The Living Night: Box Set

by Jack Conner

  Kharker's eyes softened, then widened in alarm as the albino set the package on fire. The Hunter leapt to his feet.

  "Don't," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear. I thought you were almost over her and this would give you the opportunity to exorcise your demons on someone who looks like her, nothing else. I never meant you to think I was mocking you. I wasn't."

  The albino sucked in a ragged breath. "Do you swear?"

  "I swear."

  Jean-Pierre threw the package down and stomped on it until the fire was out. Kharker lovingly unwrapped it. Jean-Pierre had had each page (there were four) vacuum-sealed and bound in an expensive leather jacket. Damage to the pages themselves appeared minimal, but they'd have to be re-sealed.

  Kharker rose, leaving the poem on the floor. He embraced Jean-Pierre, and, after a moment, Jean-Pierre hugged him back. The embrace was short, but it was sincere.

  "Why do we insist on hurting each other?" Kharker said.

  "I don't know. I'm … sorry."

  "Don't be. Maybe my gift was more thoughtless than I realized." Kharker picked up the poem. "Thank you.”

  "Sure."

  Kharker smiled. Jean-Pierre smiled, too, and slowly they began to chuckle. Kharker waved a servant over and ordered the best wine in the cellar. He clapped Jean-Pierre on the shoulder.

  "My friend, what do you say to getting stinking drunk tonight?"

  Jean-Pierre laughed, the rage draining from him.

  "You only turn a thousand once," he said.

  * * *

  Jean-Pierre departed for New York two days later. At his leaving, Kharker considered a visit to London, where Roche’s little war was taking place, to see what all the fuss was about. But, before he was able to go, he received a very strange group of visitors indeed.

  They were unexpected and uninvited, but they offered him a proposition that he could in no way afford to refuse.

  Chapter 7

  The screaming trumpet of hard rock announced the presence of Ruegger and Danielle to Manhattan. Dark and glittering spires rose around them, black monoliths with teeth for windows, to welcome the vampires beneath the eye of the winter moon. They didn't see it, but they felt it: when they crossed into the city, certain shadows moved faster, certain grins grew tighter.

  "Despite it all, I do love New York," Danielle said, adjusting the radio volume.

  "It doesn't love us.” Ruegger stared at the grim monoliths, subdued but made colder by a skin of snow. "Not tonight."

  At one time he'd hated this city because of what it represented to him, and because it was here that he'd lost the second great love of his life. He tried not to think about that. New York hadn't changed, really, but his attitude towards it had; he had friends here now, as well as enemies, but he no longer thought of the city with enmity. In fact, he'd grown to like it in some ways. To appreciate it.

  "How does it feel to be home?" he asked, then thought: Malcolm. Malcolm’s here. And the other one. Locke. The idea had plagued him all the length of their journey. Danielle’s two surviving rapists, doomed to die. Waiting for her.

  "Strange,” she said. “I guess if I could revisit the old neighborhoods ... but there’s nothing I want to remember from back then."

  They switched vehicles in a private parking garage on the edge of the city, out from the bulk of their van and into the sleeker and blacker 1969 Mustang they had stashed away for urban (and southern) driving. It had been custom-refitted so that a tiny coffin was camouflaged in the rear compartment, seemingly part of the car. If the vampires were caught in the open during daylight, it might save their lives, though given its cramped quarters they both hoped this would never prove necessary. The vehicle was cozy, and they sped from the garage feeling refreshed.

  Needing a place to crash while they began their investigations, they struck out for the residence of the Ghensiv Veliswa. The ghensivs were a race of night creature composed completely of females; a second set of teeth resided within their womanhoods. Some ghensivs, like Veliswa, had a taste for blood as well. The succubi dwelt mainly in large cities. Veliswa worked as a call-girl for the rich and secretive.

  Ruegger and Danielle slipped past the mortals prowling the corridors of the Cardeux Building, where she'd lived for decades, and rode the express elevator up to Veliswa's penthouse, using an electronic key to get in. They didn't know when the ghensiv would be back and weren't prepared to guess, so waiting seemed like the best option. Ruegger pressed a button on the wall next to the sliding-glass doors to the balcony and prettily-decorated blackout curtains swished down from a tasteful, even stylish mechanism set above the glass portals. It probably closed the drapes automatically at a certain time, but he didn't know that for certain. Better safe than toast.

