The Silver Star (Kat Drummond Book 11)

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  “You think…” my voice dropped to a whisper. “That I bonded with the salamander’s soul?”

  Ismail grinned. “Exactly!”

  I didn’t know what to think about that. I had bonded with many spirits over my career. Treth was the dominant one, of course, but through him, I had a connection to his knightly companions. Through fighting alongside the warriors of Ithalen on Avathor, I had also gained their allegiance. But I wasn’t sure if they were still around.

  The In Between was in constant flux. Spirits didn’t usually exist consciously in the same space and time that we did. Only Treth existed simultaneously to me. The others...well, they just came about when I really needed them.

  But, if I had bonded the salamander’s soul, then that meant there was another spirit I had barred from true death. I didn’t like that.

  “I killed the salamander. Put it down like vermin…” I muttered, staring into the golden liquid of my beer. I had felt guilt then. I didn’t like to kill living creatures. Especially beasts that weren’t evil. The salamander was scared. Alone. Rifted into a world that couldn’t handle its flames.

  I could call what I did mercy. But I didn’t. It was my job.

  “From what I have gathered about the Vessel, Ms Drummond,” Ismail replied, voice low and only just audible over the cacophony of revelry all around us. “Your spirits are not slaves. If anything, Treth has the capacity to control you. Not the other way round. I suspect that the…man who did this to you was attempting to bind some sort of spirit to the mortal world. You are lucky that the spirit who found you was of a good nature.”

  Treth glowed with pride. He loved having his ego stroked.

  “Still…” the salamander coat on my back began to feel heavy. Uncomfortable. “If my coat is conscious…”

  “I don’t think it is,” Ismail interjected. “Not the coat itself. As I mentioned, the flames of a salamander’s hide are perpetually alight. But, I suspect there is some sort of guiding influence governing the flames with you. Perhaps, the spirit of the salamander.”

  “But why? Why would it help me? I killed it…”

  “Perhaps…because you did what needed to be done. Showed mercy.”

  “Some mercy…”

  “For some, it is better to perish than exist in a world that cannot contain you.”

  I examined Ismail for any tell-tale signs or emotions. He seemed, as always, thoughtful. But perhaps, just a bit sad. He drank the last of his cola and then stood up.

  “Thank you for aiding my studies, as always, Kat Drummond.”

  I shook his hand and bid him farewell. My coat hummed softly as he departed. The other Crusaders had given us a wide berth, freeing me from needing to give them unnecessary advice.

  “So…” I whispered, directed at my coat. “I guess you’re alive.”

  It could have been my imagination, but the coat seemed to warm in response.

  ***

  As was customary, I stayed late, waiting for the last Crusaders to leave. I didn’t mind. Brett and Pranish were playing one-on-one now at pool and I had long since lost track of who was winning. I suspect they were the same. Like school kids playing break time soccer, the game itself mattered more than the score. I watched in silence for a while, surveying the game and the room. Most of the Crusaders had left. Some on hunts. Some to get some much-needed rest.

  It was Brett’s turn to shoot and I watched Pranish as he waited. He wasn’t looking at the game, and I found myself glancing towards where he was looking.

  Trudie, despite her lycanthropy, was passed out from inebriation. She’d been a lightweight as a human, but werewolves were meant to handle alcohol easily. Trudie, as always, pushed her condition to its limits. But Pranish wasn’t looking at her, but rather at a red-headed Crusader sitting near her, waiting patiently. Senegal. A nice guy who had helped integrate Trudie into her wolf pack. Once she became an alpha, he was the only wolf who joined her pack. Now, he followed her everywhere. Like a doting fan. Or more thematically, an obsessed puppy.

  What did Pranish think about Senegal? I suddenly wondered, but Pranish was already looking back at the game before I could analyse him further.

  There was always going to be drama when humans, or werewolves, were involved. And while I didn’t like drama, it beat mindwarping and necromancy.

  This was a good evening. Like many before it. But, as the evening became quieter, I couldn’t help but feel like there was something missing.

