by Jack Conner
“Damn you!” Breedlove said, shooting to his feet in rage.
A half dozen Castle Guards approached, ready to take him into custody, where he would then be executed.
“NO!” Breedlove shouted. “This is not right!”
With a primal roar, he smashed the chess table into splinters and threw himself at Kiernevar. Even as he moved through the air, his body began to transform into a great beast.
The Guards rushed toward him.
Kiernevar jumped back a few steps, giving Breedlove time to complete his transformation. Just as Breedlove was preparing to wrap his jaws about Kiernevar’s head and squash it like a pumpkin, the lunatic stepped to the side and raised a hand in the air. The hand became the ragged claw of a monster, although the rest of the madman’s body remained human.
As Breedlove struggled to alter course, Kiernevar plunged his hand deep into the hairy back of his attacker, impaling him. Breedlove thrashed, and the lunatic pulled Breedlove’s large hot heart out through his back and shoved it into his putrid mouth, then began to chew.
Still somehow alive, Breedlove drew himself up and prepared for one last desperate lunge, but just as he was preparing to spring, the Castle Guards reached him and, with their sabers, began hacking him apart.
While the audience either cried or cheered, Breedlove’s blood and limbs dropped to the floor. Soon his carcass followed. Breedlove’s large severed head kept snapping its powerful jaws until it too was sliced to pieces. It was a warrior’s death, Ruegger thought, a proud death, but a waste just the same.
Kiernevar merely stood there, tall and otherworldly, munching on his enemy’s heart and staring into space. After some time had gone by—the noise and confusion had died down, Breedlove’s remains had been mopped up, and bets had been honored—the lunatic turned his mad eyes on Ruegger:
Tomorrow night, this will be you, his gaze said.
“Come,” Danielle whispered, tugging on Ruegger’s arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Chapter 4
After the fight, Cloire led Harry to the Floorshow, where they deposited themselves at a booth and ordered a bottle of liquor. She could see that he needed it. He looked quite shaken.
“You all right?” she asked, once his nerves had been steadied.
Coughing a little at the alcohol, he nodded. “Fine.”
For a while they watched the showgirls, letting the sex and the glitter and the booze erase the memory of Breedlove’s death. Soon it grew dimly lit in Cloire’s mind, but it didn’t recede altogether, which surprised her. After all, she was used to violence. However, that Kiernevar had been the responsible party—that disturbed her. She didn’t know why. She’d never liked him, and had certainly never cared much, one way or another, about his morals. No. In her heart, she knew what bothered her. It wasn’t the savagery that had offended her, not even the fact that her former crew member had been the savage—it was the fact that Kiernevar now stood in line to be the Dark Lord’s Heir. She knew that was the source of Harry’s troubles, as well.
As if to confirm this, he looked up from removing the olive from his martini and said, “So that’s it, then. Kiernevar’s won.”
“Yeah, well, we all know Ruegger’s going to get his shot tomorrow. You don’t seem to place much faith in his abilities.”
Harry downed a long sip. “Ruegger can’t beat that thing. Hell, Ruegger only beat me about half the time.”
“You’re pretty good.”
At that, he smiled a little. It was good to see.
“And you’ve only played me when I was drunk,” he pointed out. Then his smile faded, and she didn’t have to probe his mind to know what he was thinking; these days he was always drunk.
“You don’t have much hope, do you?” she said.
He shook his head. “Ruegger’s been a good friend for a long time. I wish there was some way I could get him out of this.”
“Is there?”
“I don’t know. I can’t … think. Maybe if I stopped drinking ....” He shoved his glass away, leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “Let’s see,” he said. “We know he’s a prisoner. We know we can’t overpower his guards.”
“Not without help.”
He opened his eyes, looked at her as hard as he could, considering how drunk he was. “Can we get help?”
She picked up her Jack Daniels and drained it. “I don’t know. My crew, they might could do it, but I don’t think they will. Even if I could pull them together, make them stay here a little longer, I don’t think they’d risk their worthless lives for Ruegger.”
“You don’t want any part of that anymore, though, right? That’s what you told me.”
She grimaced. Yeah, she’d told him that. She’d told herself that. It was the reason she’d distanced herself from the rest of the crew, the reason she’d created such a rift between Byron and Kilian in the first place.
The simple truth of the situation was Jean-Pierre had held the death-squad together and, without him, it just wasn’t fun anymore. On the other hand, a part of her—a big part—wanted it back, wanted the long restless days and the long bloody nights. More than music could ever be, violence was a part of her nature, and she was slowly convincing herself to get the crew back together, to be their leader, to go off with them and find adventure wherever that might be. Whenever she let herself think about that, though, she remembered Harry.
At last, she took his hand. “Lover, if you haven’t guessed already, I’m a fucking liar.”
For a moment, his face was blank, sad, drunk. Then the meaning of her words clicked in his foggy mind. Slowly, he smiled.
“Cloire,” he murmured, letting his hand slip from hers, “sometimes I think you’re all right.” Then, just before his eyes closed for good, he said, “And sometimes I think I love you.”
He passed out.
