opened it, stuck his head in, and said something to Catch.

  In another couple of seconds, the door was jerked wide
open. Bo had to step out of the way as Glen advanced on Sol smiling with his hand out.

  “Glendennon Catch. So glad to have you here.” Sol shook his hand. “You stiff from the flight? What is it? Ten hours?”

  “Yeah. About that. And, no, I’m doing all right.”

  Glen waved toward his office. “Good. Good. Come on in. You want something?”

  “Well, to be honest, I haven’t had breakfast. I was going to check in with you and then try to scare something up.”

  “No hunting necessary. We like to take first things first. Bo,” Glen turned to his assistant, “Get the kitchen to bring us the works.” Turning back to Sol, he said, “What do you like?”

  “American all the way. Eggs. Bacon. Hash browns. Biscuits. Orange juice. Coffee.”

  “No pancakes?”

  Sol grinned at Glen. “A side of pancakes with warm maple syrup would be heaven.”

  “Heaven, huh? Well, let’s see what we can do.” He motioned Sol into the office while he told Bo to bring the food to the conference room and call when it arrived.

  When they were both seated in the office, Glen turned to Sol. “So. Again. Welcome. Bo said you asked to speak to me?”

  “I did. I want to apply for the job of Sovereign.”

  Glen had just raised a coffee cup to his lips and sputtered a little which caused some of the liquid to go down the wrong way and some to land on his keyboard. When Glen started wheezing, Sol stood up, but Glen stopped him with a wave. “Just give me a second,” he said in a strained and breathy voice as he tried to return his breathing to normal.

  When he was once again in control of respiratory function, he looked across the desk at Sol with eyes slightly narrowed and a studious look on his face.

  “What makes you think the position is open?”

  “The HELP WANTED sign on the door.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I heard that you’re in line for impending field duty. Do you have somebody in line to take over here?”