  Heady, feminine aromas flooded the spacious rooms. Rich artwork decorated the walls.

  Danielle consulted a watch; often she wore two or three, and today was no exception. "Veliswa's got just over an hour if she's coming back today, taking into account that we'll see the sun here before the street will."

  It was odd that a being of the night like Veliswa would brave the upper reaches of the sky, tempting the sun with all its fury, but height meant power and that is something Veliswa would never be without. She would have the biggest and best or nothing at all.

  Ruegger stayed in the living area while Danielle inspected the bedrooms.

  "She's still got the waterbed!"

  Smiling, he entered the bedroom and found her flung comfortably across the gigantic black-silk waterbed. An immense wrought-iron headboard rose above her; stained handcuffs dangled from its dully gleaming bars. Whips and chains and oils and blades and harnesses and sadomasochistic articles of every description littered the room and hung from the walls. A large mirror provided a ceiling to the bed's canopy. Veliswa often said that the Marquis de Sade's 120 Days of Sodom was her bible, and Ruegger had never doubted her.

  Danielle fingered a handcuff. “Maybe we should . . . ?”

  “Don’t you dare,” said a voice from the doorway, and they turned.

  A raving beauty, with rich blond hair cascading down to partially hide her blue eyes, Veliswa possessed tender red lips and a strong feminine chin. Her young face had lived too much perhaps, but she was enchanting. Tall, she stood maybe an inch under six feet without high heels on.

  “I like my kink,” she said, “but my toys are mine. You're wanted, by the way," she added, beginning to slip off her clothes without thought to the vampires watching. "There's a nice little price on your heads."

  "How nice?" Danielle asked.

  Veliswa smiled. "Very nice."

  "Well," Ruegger said, "if we die, at least we'll make somebody happy. Never let it be said that we were uncharitable."

  "So is this a social visit?" Her panties fell in a puddle at her feet.

  "Tea and crumpets, don'tcha know?" said Danielle.

  "Jesus, you two. What could you have done?"

  "We were hoping you could tell us something,” Ruegger said.

  "I don't have a clue. Honest to fucking God. I just don't know. Vistrot ... I know the order came from Vistrot. Why, or if he’s doing a favor for somebody else, I don't know."

  "You think he was hired by someone? I didn't think he took orders from anyone."

  "If the price is high enough—or if he can garner a large enough favor in return—he can be persuaded."

  "Couldn't it be Vistrot himself? Perhaps he's mad at us for some reason."

  "Vistrot, mad? At you? No. He's too entrenched in his own little criminal world. He may've even forgotten you, Darkling. And he's never heard of you, Danielle, except maybe through Jean-Pierre. The albino is his pet psychopath, one of his highest-ranking assassins here and off the island."

  Danielle smiled. "Vistrot and Kharker. What a pair of god-parents."

  "You’re right, Dani—don't kill that fucker. If Jean-Pierre dies, you'll have to deal with the wrath of Lord Kharker, not to mention the Titan. Christ, you'll be, well ... very,
very dead." She reached out a gentle hand and poked Ruegger affectionately in the belly. "I'm sorry, love. I heard about Ludwig. I know how much he meant to you."

  Ruegger nodded. "I always thought he'd outlive me.”

  "Me too, mon ami. You were the warrior, the blood-drenched poet off fighting demons wherever you found them. He was the dreamer. Wanted the world to be a better place, poor misguided bastard.” She slid beneath her silken sheets, covering up her long legs, but her breasts, full and high, were still quite visible. “So what was meeting Junger and Jagoda like?"

  "You know of that?"

  "It's the latest gossip. Everyone's talking about how the Balaklava are going to pursue you till the end of the world or until you die, whichever comes first."

  "Well," Danielle said to Veliswa, or at least her breasts. "It's sun-up and we should really let you sleep. Thanks for everything."

  The ghensiv yawned gracefully and slid down, tucking the sheets up to her chin.

  "Thank you, mon amis. Please feel free to use the guest room or, if you'd be more comfortable, in the coffins in the secret chamber. You remember where it is—behind the left wall of the walk-in pantry. Oui?" She smiled sleepily. "Oh, and I like your pig, but, ah, it's on the sofa."

