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

by Victoria Danann

  He looked into Wakey’s eyes for a minute, his knight’s oath replaying in his head on a loop. He nodded. “Capture. Don’t kill.”

  Wakenmann lowered his chin and said firmly, “If possible.”

  He didn’t wait for a response from Falcon. He took off toward the other end of the alley, but by that time, they heard voices calling their names.

  When Glen reached the head of the alley and turned in, he had no less than three seconds to confirm that the figure running toward him, regardless of gender, was vampire. He raised his tranq gun and fired. The dart went straight into her heart, immediately releasing a sedative powerful enough to take her down in less than two full steps, especially since it had been calibrated for a much larger body than hers.

  She stopped, looked at him with wide crazed eyes, then looked at the dart in her chest. She took hold of it to pull it free, but the chemicals were already running through her bloodstream.

  The vampire crumpled into a heap that mimicked death. Everyone present recognized that she had been the J.U. Operations Manager.

  “Great Paddy,” Ram said softly, almost reverently.

  Storm looked up to see Falcon running toward them. When he realized that the kid wasn’t slowing down, Storm stepped in front of the vampire’s body.

  “Get out of the way!” cried Falcon.

  Storm deftly moved to the side, turned, stepped behind Falcon and gripped him in a wrestling hold so that he couldn’t move. “Hold on. We need to secure the nails and fangs.”

  “Don’t talk about her like that!” Falcon raged, using all his youthful strength to try and get away from Storm’s hold on him.

  “Okay,” Storm said. “I won’t talk about her that way. Just calm down while we make the situation secure.”

  Storm looked at Wakenmann who seemed to be in almost as much agony as Falcon. Clearly he couldn’t stand witnessing the emotional dismantling of the guy who’d been his partner for much longer than he’d been officially called that.

  Rev had stepped away a few paces and made two calls. First was to the clean up van to come pick up Monq’s research subject. Second was to his wife to tell her that the woman she’d worked next to every day for six years wouldn’t be coming back to work. Or even to humanity.

  Ten minutes later the unmarked white van backed into the alley. The clean up crew had experience with safely securing transports bound for Monq’s labs. They’d done it many times. They had a specialized gurney with restraints strong enough to hold any vampire and additional sedative if there was a traffic jam in the tunnel. They’d figured out that it was safer to just secure the vampire in the van designed for that purpose where they’d be able to drive into sublevel access at J.U. rather than try to manage loading on and off a whister and two elevators.

  After carefully duct taping her mouth closed and just as carefully covering her hands with big thick gloves, the crew hoisted her into the van and restrained her on a specially-made gurney that could be wheeled right into the cell that had been custom designed by Monq to hold a vampire.

  When they started to close up, Falcon grabbed hold of the door nearest him. “I want to ride with her.”

  The driver looked at Rev as if to ask what to do. Wakenmann stepped in front of Falcon, made sure that he was looking him in the eye and almost whispered, “Kris. That’s not her.”

  Falcon searched Wakey’s eyes as he tried to make himself say, “I know”, but the words couldn’t get past the giant lump clogging his throat. All he could force past a clenched jaw and vocal cords thickened with pain was, “Going.”

  Glen didn’t know anything about Falcon and his attachment to Genevieve Bonheur, but he’d had enough experience with love gone south to know that look. He felt sorry for the poor bastard, but that was as much empathy as he could afford to drain from the meager well of emotion left in his heart.

  Rev started to say, “I don’t…” but he didn’t get any further into that sentence before Wakey yelled, “HE’S GOING! OKAY?!?”

  Normally speaking to a Sovereign in an argumentative way, particularly with raised voice, would not be tolerated and especially not by that particular Sovereign. But in recent years Rev Farthing had come to know that there was an emotional side to life that was just as powerful as duty and honor. Married life had also given him some insight into the wisdom of picking your battles.

  The Sovereign cleared his throat and decided dignity would be saved all around. “I was going to say that I don’t see any reason why not.”

  Wakenmann’s shoulders relaxed and he had the good sense to look contrite. “Sorry, sir. Begging your pardon. I got carried away.”

  Rev simply nodded and left it at that.

  Seven knights watched the van pull away and stood silent for a minute after it had gone.

  Rev was first to speak. “Catch. We’re a man down. I’m going to head back with Chorzak and Wakenmann. You take my place on B Team.”

  Glen nodded. He was used to being odd man out in a game too much like musical chairs. He sighed as B Team watched the three men walk away. He was thinking that there had been a time when, if he’d been told he was going to get to patrol with the legendary B Team for a night, he’d have thought he’d won the Black Swan lottery. As a matter of fact, it was Engel Storm who had impressed Glen so much, as a teenager, that Glen had decided he would cast his lot for knighthood, even though, after his time in Edinburgh at headquarters, he could have had just about any job he’d wanted within the organization.

  No doubt there’d been some hero worship on his part and a desire to emulate Sir Storm to the best of his ability. But a whole lot of sludge had flowed under the bridge since then. Some of it gory. Some of it nasty. But all of it had taken up residence in Glen’s heart and mind, and left him feeling always the outsider. Always alone.

