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

by Victoria Danann

  “Stop right there!” He stalked toward us while the door closed behind him and motioned us toward the empty waitin’ room. We did no’ sit down and neither did he.

  “Look”, he started, “I know you three are going through a rough patch. I’ve been there. Lan meant something to you. I understand that better than you think. Teammates always feel that way, but you just took it upon yourselves to make a decision that could endanger everybody in this unit.”

  I did no’ roll my eyes, but that sounded like exaggeration to me. Nonetheless, even I know no’ to poke the sovereign when he’s on a tirade. Especially no’ that particular sovereign.

  “I know you’ve got problems with authority. Hell. That’s half the reason why you’re here. But you either compromise with the management - that would be me - or you’re no good to this organization.” He looked at each of us, one at a time, like he was tryin’ to drive his point home. “Is there any chance I’m making myself clear?”

  Kay and I nodded, but Stormy just stared at Sol. Actin’ the stubborn fool if you ask me. I mean it does no’ cost much to let Sol think he’s in charge and it keeps him out of our way.

  Sol ran his hand over his buzz cut and said, “We have to finish the inquiry.”

  I blew out a big breath that barely disguised the ‘Great Paddy’ on my tongue. I needed a drink.

  He must have seen something in our faces because he said, “But we can do it another day.”

  Let me tell you, Sol bein’ a softee is almost scarier than Sol on the warpath. Makes you wonder what’s comin’ next. I figured, whatever it was, would go down easier if it was chasin’ after a glass of fine Irish whiskey.

  Storm insisted that he wanted to stay a while. And I noticed that I was feelin’ better ever since the bloody visitor had been taken behind closed doors.

  Out of sight. Out of mind. Or so I thought.

  CHAPTER 6

  Ram

  The next mornin’ Storm came out to say goodbye when Kay and I were takin’ off for leave.

  “Come home with me. We’ve got plenty of room and my family is crazy about you.” Kay tried one last time to get Storm to change his mind about stayin’.

  “Yeah. I appreciate it, but I’m gonna take my leave here,” Storm answered.

  “You sure?” Kay said. Storm nodded. Putting an affectionate hand on his partner’s shoulder, Kay said, “You know that ‘Confucius say’ about being responsible for someone if you save their life?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well. It’s not true.”

  Storm laughed good-naturedly. “I’m good. It’s what I want. Go home. Make home movies of you having marathon sex with your girl. Eat nachos and tacos and burritos and whatever else. Annoy the hell out of your sisters. And I’ll be here when you get back.”

  Turnin’ to me, he said. “Rammel. Take care. Don’t forget how to get back here.”

  I went through the motion of smilin’ without feelin’ it and wondered if I’d ever feel like smilin’ again. “Aye. See you in October.”

  “October,” he repeated and I thought it sounded as wistful as I felt.

  I caught a company plane to Edinburgh. Farnsworth had arranged for a private charter that would get me within strikin’ distance of the New Forest. I was the only one on the plane, which was good by me. I was cravin’ my own company something fierce and just wanted to be left alone while I sorted out my feelin’s about Lan bein’ gone and how he’d died.

  When Storm saw us off, we all knew that there was a question mark about the future. Some guys did no’ come back after losin’ a teammate. I did no’ know how I’d feel about it after three months away. At that point, I was just takin’ it one day at a time.

  Liam kept my white mare for me, made sure she was cared for and exercised. She was a magnificent animal and I enjoyed the ride to the cottage. She was eager for a run and I thought the poundin’ reverberatin’ through my body would do me good. It did. But no’ nearly as much good as steppin’ off the horse in front of my cottage. It felt like the first time I’d taken in a full breath, all the way down to the bottom of my lungs, since I’d looked across that alley and seen Lan bein’ murdered.

  I listened to the quiet. No sounds but birdsong and the rustle of leaves. I would no’ want it told widely, but knowin’ I was completely alone, I buried my face in the horse’s neck and cried like a baby. It felt like the hole that had opened up inside me would never be filled. It would always be a giant gapin’ wound.

