by Jack Conner
Jean-Pierre cleared his throat. “I think we’re overlooking the obvious.”
“And that is?”
“That if the Ambassador here—and I use the title loosely—has issued a message offering peace to Subaire, then she should have no reason to attack.”
“Well, Lord Mauchlery? What of it? Have you had time to issue such a message?”
“I have,” answered the new king. “Not a message of surrender, exactly, but I’ve offered the surrender of the vision—the Undead Jerusalem. I would remain lord of the castle and empire until I decided otherwise, but I would admit her and the others in her Half back into our good graces, and the healing would begin. In time, I would reinstate you, and things would go on as they did before. She would have won, but you, Roche, would remain Dark Lord, and together we would fight the Libertarians.”
“Well? What did she say?”
Mauchlery grimaced. “The remaining half of the Dark Council still in London was very glad to hear of my gesture, but they regret to inform us that Subaire has other plans. Apparently, she’s no longer satisfied with simply forcing you to give up your plan. She wants to be the new Dark Lord—or Lady, as the case may be.”
Roche let out a weary groan. “Hell.”
“Malie set her up to this,” Ruegger said. “I know it. When she visited Subaire in London, she must have convinced her that she was worth more than just a member of the Dark Council.” He stared off into space. “So now we have the combined forces of the Balaklava, Subaire’s Half and Liberty pounding on our door.”
“And digging up from beneath,” Kharker said.
Chapter 11
Danielle slumped back in the finely crafted chair, puffing on her cigarette as if it were an oxygen mask and she a heart attack victim. That’s how she felt as Ruegger recounted his visit with the Dark Lord—as if her whole system was on the verge of collapse, as if her body would collapse like a black hole and suck everything around it down into the vortex with her.
To her, it seemed more and more that this quest to bring justice to Ludwig’s murderer(s) was doomed not simply to failure but to utter ruin and misery. Everywhere she and Ruegger went, some catastrophe erupted, in increasingly worse proportions. Now they had come to the end of it, the worst-case scenario, and everything around them would soon spin into a frenzy of violence and destruction, finally reaching a point of no return.
She lit up another cigarette off the butt of this one, all the while keeping her ears trained on Ruegger’s tale.
“Christ!” she barked when he finished, and shoved back from the chair in order to pace the room with fury. “I can’t believe this. I mean—Malie! She’s one of us, one of the good guys.”
“So we’re good guys, are we?”
“If we’re not, baby, then I don’t think there are any. Shit. How did this whole thing get so sideways? I mean, our friend dies, we look for the reason behind his death. Meanwhile, his widow embarks upon a similar journey ... so we thought. Now it turns out all she wants is power. Power. Ruegger, she was our friend.” Danielle shook her head so hard that her vision was temporarily streaked through with tracers. “Is that all it takes? Her husband dies, she assumes control of his army—and blam! She likes it, likes the power. I mean, is that right? Is that how it works?”
“For me, yes. At least, it did.”
“For most?”
“I think so, but I’m a cynic.”
She gnarled her hands, raised her head and growled at the ceiling; when that failed to relieve her frustration, she pulled down a deep breath. “You’re not a cynic, baby. I am. At least, that’s the way I always saw it. You’re the dreamer, I’m the screamer.” She balled her hand into a fist that vibrated so hard it made her whole arm tremble. “I don’t get it. I—don’t—get—it. Please, explain it to me. Is this the reason you wanted to leave here after the Libertarian threat was eliminated? Because you’re afraid of what power might do to you?”
“Pretty much.”
She clenched another fist, realized too late that she’d just crumpled her cigarette, and went to retrieve yet another.
“Damnit, Ruegger,” she said as she fumbled with the lighter. “I mean, I’ve always thought of you as strong—not just in body, but mind. Hard as I try, I can’t imagine you abusing power. Take earlier today. When you had to use Harry to get your point across, it hurt you—more than it did him, I’m pretty sure. It wasn’t really an abuse of your power, or at least it was a justified abuse—but you felt bad about it. And you wouldn’t have done it at all if there’d been a better way. So how can someone like you, or Malie, ever fall into such a trap? It’s stupid.”
“Anyway, I think both of us have come to agree with Sarnova’s way of thinking. At least as for as a homeland goes. Correct me if I’m wrong.”
“No, I’d like for shades to have a homeland, to become more on equal terms with humans—not superior, but not sulking in shadows, either. I’d like to see immortals come out of the closet. It might help us be better.”
“Then we’re agreed.”
“We’ve got to help Blackie win this thing, even if it destroys Malie in the process.” She watched him, gauging his reaction to her last statement, but his face was expressionless ... no, not expressionless, she realized, just sad. But in no way disagreeing with her words. So, with a gulp of air, she plowed on. “So how do we do it?”
“Before we tackle that, maybe you could tell me how your trip to the Throne Room went.”
She shrugged. “Not much to tell, really. Mauchlery was just leaving when we got there, but Cloire shouted to him and he stopped for a second. She told him what she wanted and he said he’d talk to Amelia and set things right for the crew to return to New York if they wanted. Then he gave a little nod to us and skipped out—I guess to make that call to London you just told me about, before reporting to Blackie.”