  Every patron had someone with them. Drinking. Talking. Doing some sort of activity. Except for me, and one other man.

  I sidled close to Conrad Khoi as he sat by the bar, nursing a beer that had lost its effervescence.

  “So, boss,” I started, giving my voice some energy to pluck my mentor up. “The Prof told me that this coat you got me still has a soul.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” Conrad replied, and took a reluctant sip. His movements were sluggish. Not sickly, but as if he had an ingrained tiredness. It was so different from how he had seemed earlier today.

  “What is it?” I asked, leaning in closer, genuine concern for my old employer growing.

  Conrad waved my concern aside. “Nothing, nothing. Just…tired. Been a long day.”

  I raised my eyebrow. Conrad spent most of the day bragging about how he didn’t have to work because merchandising ran basically on autopilot.

  “Could you be missing Cindy?” I suggested.

  “Me? Bah! I’m glad that foul woman has found someone to keep her distracted. Might teach her some respect. Every evening without her is one where my hide can recover from her tongue lashings.”

  I grinned as Conrad ranted about Cindy. Despite all the bad things they said about each other, Cindy and Conrad were friends. Probably, best friends. And I knew they may even die for each other. Hopefully, they wouldn’t need to.

  Conrad concluded his tirade and I hoped that the energy of the diatribe would have remained with him, but he seemed to wilt into the stool again.

  “Conrad,” I spoke quietly, intensely. “We’ve known each other a long time. Maybe not as long as you’ve known Cindy, but I’d say that of the people here right now, I know you the best. What’s eating you?”

  Conrad didn’t reply immediately, and I didn’t press him. The barkeep eyed us but didn’t offer me a drink. He knew my self-imposed limit. Last time I’d binge drunk myself into a stupor, I had to fight teleporting demons that morning.

  “The problem,” Conrad finally said. “With this business, is that you get high on action.”

  Conrad usually sounded energetic. Insincere. As if he was always trying to sell something. But now…he just sounded exhausted. As if he was reciting words he’d mulled over for an age.

  “You live a life of frenetic violence, high-stakes and struggle, and when you finally get peace, you don’t know what to do with it. I had my crusade…a long time ago. And I’ve had a long time to deal with that fact. But, even then, I lived through my hunters. Through Tom, through Brick, Cindy…and you. But now…I’m tired. Tired of fighting, tired of watching you fight, but also tired of not fighting. How do you do something for a thousand years and then try to stop? We have peace now. Maybe not forever. But we have it now. And maybe I should enjoy it. But…I can’t.”

  I caught myself leaning forward, enthralled by Conrad’s words, as he laughed without humour.

  “But, what do I know? I’m just a fallen angel.”

  “You’re so much more than that,” I replied, catching Conrad’s eyes. I caught him shocked for a second as he noted my eyes were different colours. Of course, he knew that I had Candace’s eye. But it still surprised most people.

  “You’re one of the most human people I know, Conrad. For better or worse. And your time in this story isn’t done yet.”

  “That’s what I fear, Kat.” He sighed, but then smiled. Genuinely. “But, if my part in this story is just selling t-shirts, that should be okay. It beats stopping an apocalypse.”

  “You s
till need to tell me all about that.”

  “Ask Cindy,” he waved the comment aside.

  “She told me that she wasn’t born yet. Well, for the first one.”

  “Oh…yeah. There were two. Well, I’ll tell you. Some day. But, for now, I need to go to sleep. I don’t have that Seraphim stamina anymore. Goodnight, commander.”

  He winked at the title, put some bank notes on the table and then left.

  I felt warmth by my side. I smiled as Brett rubbed my back and I nestled up against him. He had a triumphant grin on his face. He must have won.

  “We’re the stragglers,” he said, and I saw Pranish making his way towards Trudie, still passed out.

  I stood up and yawned. In the past, I’d still be on duty at this time of night. There were definitely benefits to having employees.