  And I wished it had been me, instead of Lan. If life was bein’ passed out to the deservin’, he was a hel of a lot more deservin’.

  I passed the time much as I did when I’d been there as a child. I hunted. I fished. I read. I played the guitar. I observed the creatures in the woods.

  When I had bad dreams about Lan’s death, I got up in the night and poured myself a shot of amber gold elixir. I did no’ drink straight out of the bottle because I know ‘tis a slippery slope. Especially when you’re alone with nothin’ for company but your own demons.

  I was certain the New Forest would take me in its embrace and give me healin’. It had always been my refuge. No’ to get overly poetic, but to me it had been the essence of home, a light in the dark. And it had never failed to give me comfort.

  Until then.

  After six weeks of wrestlin’ with the horror of losin’ my partner and best friend, watchin’ his throat ripped away from his body five feet away from where I was standin’, horrified and useless, I came to the unavoidable conclusion that solitude was no’ workin’. I thought perhaps a distraction might.

  Instead of drinkin’ alone, perhaps drinkin’ with others…

  So I tidied up the cottage, stuffed the duffel, and headed back to the modernity of nightlife in Belfast. I got a room over one of the rowdiest bars in the whole of the town, thinkin’ that I would no’ sleep deeply enough to have nightmares. It was sound logic and might have worked except for the fact that I was drinkin’ and fuckin’ at night then sleepin’ all the day long when it was relatively quiet.

  After a couple of weeks of that I was restless and ready to move on. I paid the bill, gathered my belongin’s, pulled my cap down low and walked to the motorway. After a time I caught a ride with a truck driver.

  Openin’ the passenger door, I said, “How far south are ye goin’?”

  “Goin’ home,” he said. “I can take you as far as Ballynahich.”

  “Much obliged,” I said, climbin’ up.

  Within minutes of findin’ shelter inside the vehicle, the drizzle turned into a peltin’ rain and I was grateful to be out of it. The windshield blades were workin’ hard to give us visibility, but ‘twas a losin’ proposition.

  “You know,” he said, glancin’ over at me, “you look a little like the younger prince.”

  I smiled. “Yeah. I’m told so often. I think I’m better lookin’ than the royal fucker though.”

  He laughed and said, “I’m Kevin Durry.”

  I hesitated, no’ wantin’ to give my name. Before I knew it I heard myself sayin’, “Basil Landsdowne.” It gave me the eeriest feelin’ to have claimed to be my departed partner, but at the same time I had the strange sense that he was somehow kept alive by my speakin’ his name out loud.

  “So what’s waitin’ for ye down south?”

  “Hopin’ to make my way to Dublin.”

  “Got a job waitin’ there?”

  I shook my head. “Whiskey and women.”

  He laughed. I took him for forty, give or take. “I remember a time when those two pursuits were the most important things in my life.”

  “Yeah? What about now?”

  “Got a wife and two boys. Got a cat, but I do no’ claim it. Belongs to my wife.” He chuckled. “’Tis a solid life. A good life. And I have a new perspective on what’s important.”

  “Sounds like you’re a lucky man.”

  “Indeed. I could no’ ask for more.” He turned to me with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Unless �
��twas a palace in Derry, o’course.”

  Busted. I looked at the road ahead. “I’m sure ‘tis no’ all ‘tis thought to be.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see that Kevin Durry was nodding. “Nothin’ ever is.”

  “But still, is there no’ something more you dream about? Havin’ or doin’ or bein’?”

  “Well, everyone has something like that I suppose. I always wanted to play the fiddle, but I’m thinkin’ ‘tis too late for that.”

  “Maybe. Maybe no’,” I answered.

  He let me off. “Here we are. Best of luck to ye, young… Basil, was it?”

  “Aye. Thanks again, Kevin.”

  He drove away, revealin’ that he had let me off across the street from an establishment named the Ramery Inn. For the first time since Lan’s death, I laughed out loud.

  I trotted across the street and got a room. I was still damp from the drizzle earlier. Dry clothes, hot tea, and a nap in clean sheets seemed like a brilliant idea. ‘Twas the first time since Lan’s death that my first impulse was no’ whiskey. I’m no’ much of a philosopher, but I took it as a sign of spiritual progress.