“I suppose I should be glad Cloire’s free and clear on that particular matter after what she was willing to do for me. As to others ...”
“Yeah, but in that case, I don’t think we should play God. Harry’s heart’s at stake, after all. And Cloire may have turned to the light side of the Force, who knows.”
He nodded, silent, and she could practically see his wheels turning. At last he said, “Back to Roche. He wants me—and you, if you want to go—to accompany him, Kharker and the kavasari up to the outpost on the top of the hill. From there we’ll have a view of the Libertarians’ rendezvous with Subaire’s troops, if there is one, and the subsequent intervention of the Castle forces.”
“You know how to show a girl a good time.”
“I helped Roche and the others draw up the plans. Whether they work or not remains to be seen, though.”
With feigned eagerness, she sat up in her chair. “Sounds like a date, sailor. When do we leave?”
* * *
The shameless glitz and smoke of the casino reminded Sophia of her old home, Las Vegas. More, it reminded her of her first attempted seduction of Jean-Pierre. Thinking about that first encounter, she frowned and pulled the lever of the slot machine again.
Ching ching ching. No luck.
She didn’t mind; hell, if she’d known about the casino, she would’ve been here long before. To her, it brought back old memories—some good, some bad, and yet in the end her recollections always spiraled together to form the shape of her father.
She loved him, she admitted, much as that frustrated her. All in all, though, she’d committed herself to him; from here on out, she’d ride the course of their relationship and discover where it led. Maybe someday they would come to resemble a couple much like the odd flock, but then again—
It didn’t matter. For the present, it was enough that she’d actually made up her mind, that she’d carved open her chest and laid her heart open to someone; what he did with it would be of his own designs. If he could be good and moral, as she thought he could, then she had made the right choice. Even if he reverted to his evil ways, it was enough for her th
at she had (through his guidance) gained the strength to lower her walls, to let the outside world march in.
“Having fun?”
She spun to see Jean-Pierre watching her with his surreal green eyes. The sight of him, amidst all the clamor and artificial brightness of the casino, made her unable to speak for a moment. She wanted to wrap her arms about him and kiss him but held herself back.
“You’re late,” she said. “The hour was up about thirty minutes ago.”
“The meeting with Sarnova ran over. You didn’t get lonely, did you?”
She slapped the side of the slot machine. “I didn’t, but the few remaining dollars in my purse are starting to miss their old companions a little. How’d the meeting go?”
“The news was bad. Our enemies are united and upon us. Unless Ruegger’s little plan works, we’re all dead.”
“His plan ...”
He glanced at a watch. “We’re late, already. I’ll have to tell you on the way.”
“To where?”
“The top of the mountain. We’re going fishing.”
* * *
When Ruegger and Danielle emerged from the warm confines of the Castle into the outdoors, a burst of icy wind greeted them, and a long hike stretched ahead.
As they moved along the walls and catwalks atop the castle, Danielle studied the immense courtyards, fountains, battlements, and all the other powerful sights viewable from the outside of the fortress. If it weren’t so goddamned cold, she would’ve said how beautiful it all looked—but since it was, she said, “Why don’t they put some damned heat lamps out here?”
Ruegger pulled her close. He, she knew, wasn’t experiencing the cold as intensely as she was; with his age and the strong bloods flowing inside him, it probably felt to him like summer in Mexico. Idly, she wondered if she was jealous of his powers. Maybe. Especially when it’s so damned cold.
Exchanging few words, they threaded their way across the top of the Castle toward the wall of rock that signified the point where the mountain began. Far at the top of the mountain, a small red light beckoned to them from the outpost, and they went to it.
Danielle’s gaze fell away from the Castle toward the valley and the rough mountains all around, and to the endless backdrop of stars and blackness beyond. She searched for the moon, unable to see it, then realized that it was hidden behind one of the battlements; as she strode a few feet more down the catwalk, she turned her head in time to see a gleaming rim sprout from behind the tower’s wall. Shortly they reached the mountain wall, where thousands of steps became visible—stairs carved from the stone itself, offering occasional landings here and there and leading to the peak.
“That’s a hell of a climb,” Danielle said, craning her head.
“Let’s get started, then.”
“Look,” she said, and pointed.
Jean-Pierre and Sophia were following the same path that she and Ruegger had just come by, closing in on the mountain wall. Rubbing a hand against her cheek to blot out the cold, Danielle glanced at the stairs they had left to climb.
“We should wait,” she said, shivering and crossing her arms across her chest.
He looked at her speculatively. “Dani.”
“Yes?”
“We’ve always shared everything. Now I’ve been given a gift that I want to share with you.” He tugged the sleeve back from a wrist and brought his olive-skinned flesh up for her scrutiny. There was no external change, of course, but she could feel the new strength in him, the heightened senses, and knew what he was offering.
“The royal blood,” she said.
“You need it, not just because of the cold, but because if this plan tonight doesn’t work, we’re going to be in some serious trouble tomorrow or the next day. The bloods I’ve got in me ... Sarnova, the dragon, the kavasari ... well, I may be able to hold my own against the Balaklava now.” He stopped suddenly, as if at a twinge of emotion, and then continued. “I never want you to be at their mercy again. With this, you won’t have to.”