For a while, Cloire watched him, thinking on his words. He was a lush, of course, but even so he knew not to say such words lightly. Confused and a little angry, she slid out from the booth, hefted Harry over her shoulder and left the Floorshow without a second thought.
She had work to do.
* * *
Breedlove’s death had put a pall over Ruegger and Danielle, and he noticed similarly gloomy expressions on many of the faces he passed as Sophia led the two vampires to the pool hall. There was a strange, unhealthy energy in the air, he perceived. Those who wanted Breedlove to win saw Kiernevar’s victory as a sign that the Last Dark Days were coming to a brutal end, while those who’d rooted for Kiernevar seemed eager, perhaps anticipating the chaos to come in the following nights. One way or the other, it seemed that the barbarian’s death had heralded the end of an era.
Pushing through the throng, the odd flock and the Ice Queen found the pool hall and commenced to play a round. While the game itself was pretty bad, at least it gave a chance for the three to unwind.
Ruegger sank two solids in his opening break, and Danielle and Sophe decided to alternate turns against him. To him, this was funny, because he considered Danielle to be the better player.
As it turned out, the opening break was the best play of the game. All preternatural skills aside, the players’ hearts just weren’t in it.
“This is stupid,” declared Sophia after she’d missed another shot.
“I concur,” said Danielle.
“Fuck it,” Ruegger said. “Let’s get plowed.”
They relocated to the bar.
About an hour later, Sophia said she had to meet with Claude and excused herself. Ruegger couldn’t blame her for leaving; the mood by that point was pretty maudlin. Before she left, she kissed Ruegger on the cheek and said, “Good luck tomorrow.”
He nodded grimly, unwilling to come up with a rejoinder. He and Danielle ordered one more shot of tequila.
Before they knocked it back, she put a steadying hand on his forearm and said, “So what’s the plan, Rueg?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do y
ou mean, what do I mean? Look at us, baby. Tomorrow night you’re to go up against that thing, and what are we doing tonight? What are our plans? To get drunk and fuck and then I send you off to die? No, baby, that’s not how this ends. I won’t let it be that way.”
Seeing the tears in her eyes, he set the shot glass down, and she did the same. He thought that she was about to let him wrap her in his arms, but she did not. No longer was she a little girl, he thought; no longer would she let his words soothe her. The thought made him sad.
“I don’t wanna lose you, Ruegger. And, goddamnit, I’m not going to.”
“You’re not going to lose me,” he said.
“You’re just trying to calm me down.”
“No. Tomorrow I will beat Kiernevar in a fair game of chess, for all time dispelling the poetic idea that chaos is stronger than order, then we will decide what to do from there.”
She shook her head in frustration. “No. Damn it, Ruegger, why must you have such a thick head? Kiernevar isn’t human. He isn’t anything like we’ve ever seen before. He’s a thing, a beast. I don’t know how to say it. Ruegger, you can play a great game of chess, I’ve seen you, but you’re human—you know what I mean. Like everyone, you make mistakes, you miss things. He’s not like that.”
“You’re saying he’s infallible?”
“Maybe. Is chaos infallible?”
Again, she shook her head and looked to him with eyes so full of despair that he didn’t know what do to. Danielle lifted her jigger and took the shot, but by her sour expression he didn’t think it had helped any. He placed a hand against her face, and she pressed her cheek in closer to the palm, taking comfort from the contact.
“Danielle,” he whispered, and she watched him with large unblinking eyes, clearly willing to listen to what he had to say.
“Yes?”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to die, either. I see what you mean about Kiernevar. He’s ... I don’t know. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I can’t beat him. But what choice have I got? To stay in the dungeon, to get outright executed? No. I must go up against him. It’s the only way. Unless you have an alternate plan?”
She said nothing, but the subtle shake of her head and the tears he felt against his palm told him all he needed to know.
“Let’s go,” she said, and he did not disagree.
They paid the bar tab and left for their room, their guards in tow. When they found their door, they also found three more guards outside it.
“Further protection?” he asked.
“No,” said the lead guard, unapologetic. “We’re reinforcements to the Guards already detailed to you. Our purpose is to keep you from escaping.”
As Ruegger and Danielle entered their room, he noticed that it was darker in here than it should be.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
Their weapons shot out from pockets and from nightstands, and almost as if under their own power found their way into the vampires’ hands.
In that moment Ruegger smelled them. A split second later, as his eyes adjusted to the new darkness of the chamber, he saw them, too.
Junger and Jagoda occupied the deepest of the shadows, side by side, unsmiling.
Ruegger and Danielle aimed their guns and waited for the fight to begin. For a long minute, the vampires and the Balaklava just stared at each other, but then Ruegger stepped forward and said, “How did you get in here?”
Junger smiled. “Not through the front door, I assure you. Other than yourselves, no one must know we’re here.”
“So you’ve got tunnels that lead here.”
“Great,” said Danielle, looking ill at the thought.
“Not even that,” Junger said.
Danielle stepped to Ruegger’s side, and he noticed that her hands were shaking.
“Both of you, get the hell out of here RIGHT NOW!” she said. “Or, I swear to any god that might exist, I will walk out that door and sic the Castle Guards on you.” As she spoke, the shaking in her hands stopped. “I said NOW, goddamnit!”