  "Her name's Cerberus," Danielle said.

  "Very cute.”

  Off Veliswa’s expression, Danielle said, “Don’t worry, we’ll get her off.” Taking Ruegger by the hand, she led him away from the ghensiv’s bedroom, and together they found the guestroom.

  Quietly, Danielle, “I, uh, have a question. I’ve always wondered.”

  “Yes?” Ruegger said.

  She looked sheepish. "Do ghensivs completely, er, you know ... do they take it?"

  He grimaced. "Depends on the ghensiv. If she's hungry and has a dark bent, she may drain the man completely. But regardless of their disposition, every now and then, just like we need to feed on blood, they must, ah, bite it off.”

  "With their teeth ..."

  He didn’t have to pretend to shudder. "Right."

  * * *

  They woke at dusk to find Veliswa yawning and ordering from room service. The staff was well acquainted with her evening breakfasts. Dressed in a cream-colored robe, her long blond hair whirled about her head. "Where's Cerberus?" was the first thing she said after seeing the vampires.

  "Ah, hell," said Danielle.

  "Guys."

  "Sorry, Veli. We're not used to having a pet. Van Reisser usually takes care of her."

  "You’re forgiven, but don’t make me replace the carpet.” Veliswa stepped into the walk-in pantry and triggered the hidden wall. The vampires heard her move around in there, then the sound of bottles clinking. She emerged triumphantly with a musty bottle of champagne. They ate Edam Cheese on Triscuits and chased it down with cool bubbly while they waited for room service.

  "Awesome," said Danielle.

  "Not enough," said Veliswa. “I’m—”

  Something knocked against the glass beyond the blackout curtains.

  "Hide in the cellar," Veliswa whispered, referring to the hidden area behind the fold-away wall in the pantry.

  The vampires, having stayed with their hostess before, scuttled swiftly into the pantry, located the trigger, and followed the swinging wall into the secret chamber. Ruegger thought he knew who the sudden visitor might be: for the last five years, a young, well-dressed jandrow by the name of David had acted as an agent for her. Not a pimp, really, although he did find her clients and would organize help for her if needed, but he worked for her, not the other way around.

  "David!" Veliswa exclaimed from the other room, and Ruegger and Danielle breathed easier.

  "Good morning, Veliswa," they heard David say in his usual lawyerly tone. He would be dressed neatly, and standing very erect, wings folded and arched politely, on the large white balcony. Most immortals had talents for concealing themselves from humans, but jandrows, who are so physically deviant, have even stronger powers that allow them to (as long as they're not too flagrant about it) fly unseen.

  "You, too, David. Have anything for me?"

  "Certainly. Provided you haven't arranged too many dates tomorrow on your own, I've a client lined up if you're interested."

  "Go on."

  He gave her a name, a time, and a place. "Is that satisfactory?"

  "Yes, David, thank you. Have a good evening." She started to slide the door closed.

  "Hey ... is that your pig?"

  "My—? Oh, yes. That's Cerberus. Isn't he lovely?"

  "Yeah, he ... she ... is quite interesting."

  "Well, be off," said the ghensiv, and closed the door audibly, letting the blackout curtain fall in its place with a swish.

  "Jesus," she sighed, as Ruegger and Danielle emerged. "That was beastly."

  "He didn't buy it," commented Ruegger.

  Veliswa shook her head. "I don't know. I thought Cerberus was male. Wasn't he?"

  Danielle crouched and called to her pig. "Not our Cerberus. Not our girl."

  "I'm really sorry, guys. But David doesn't know. He can't. And besides, he's really not a bad sort. Not really."

  "It's okay," Ruegger said, but still he moved toward the living room phone and flipped through the Rolodex that lay near it.

  "What're you doin'?" Danielle said.

  "Committing David's number and address to memory.”

  He tensed as more knocking sounded.

  Veliswa smiled nervously. "This should be room service." She turned the knob, flung it open and jumped back.

  "You okay, ma'am?" asked the young man on the other side. His eyes were wide and adoring. When she affirmed that she was, he and an assistant wheeled in small tables with big domes of silver which covered about a dozen different breakfast entrees. The mortals seemed intrigued by Ruegger and Danielle, these two pale things dressed in black leather and denim, with unkempt black hair and too-dark eyes. They accepted a generous tip and left.