  After what seemed like a respectful amount of time, Storm ambled away. Kay went with him.

  Ram’s sharp eyes took Glen in and seemed to appraise his mood. “Okay, partner. Looks like we’re on the other side of the street.” Glen made no response other than to fall in beside Ram. “Maybe we can salvage some of this misbegotten evenin’. Tell me where your travels have taken ye and what you’ve been up to.”

  Ram didn’t miss the fact that Glen almost winced at that question. Apparently Glen would rather be boiled in oil than talk about how he’d spent the past five years.

  “Believe me,” he said, “hearing about my life wouldn’t salvage your evening. I’ve got a much better idea. You tell me about you and Elora. Is Blackie still alive? Helm must be big.”

  Ram angled his chin upward so that he was looking down his nose at Glen. He knew Glen was deflecting, but figured the kid had a right to his privacy.

  “Oh, aye. Blackie would be growlin’ if he heard you suggest that he might be beyond his prime. Helm is a firecracker. Got it from his mother.” Glen had to snort at that. “What? I was no’ a difficult child.” Glen looked at him sideways. “Well, I may have been a bit of trouble, but do no’ be tellin’ Helm that.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good.”

  “He’s going to find out about your childhood, you know.”

  “Well, maybe that can be delayed until I can explain.”

  “Right.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When Rosie had left the land of the Exiled, she simply wasn’t in a frame of mind to go home. She needed to find something to make her feel useful and she had. She’d located dozens of dimensions where humans had played around with genetic engineering and, in every case, they’d created a species superior to themselves while clinging to the notion of their own superiority. Almost all treated the hybrids badly, restricting their freedoms and viewing them as lower classes to be exploited.

  At times it had required a lot of self-discipline to keep from using her special abilities to right wrongs, especially when the wrongs were directed against hybrids. But she’d made a promise to herself that she would not do anything an ordinary elemental, like her grandf
ather, could do. She handed out print collateral, organized meetings, and used every means of persuasion available to her to appeal to sympathy and sense of fair play.

  She would organize a group, populate it with true believers, arm them with enough print collateral and righteous fire to last for half a century, then move on to the next such situation.

  Occasionally she thought about visiting Newland to see what had become of the Exiled, but she couldn’t face the aftermath of what had happened there. So she kept moving and tried to keep her thoughts focused on the days ahead. Her grief had run its course from open wound to scabs, to scars, and finally to dull ache. She’d gone through the process alone without family or friends or home. Her purpose had kept her going and been everything to her. But her heart had finally spoken and told her that it was time to go home and reconnect with her parents and the friends who had been like family to her.

  She went to the villa first, but found no one there. There were several alternate places where she could look, but she decided to begin with the most likely, Jefferson Unit.

  She stepped out of the passes into the Hub and stood still so that she could simply drink in the familiar sights and sounds. In some ways J.U. was more home to her than the Sonoma villa. It was comforting. So much so that she closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment of internal peace.

  She smiled, recalling her baby laughter as she danced across the polished tile floor. She remembered how the people at the Atrium Café had practically adopted her. That smile was replaced with a pang of regret when she remembered Glen leading her across the room by the hand, patiently explaining that he would get into a lot of trouble with her parents if she disappeared.

  Getting Glen into trouble hadn’t been on her agenda. She remembered being small enough to straddle her mother’s hip and clapping her hands when Glen would arrive. All those memories and more came back in a rush as she stood watching people pass on their way to work or school or recreation.

  She was standing off to the side near a cluster of people when she heard someone behind her say that the Operations Manager had been infected by the vampire virus and had been brought in that very night. Rosie was alarmed. She knew Farnsworth and hoped that wasn’t who they were talking about.

  She was still lingering in the Hub near the elevator when it opened. Glen stepped off, but clearly didn’t recognize her. He looked right through her as if she wasn’t there and never broke stride on his way to the bar.

  Her lungs had stopped working, more because of how awful he looked than anything else. Oh, he was still a heartbreaker, filled out with more muscle and an unmistakable confidence in the way he moved. That attractiveness wasn’t going to change at any age. What was different was that the life in his eyes that made him Glen was absent. The animation was gone. If she’d had to describe what she saw, she might have said that he looked like a bad copy of himself.

  After a few seconds of staring after him, Rosie got on an elevator that would take her to the floor where her parents’ apartment had been the last time she’d been there. She was prepared for the possibility that they weren’t there. She’d be the first one in any crowd to acknowledge that things change.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Falcon sat on the cement floor outside the cell where the vampire who had once been Genevieve Bonheur was being held. She was far too new a vampire to be able to think, much less speak. She simply sat on the cot that was built into the wall and looked at Falcon like she was starving and he was food.

  When word reached the Sovereign’s office that Falcon refused to move from that spot, Rev pulled K Team from that night’s rotation and called Monq.

  “You need to get a handle on Falcon.”

  “By that I assume you mean an evaluation on his state of mind.”

  “Call it what you will. Just fix him. I need him on the street.”