“You’ve sold me.”
Taking his forearm in both her hands, she pulled his exposed skin toward her slowly. As the veins became clearer to her eyes, her fangs lengthened and her tongue grew warm, hungry.
She hesitated.
“I know what you’re thinking, Dani, but believe me; if I can be trusted with this power, you most certainly can. All these years, you’ve been my conscience.”
She kissed him on his wrist and began to feed.
* * *
“It’s a nice little plan,” Sophia said, “but will it work?”
“That’s what we’ve come here to find out. Even Ruegger seemed doubtful, but his plan was better than any of the rest of us could think up. If it doesn’t work, Subaire and Malie will meet and launch their attack—when and what’ll it be, I don’t know.”
“Here we are,” said Sophia, stopping before the steps carved into the mountain wall. “Couldn’t Sarnova have built an elevator here or something?”
“Just don’t look down.”
He spied Ruegger and Danielle nuzzling nearby. Immediately, he noticed the flush in Danielle’s cheeks and the renewed vitality in her black eyes, and guessed what had just occurred.
“There you are,” the vampiress said, her voice sharp and clear despite the wind. What Jean-Pierre noticed most about her was the level of confidence—which had always run high in her, true, but now ... it seemed to him that she had aged, not in appearance or maturity, but in strength, in power.
“Didn’t bring any beer, did you?” she said.
“Beer, no,” Sophia said. She yanked out a silver flask from a hidden pocket and flashed a smile at Danielle. “But I hope brandy would do just as well? Jean-Pierre won’t drink any, and sometimes a body just doesn’t like to drink alone. So: brandy?”
“Maybe just this once,” Danielle said.
“This is a battle, not a party,” Jean-Pierre reminded them, but he didn’t object any further as they tilted the flask. It was cold, and as for battles, well, he knew which ones to pick. Together they began their swift march up the stairs—which were wide enough, about ten feet across—but they required much in the way of energy, for every stair was at least a foot high. When they finally reached the top, Jean-Pierre had to steady himself against the wall.
“He should build an elevator,” he said.
* * *
With a grunt, Captain Raulf D’Aguila lurched purposely across the great chamber that the Libertarians shared with the Balaklava and their minions. The room crackled with tension, the two groups mistrusting each other greatly—as evidenced by the “line” that divided the chamber.
A Collage towered at this border, warding off any Libertarians that did not have permission to cross into the half of the room Junger and Jagoda claimed as their own. Actually, they claimed the whole room and the whole Sabo itself, but they permitted their guests to set up camp in the designated area. However, the division only heightened the tension between the two parties. From one side, zombies leered toward the Libertarians, while from the other, Malie’s troops shined and prepped their weapons with cold deliberation, occasionally and “accidentally” pointing their guns toward their undead neighbors. The zombies only grinned and gestured toward the Collage and the fins that circled along the walls and floor.
Raulf tried to ignore it all as he and his guards shoved their way through the Libertarian ranks into the area that Maleasoel was using as her command center.
“Good to see you, Captain,” said the Mistress from behind her makeshift desk. “I thought you’d found something better to do.”
Raulf ground his teeth. “I’ve come to report that the party is ready to leave, with the exception of the deaders your allies promised us.”
“Good. I’m sure Subaire will be happy to receive them.” She said this with a thin smile Raulf didn’t like.
“Then I’m off.”
He winked, turned on his heel and pressed through Malie’s circle, his own men
following. They moved toward the Balaklavian half of the chamber, where the Collage immediately lumbered over on its strange, long, many-jointed limbs and planted itself before the intruders. Raulf felt his men stiffen at his back, but he had acquired a familiarity with the Collage enough to know that there was no real danger.
A large limb shot out from the behemoth. Its blunt tip stopped just a yard from Raulf’s face. A dozen arms and tails and legs squirmed menacingly from the tip of the appendage, but they slowly folded back, much like the petals of a flower, as the torso of an auburn-haired woman thrust forward.
She must have been good looking, Raulf thought, not for the first time, before her entombment in the Collage; her face seemed young, but her hair showed streaks of silver.
“Welcome, Captain,” she said.
“It’s good to be welcome.” He’d spoken with her several times in the past day but had yet to determine if she was a free-thinking individual, the brain of the Collage, or simply a tool the creature used to communicate with others. “May we enter, my lady?”
“Of course, Captain. And good luck on your mission.”
“Thank you,” he said. Were those last words hers, those of the Collage, or thoughts sent directly from the Balaklava themselves?
She withdrew into the limb, disappearing from sight, and was quickly replaced by the array of fangs and claws that shielded her. The Sabo heaved to the side a few yards, giving Raulf access to the Balaklava’s domain.
Slowly, he stepped forward until he had cleared the bulk of the Collage, then turned back to his men and beckoned them to join him.
“Come on,” he said. “It’s—”
A huge limb crashed into the ground that separated Raulf from his men, sending up dust. He bit back a curse but knew better than to press his luck. If Junger and Jagoda wished that only he should enter, that’s the way it would be.