  It took three more rides to get to Dublin’s Temple Bar on the Liffey. As it turned out, my relief from the urge to drink was temporary.

  ‘Twas no’ my first time in the capital of drink, song, and girls. I knew my way ‘round and knew exactly where I would stay. There was a pub a few blocks away from the tourist haunts that had rooms above. There are no’ that many tourists in mid-September, but there were always some.

  I spent the next two weeks lookin’ for ways to keep my mind off what had happened. I drank. I whored. I fished. I even went to the zoo. Nothin’ alleviated the lost feelin’ that had settled into my gut and taken up residence.

  Finally I came to the conclusion that runnin’ was no’ helpin’. Black Swan spelled out how grief leave was supposed to be spent. It was even in a manual. Associates of the slain were supposed to go home, spend time in familiar surroundin’s amid familiar people, like friends and family. ‘Twas supposed to be a reminder of what we’re fightin’ for I think.

  I wondered if there was something wrong with me because that’s the last thing I wanted. Still, bein’ impulsive was no’ gettin’ me any closer to peace or makin’ a decision about whether or no’ I wanted to go back to Black Swan.

  I wandered the streets around Temple Bar with my black knit cap pulled low and hands in my pockets. I walked along the river, strolled the university grounds, and felt nothin’ so much as the feelin’ of loss that was beginnin’ to be as much a part of me as my hands or feet. Nothin’ interested me. Nothin’ cheered me. Nothin’, no’ even whiskey, took the edge off the pain. Orgasms gave me a few seconds of pleasure and blessed nothin’ness, but before I could even get my pants zipped, the plague of sorrow was back like a devil sittin’ on my shoulders.

  Every now and then the sound of laughter would make me raise my head to see who ‘twas that was enjoyin’ life. I hated people who laughed. Everything about that seemed wrong. Lan was dead.

  I asked myself what I would do if I decided no’ to report to Jefferson Unit on October 2nd. My life, since the age of thirteen, had been spent in preparation to be a Black Swan knight. And regardless of the fact that I had failed to save my partner from the end all knights fear, and expect, I knew I was good at it.

  Concludin’ that driftin’ in a whiskey haze was never goin’ to make things better, I took a taxi to the airport and, for the first time in my life, got a ticket on a commercial airline. For New York.

  While I was waitin’ for boardin’, I called Farnsworth and asked for a favor.

  ~~~

  Kevin Durry answered the knock at his door, wondering who might be calling on a Sunday morning. A studious-looking man stood on the stoop holding a beautifully polished violin in one hand and its case in the other.

  “Mr. Durry?”

  “Aye?”

  “I’m Miles Copeland, your teacher. You’ve been given a fine instrument and music lessons for life or as long as you wish, whichever comes first.”

  Kevin Durry stared at Mr. Copeland for a full minute before he started to laugh. “Come bearin’ dreams, have ye? Well, then, do no’ just stand there. Come inside. I have some fiddlin’ to learn.”

  ~~~

  Aer Lingus landed at JFK a little before two in the afternoon. I looked out the window, thinkin’ that the gray sky looked just the same on the other side of the Atlantic. I let a taxi driver stow the duffel in the trunk of his cab.

  “Club Quarters hotel. You know where it is?”

  “Yeah.”

  Frankly I was impressed by that because the Club Quarters was a tiny hotel and off the beaten track. I had noticed it when we’d been on patrol in the area and ‘twas the only reason I picked it.

  The closer we got to Manhattan, the greater was my sense of dread, and I was startin’ to think I’d made a bad choice. Still, I figured the only way I was goin’ to decide whether or no’ I’d quit Black Swan was to confront the nightmare.

  I guess I was lucky they had a room. It had no’ occurred to me that they would no’ until the desk clerk said, “You’re in luck. We’ve had a cancellation.”

  “I’m in luck,” I said drily, no’ feelin’ so in the least.

  A bell hop, younger than I, showed me to the room.