  “Is she alive?” I asked, unconcerned, as I approached Pranish and Senegal hoisting Trudie over their shoulders. She muttered something about being better than a bloody unicorn, confirming that she was, mostly, alive.

  “What did she even drink?” Pranish asked, as Brett and I accompanied them to Pranish’s car. He was, fortunately, sober. Always the responsible one.

  “Three bottles of absinthe, twenty vodka shots and some methylated spirits,” Senegal recited, as if he was listing groceries.

  “Rifts!” Pranish swore. “Is she trying to kill herself?”

  I knew that it would take a lot more than that to kill a werewolf, but the fact that Trudie was drinking that much concerned me.

  “It’s the role of an alpha to test limits,” Senegal answered.

  Pranish glared at him, as they buckled Trudie into the passenger seat. Her eyes flickered open and she smiled, before letting out a burp and closing her eyes again.

  “You coming in tomorrow?” I asked Pranish, partly to distract him from glaring a hole into the young werewolf who was dutifully taking his spot in the backseat. Senegal was living with the Davison’s. In my old room. It had basically become Trudie’s pack house. But, with the amount of money she was making from the Crusaders, she needed to move out sometime.

  “Yeah, yeah. Sure,” Pranish said, almost irritably.

  I raised my eyebrow, but brushed it off, before bidding them all farewell.

  “He’s not doing well,” Brett said, as they disappeared down the road and we made our way to the Crusader HQ. Just a few more sleeps there and we’d have a real apartment to go home to!

  “Can you blame him? DigiLaw is dead.”

  I still felt guilty for that. Was there truly no other way?

  “More than that,” Brett added. “It’s Senegal…he never leaves Trudie alone. That can’t be good for Pranish and her relationship.”

  “Senegal is a packmate,” I said. “Pranish knows how werewolves’ function. Better than they do, in some instances. He understands.”

  “Does he? I don’t know. If some guy wouldn’t stop following you around all day, I might consider staking him.”

  I couldn’t help but grin. “Brett Callahan! I didn’t take you for the jealous type.”

  “Jealous?! Me? No! But…”

  He stammered and trailed off as I kissed him. I felt Treth rolling his eyes and I laughed.

  “I’ve got eyes for no one but you, Corpsman. Now, let’s make the most of my office while we’re still living in it.”

  Chapter 6.

  Trauma

  Smoke burnt my nostrils but was better than the alternative. Burnt flesh, the acrid stench of sweat, and the overwhelming reek of violence. Pale faces fought all around me. They were already dead. They just didn’t know it yet. But I knew. I’d seen them all die before. Over, and over, and over.

  I clutched my cutlasses once again, willing away the pain in my muscle and bones. I wiped sweat from my brow, smelling the rotting blood on my blade.

  I had done this all before.

  Undead swarmed through the breach, flooded over the stockade. They tore across wood, metal, rock and flesh, rending up blood and debris. They were angry. Always so angry.

  Once again, I charged forward. I slashed, sending a painful ringing sensation up my arm. Again. Again. Limbs and blood flew after every blow. The air became clogged with a thin black and red mist.

  There was no victory to be had here. Just brutality. Just the gnashing of teeth. The impotent hammering of screaming men upon the inevitable.

  Someone was shouting orders. They sounded like the wail of a wraith. The cries of one who had already lost, but who robotically repeated the same refrain…

  “Hold the line!” over and over.

  I realised, the one screaming was me.

  A tidal way of monsters surged over the broken stockade, flooding over men and women who had fought and died before.

  No...

  I couldn’t let them die again. Not again. Not when I’d lived.

  I picked up the pace, lopping off heads, slashing, stabbing, severing.

  It wasn’t enough. I had to win this!

  I withdrew my blade from the stump of a zombie’s neck and thrust forward.

  My heart stopped.

  The already deathly pale face went even paler, and I withdrew my swords. Zombie Pranish fell to the ground.

  I held back tears. It was too late for him. I had to keep going. Keep fighting. But more people came. Trudie, Conrad, Cindy, Guy…Brett.