Jagoda made a placating gesture. “Dear sweet Danielle, aren’t you the least bit curious why we’re here?”
“Not a fucking bit. Now leave!”
“Temper, temper. Please, give us a moment, and, if you still want us to leave ... we will. That simple.”
Uneasily, she glared at them, then turned to Ruegger.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know, but if they wanted us dead we’d be dead,” he said. “And if they wanted to play with us, they’d just kidnap us and take us back the way they came, whatever way that might be.”
Just slightly, he nosed his guns to the side a little so that they weren’t pointing directly at the Balaklava. At his lead, and after some hesitation, Danielle did the same.
“Thank you,” said Junger.
“We appreciate your trust,” echoed the other.
“Fuck trust,” Ruegger said. “Just tell us why you’re here.”
Junger and Jagoda exchanged glances, and when they turned back to face the vampires, they were grinning broadly.
“Why,” Junger said, “we’re here to set you free.”
* * *
In his own bedchamber, Byron tried to appear relaxed, knowing that Kilian and Loirot would come for him shortly. In truth, he was not relaxed. They must leave the Castle soon; if they didn’t, they would probably die in the inevitable battle that was to come. However, he knew that his mind would never be at peace unless Cloire came with them, and he was beginning to doubt that she would. She’d cast him aside and seduced Kilian, thus causing tension among the ranks, then struck the killing blow by taking up with a mortal known to be the death of many an unwary immortal. What did that mean? Byron didn’t know, although he suspected quite a bit. Cloire would not be coming with them, or so his guts told him.
As he was preparing to splash water on his face, Kilian and Loirot entered and milled in the entranceway.
“Well?” said Kilian.
“Well what?” Byron said.
“Are you ready?”
The Australian thought he detected a sneer along his rival’s lips, but pretended he didn’t notice. They were supposed to have made peace with each other, after all, and Byron was perfectly willing to play the part, so long as it compelled Cloire to rejoin them.
“I’m ready,” he said, and the three made their way to Cloire’s room.
“Would you like to do the honors?” asked Kilian, gesturing Byron to the door.
“We don’t have time for this shit,” Loirot said, and knocked on Cloire’s door himself. “It’s us!”
“Then come in, already!”
Once inside, they saw her straddling a chair by the side of the bed on which Harry Lavaca lay snoring, apparently deep enough in his drunken stupor that him waking up was not a problem.
“Nice pet,” Kilian said.
Cloire didn’t rise to the bait. “Let’s get this over with,” she said.
“We’ve come to see if you’ll join us. What say you?”
Her strange, mismatched eyes seemed to light up from within. “Will I still be the leader?”
He shrugged. “It will be the same arrangement as before.”
“Which is to say, yes.”
“Cloire, we want you back, but we’re not going to beg. There are plenty of others that would be happy to join us, some maybe even better suited than yourself.”
Cloire laughed. “Not much of a sale pitch.”
“Enough bickering,” Loirot said. “This is why we broke up in the first place. Now are we together or not?”
Cloire’s gaze had drifted back to the mortal on the bed.
“Cloire?” prompted Byron.
Surprisingly, when she shot him the inevitable withering stare, he found her eyes somewhat misty, almost as if she were trying to mask some sort of guilt.
She took a deep breath. “I’ll go with you under one condition, and one condition alone.”
They waited.<
br />
“If we’re to be a team again, we’ve got to start fresh. Forget our petty shit. Be professional.”
“Professional?” mocked Kilian.
“My sentiments exactly. That’s why we must prove once and for all that you can teach an old dog a new trick.” At that, they all grinned, and Byron felt himself relax a little. However, he feared what she would say next. “We’ve got to put the past behind us. But first we must right one of the wrongs we set into motion.”
Warily, Kilian said, “And what would that be?”
She studied him, and her gaze seemed neither disrespectful nor judging. At length, she told them.
“That’s insane,” Kilian said. “How the hell do you think we could ever pull something like that off?”
“We’ve done other things equally as chancy, and we’re still here to talk about it. Or, it now seems, to argue about it.” She smiled, and the gesture had a calming effect on the dour werewolf. “Anyway, if you want me by your sides, that’s the condition.”
Byron didn’t know what to think of all this, but he knew that with Cloire by his side, or in his bed, he could do pretty much anything.
“Okay,” he said, startling the other two. “Let’s do it.”
Puzzled, Loirot said, “But ...”
“What, you don’t think we can do it? It’ll be like old times.”
Loirot didn’t look too sure of that, but he started to nod his head. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m game.”
Byron and Loirot turned to Kilian, who was examining the two as if they were idiots. They didn’t flinch from his stare.
“Well, Killer?” Cloire purred, obviously enjoying this.
To Byron, the man looked stricken, and for a moment the Australian thought that Kilian might be about to swoon. Then the mercenary recovered.
“Okay,” he said simply.
Byron couldn’t contain his smile.
“But,” Kilian amended, “if we do this thing, then I too have one condition on which I can allow you to return to our team.”
Cloire’s voice was flat. “What is that?”