  I said, “Just a minute,” then fished through the stuff in my duffel. I retrieved my Dopp kit, then handed the entire duffel to the kid. In truth he was probably only a couple of years younger than I, but I think Black Swan knights tend to age faster on the inside. At least that’s how I was feelin’. Old. “Take this and get everything laundered, even the duffel.” I handed him an Irish fifty pound note and said, “There’ll be another one of those if you can get it done by ten o’clock tonight.”

  He turned the note over in his hand as if he thought it might be play money.

  “Oh, sorry. I did no’ change money. I’m sure there’s a currency converter near here, but ‘tis worth about,” I stopped to do a mental calculation, “seventy-five dollars.”

  His face lit up. “Thank you, sir. You will have these back by ten tonight.”

  “Good man,” I said.

  Then he was gone and I was left with nothin’ but my own thoughts and traffic noise driftin’ up from several stories below. Old single pane windows do no’ shut out a lot of noise nor keep in a lot of heat. I headed downstairs to the street in pursuit of the thing that had brought me there.

  The alley where Lan had died was only three blocks away. I’m sure I was stiff from long hours on the plane and the walk would probably have felt good if I’d been aware of my body.

  I spent a lot of time in midtown, but rarely saw it in daylight. The city felt like an entirely different place. Or maybe ‘twas just knowin’ that vampire were no’ out and about.

  Within a few minutes I was standin’ on the very spot where it happened. I was first struck by the fact that it was clean. Five vampire, two girls, and one knight lost their lives, but there was no’ a hint of it. I supposed that was the whole point of havin’ a well-trained, well-paid cleanup crew.

  I do no’ know if it would have made me feel better to find traces of blood. Probably no’. Still, it seemed wrong that every sign had been erased.

  A sudden gust of cold wind blew through the alley. I pulled the collar of my boiled wool jacket close to my throat and slid down the brick wall until I squatted with my back to it. I do no’ know how long I stayed like that, relivin’ the scene in my mind. But the light was fadin’ when I stood up.

  There was a deli across the street that had counter seats facin’ the windows. I walked over, ordered a corned beef on rye big enough to feed two grown men or one Black Swan knight, and sat down where I could see the alley. I stayed there and watched it get dark. The lights of the city came on when dusk turned the sky charcoal gray.

  I can no’ say where my thoughts took me durin’ that time. I think I mostly thought
about my partner, what sort of man he’d become right in front of my eyes, as we grew up together. I stared straight ahead at that alley replayin’ all the things we’d shared in my head, work and play.

  I heard someone say, “Closing down, sir.”

  I looked up at the fella speakin’ and nodded. “Okay.”

  It was late enough that the street was quieter. I walked across and stood in the alley again, thinkin’ that, at the very least, there ought to be a plaque with his name on it.

  I do no’ know if I said it out loud or no’, but I was askin’, “What would you want me to do, Lan?”

  And I heard his answer clearly as if he’d spoken to me in physical form. I will never know if ‘twas my imagination or my friend speakin’ to me from beyond. But I heard him say, “Go back, Ram. If not for you, then do it for me. There’s a job to finish. And a whole lot of living still to do. Don’t let my death define either my life or yours.”

  The pall that had hung so heavy seemed to give way in that moment and I felt myself take a breath in. All the way to the bottom of my lungs. It was as if I’d decided to live after all, and a peace settled over me that I had thought I’d never experience again.

  Lan’s death would no’ define his life.

  ‘Twas then I felt it, that sixth sense that hunters develop after a while. I knew without physical sight that there was a vamp close by. My head had been in such a fog I’d let myself get caught in Midtown after midnight without a sign of a weapon.

  I looked around. The light was dim, but next to the dumpsters somebody had left some wooden pallets that had seen better days. They were broken up in places so that some of the wood slats naturally broke into pieces shaped like sharp-pointed stakes, just big enough to fit well in an elf’s hand. I slid over and broke one off as quietly as possible.

  The vamp had his back to me. He was haulin’ a pedestrian into the alley, his hand over her mouth. I had to calculate the exact distance with which to drive a stake through his back. Just enough to pierce his heart without goin’ all the way through and injurin’ the girl.