  They all came. I killed them. Again. And again. Until my heart was numb.

  “Kat!” a woman called, and I spun to face her.

  A woman with black hair stood in the middle of the melee, fighters and zombies making way so we could face each other. The sight of her sparked something that reminded me of the pain in my chest.

  She looked like my mother.

  “Mandy!” I cried, tearing towards enemies to get to my aunt.

  She stood still, tears streaming down her face. I cried out to her again. But, with every step, and every kill, she grew farther and farther away.

  With a blow, I beheaded Ismail and Treth. Black and red blood stained my blades. Permanently. But my aunt was still too far away. I reached out to her, dropping my one sword.

  Slowly, she turned and walked away. Shocked, I cried.

  “Come back!”

  She stumbled as an arrowhead protruded from her back. Stunned, I stopped, paying no heed to the unrelenting heaving mass of undead bodies around me.

  My aunt turned back to me, a sad smile on her lips, as she fell to the ground.

  Behind her stood an elf with severed ears. He laughed at me with his eyes and mouth, as the zombies consumed me. Bit by bit.

  ***

  I woke up panting and sweating profusely. Treth appeared by my side, his hand on my back to console me. He had done this before. Plenty of times. I was ashamed to say that he was used to it.

  I knew it was just a dream. But that didn’t change what I felt.

  Before Darius, the dreams had just been about Ithalen. That last stand which I survived. No. Not survived. I had died on Avathor. Everything else was just…I don’t know.

  But, since that elf, a new element had been added to my dreams.

  It had been ages since I had not dreamed of my friends and family dead. Sometimes, by my hand. Some nights, I let them kill me and devour my corpse.

  But there was something different about last night’s dream…

  Before I could ponder it, I felt a distinct absence by my side.

  Brett was gone.

  Panic set in as I stood up, frantically searching for my boyfriend. Treth’s protests fell on deaf ears until he manifested in front of me, shining a white translucence.

  “He’s outside, Kat! He’s fine. Just smoking.”

  My mind calmed down, but it took my heart a few extra moments. I steadied my breathing, and slowly made my way to the door. I noted Treth’s pitying gaze on my back as I stumbled in the dark.

  As Treth had said, Brett was outside, leaving the sliding door open to the balcony.

  I took a deep breath and sniffed in
the cold, night air.

  It was late, and the night sky was dark. But, a benefit of living in a commercial area was that there were always at least a few lights on. I could see Brett clearly, as his smoking figure was silhouetted by the streetlights just outside the HQ.

  He somehow heard me, even as I moved silently on my bare feet, and he turned. He looked tired.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” I asked.

  “Nah. I’ve just learnt to smoke while sleep walking,” he remarked back, snidely. It was sharp. A bit irritable. But then his expression softened.

  He turned towards the mountain. Most of it was covered by darkness, but a few of the buildings on its peak and rim were lit up. He looked back at me.

  “What about you?” he asked, softly. Not a hint of the sarcasm that his voice was laden with before.

  I almost told him about my dream. And all the others. About Ithalen. About death. About killing him so many times that I had come to expect it.

  I also considered telling him about my aunt.

  She had died years ago now. Why then did she come up tonight of all nights?

  But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to burden him.

  Despite my silence, or rather because of it, Brett put out his cigarette and moved closer towards me. I didn’t resist him holding me in his arms.

  “You thought that I was gone again?” he asked.

  Hesitantly, I nodded.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Kat. Darius is gone. And there’s no one else like him.”

  “There are others. Might not be him. But there are countless monsters trying to hurt us. I don’t care about myself, but if something was to happen to you…”

  “Kat…please don’t say you don’t care about yourself.”

  “Sorry…”

  “Don’t be. Just…I care about you. And I dislike people who don’t care about you. Which means if you don’t care about yourself, then I will have to dislike you. See the problem?”

  I let out a small choked giggle, half a sob. He hugged me closer.

  The silence drifted on and I just enjoyed the warmth and solace of being enfolded in his arms. Finally, I leaned back, and he let go.