  "Aren't mortals fun?" Danielle mused as she lifted a gleaming lid clear from a plate of Denver omelet.

  Veliswa crinkled her eyes. "I may be biased, dear. Most of my clients are a repeat business, I'm afraid. Actually, a lot of them know what I am—and they like it. All S & M freaks, naturally, not that I mind, but to tell you the truth, I'm tired of playing dominatrix. But no; once they learn about my teeth, they want them harder, deeper, more blood, more blood—that's what they ask for. And once they build up a tolerance for pain, they want it even worse. Tighter, tighter. Grip me tighter. Tighter, for God's sakes! Teeth like sharks' teeth, rows and rows."

  Ruegger made a face as he lifted a plate of huevos rancheros and brought it to Veliswa's long, glass-topped breakfast table.

  "Sorry," she said.

  He shrugged and sat down. "Hey, no skin off my—well, actually, I can see the thrill. I mean, knowing you could be, well, severed, at any moment. Plus the pleasure-pain thing. I can see it." He exchanged glances with the ghensiv, their words unspoken and unnecessary.

  "That turns you on?" Danielle asked.

  He lifted a glass of champagne to his lips. "Hmm, this is great, Velis. But ah, no, it doesn't turn me on, but I can see the thrill. That said, I'm not sure nowadays if I could stay, well, focused, with all those teeth pressing against me. But I've tried a few times, and I can't say I didn't—"

  "You never told me."

  "You would like to know?"

  Sharing her attention between the omelet and Belgium pecan waffles, Danielle said, "Maybe not." She chewed a big, syrupy bite of waffle. "Well, maybe."

  Veliswa laughed and picked at her plate of brightly-colored fruit. "You two are so cute it's almost insufferable."

  After breakfast had been heartily consumed, she informed the vampires that she had to attend to a client, but she would just love to meet Ruegger and Danielle later on if they were free, maybe sometime after midnight.

  "How about Rocky Horror?" asked Ruegger. Though he was anxious to begin investigating Ludwig's death, he knew he shou
ld spend some time with his hostess and friend. "New York always has a good show."

  "Groovy," said Danielle. "I haven't seen that in ages."

  "Great,” said Veliswa. “Meet you at the usual place for the two o'clock, okay? There's a double feature all this week, I think. Rocky and its spin-off."

  "See you then," said Ruegger.

  "Catcha later," called Danielle liltingly, clicking her tongue. Then softly, "I didn't know there was a spin-off."

  “Shock Treatment. It’s technically a sequel, but with different actors playing Brad and Janet.”

  Veliswa dressed quickly and departed, leaving the vampires with the run of the house.

  "I'm still hungry," Danielle said.

  "Oh, really?"

  "For love."

  He grinned. "You're just in love with the idea of those handcuffs, aren't you?"

  "The cold steel against my wrists, the warm you against the rest of me. What's not to love?"

  Some time later, when he and Danielle were curled up in each other’s arms in exhaustion, his mind caught hold of something and wouldn't let go. He eased himself gently from Danielle’s embrace, dressed in silence, and left, patting Cerberus on the head as he went. He found his car and headed away from Manhattan.

  * * *

  Ruegger hoisted himself onto the alley dumpster and leapt for the nearby fire escape, which he caught neatly and climbed until he reached the fourth floor. He stepped up onto the railing and jumped a few feet over to clutch the cheap metal bars of the adjacent balcony. Then one more over to land on the brick and cement of the balcony there, his mind moving fast to open the balcony door with his telekinetic abilities, wondering at the same time if he was being watched, if the man inside was being protected by unseen guardians. If so, they would recognize Ruegger and know why he was here.

  He shoved open the door and slid inside. He felt the hunger in him as he sensed a mortal in the next room, and he moved quietly through to the comfortable living room, the colors dark and somber.

  Several antique treasures lined the walls or perched on mantelpieces: a full, standing suit of twelfth century armor, complete with shield and sword; two ancient samurai swords, crossed in battle as if their wielders gripped them fiercely and invisibly; the very sword, stolen, that was reported to have cut off Vlad Tepes's head. Here a blood-rusted mace, there an early, Mid-English Christian Bible—the list went on.