  “I’m not going to dignify that with a response. I have final say when it comes to readiness.”

  “Whatever. You might as well do an evaluation on Glendennon Catch while you’re at it.”

  “Oh? I didn’t know he was here. What’s the problem?”

  “There’ve been rumors that he’s not fit to hunt. Psychologically speaking.”

  “I see. Does he know that he’s to be evaluated?”

  “He does not.”

  “Alright.”

  “Tonight.”

  “What about tonight?”

  “I need it done tonight.”

  “You want rush service on a psych eval? That’s going some, even for you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means there’ve been rumors, for years, that you want things your way and the timing is always now.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  Monq sighed and tapped his retractable pencil on his desk. “Nothing. Your position probably stipulates that the successful candidate for Sovereign has similar personality traits.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Although Catch was able to keep the ship running without so much bluster.”

  “I do not bluster.”

  “You never do anything else.”

  “Do you want your funding recommendation renewed at the end of the fiscal year?”

  Monq laughed. “My funding has nothing to do with you and we both know it, but never mind. Regarding Catch, it’s already six o’clock.”

  “I’ll tell him you’re expecting him for dinner in your library. Seven okay?”

  “Naturally. It’s not as if I have anything else to do.”

  “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you. He likes lamb.”

  After a noteworthy pause, Monq said, “You remember what he likes to eat? Hmmm.”

  “Don’t start with that ‘hmmm’ business and don’t go reading anything into that. He did my job for a while and I got to know him. That’s all there is to it.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  “Okay.”

  “Seven o’clock.”

  “You want to give me some more detail about the nature of complaints regarding his performance?”

  “Disengaged intellectually and emotionally. Possible depression.”

  Monq sighed again. “That’s a shame. I’ll do what I can.”

  “Can’t ask for more.”

  Rev ended the call and yelled for his assistant. He had interoffice communications at his fingertips, but found that yelling was just as effective and a lot more satisfying. The admin appeared at his door almost instantly.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Find Sir Catch and tell him I said he’s expected in Dr. Monq’s library for dinner at seven o’clock.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Day One - Psych Eval

  “Come in,” Monq replied to the knock on his door and glanced at his watch. Seven o’clock exactly. There was nothing like Black Swan training to instill punctuality.

  With a slight hesitation Glen opened the door and walked in. Monq hadn’t seen him since he’d been back. The years had made him more handsome in some ways. He’d filled out and carried more muscle. His jawline and cheekbones were more prominent. Some would say chiseled. The boy that Monq had known was gone and in his place was a man with a hard edge and the world-weary expression of an old man whose life hadn’t gone well.

  Glen confirmed that Monq’s office was unchanged since the last time he’d been there. Same warm sage green color scheme designed to relax people into telling all. Same combination of oddities on the walls and shelves. When he brought his gaze back to Monq, his posture and demeanor broadcasted suspicion. “What’s this about?”

  Monq chuckled. “Right to the point. Sit down. Let’s eat and say hello. It’s been a long time.”

  Glen eyed the chair with the same suspicion he’d aimed at Monq. After a brief internal struggle, it seemed he’d decided to be polite, up to a point. “Yeah. What’s this about?”

  Glen turned at the sound of a knock on the door.<
br />
  “Dinner,” a wait staffer announced as he wheeled the cart into the study. Looking at Monq, he said, “Would you like it set out on the table, sir?”

  “Certainly,” Monq answered.

  Glen stood watching while the server, whom he did not recognize, covered Monq’s cleared library table with a tablecloth, set out linen napkins, silverware, covered dishes, condiments, glasses of iced water, wine goblets, and a bottle of pinot noir.

  “Shall I open the wine, sir?”

  Monq nodded and said, “Yes,” while trying not to seem impatient.

  “Would you like the door closed, sir?”

  “Yes. Yes.” Monq waved.

  When they were once again left alone in the room, Glen was still standing. Monq motioned toward the table. “Have dinner with me for old times’ sake. You can say as much or as little as you please.”

  Glen raised an eyebrow, but relented and took a seat across from Monq next to his video fireplace. After all, he’d been ordered to report and didn’t really have a choice in the matter. He lifted the stainless steel cover off the plate in front of him. “Lamb,” he said. “That’s my favorite.”

  “I know. That means you have friends here who care about you.” Monq pulled out the padded leather chair across from him and sat down.

  Glen raised his eyes to meet Monq’s, but remained distrustful. Monq noticed that he swallowed before saying, “I did have friends here. Once.”

  The way he said it made it sound like he no longer believed that to be true.

  As a man, Monq wanted to ask why Glen thought those friendships had dissolved, but as a psychiatrist, he knew that wasn’t the way to proceed.

  “Let’s just catch up. Tell me about yourself. What’s happened since I last saw you?”

  Glen barked out a laugh that was startling. Even though the effect was to make Glen look more mean than jovial, there was a hint of the boy Monq had known. The part of his heritage that was a quarter werewolf was evident in the way his eyes flashed and the contrast of white teeth against tanned skin.