The Living Night: Box Set

by Jack Conner

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Jean-Pierre, turning his green eyes from the fire.

  “Like I said, it’s time for drastic measures. Mauchlery, you listening?”

  The kavasari nodded, leaning forward in his chair. “You have a plan?”

  “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact.” She hesitated, suddenly afraid to reveal her plan, mad as it was.

  “Well, what is it?”

  She told them.

  * * *

  When Byron returned to Kilian’s room, he was surprised to find his whole world turned upside down. Of course, he thought, that sort of thing should have stopped surprising him by now.

  “Byron,” said Kilian, and gestured to the tall naked woman who stood in the center of the room. “Meet Lyshira.”

  “What the hell’s going on here?” Byron said.

  “I don’t see Cloire with you.”

  “She’s elected not to come with us to Lereba.”

  “Good,” said Lyshira. “Because you’re not going to Lereba.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Power,” answered Loirot, unhappily sitting on the bed, dressed only in a towel about his waist.

  “I don’t get it.”

  Kilian patted Byron on the shoulder. “Something else has come our way.”

  Byron studied the naked woman. “Lyshira,” he said. “That’s your name? It sounds familiar.”

  Kilian chuckled. “You’ve heard Loirot grumble about her death often enough, that’s for sure. She’s a shapeshifter—”

  Byron started. “You mean ... she’s the one that Kiernevar killed?”

  Lyshira’s bright eyes shone. “As you can see, death doesn’t necessarily have to be a permanent condition.”

  “You mean ... you’re a ...”

  “That’s right.”

  “Jesus. But what’s going on? And how come you’re ... so well-preserved?”

  Lyshira’s face grew modest. “Junger and Jagoda like to keep me looking good.”

  “Junger and Jagoda ...”

  “They’re the ones that resurrected me,” she said.

  Byron passed a hand across his face. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Join the club,” muttered Loirot.

  “Shut up,” Kilian said.

  Byron tried to keep his eyes trained on Lyshira’s face, but the rest of her body demanded his attention. She was ... statuesque.

  "Don’t you want some clothes?” he asked.

  She arched a red eyebrow. “You’re blushing.”

  For a moment, he allowed himself to be glad that he, at least, wore clothes. After clearing his throat, he said, “So, ah, you’re here on behalf of Junger and Jagoda?”

  “I am. They request your crew’s services. And believe me, they will reward such service well.”

  “You mean, if they succeed in taking over the Castle.”

  “No, dear. When.”

  “What do they want of us?”

  She shrugged her finely-sculpted shoulders, letting her ample breasts rise and fall with the movement, and said, “I think they wish to tell you themselves. I was just sent here to see if you’re interested ... and if you are, to ask you to follow me down to the catacombs. To them.”

  Byron exchanged a glance with Loirot and Kilian. Loirot’s eyes were guarded, but resigned, while Kilian’s were as fiery as Byron had ever seen them.

  “I don’t know,” Byron said. “You really trust Junger and Jagoda enough to go down there?”

  “Come on,” chided Kilian. “If they wanted us dead, we’d already be dead. Obviously it’s our services they require. Perhaps they’ve a shortage of daybeasts and need us to perform something for them that can only be accomplished in the sunlight. Besides, what are our options? To go to Lereba and start over? Be realistic, By, there are only three of us left; even with our experience and daytime abilities, what good is a crew of three, especially in a city as choked with shades as that, huh? On the other hand, we can at least go down and listen to what the future kings of this Castle have to offer. Don’t you think?”

  “What if we listen, don’t like it, and want to leave? What guarantee do we have that they’ll let us go?”

  “None, I suppose,” Kilian admitted. “But if they wanted to capture us, why would they give us a choice in the matter? They could’ve sent up a whole platoon of deaders to kidnap us and take us to them, but they didn’t. They have a proposition; and since we have little prospects ourselves, I don’t see what harm there is for us to hear them out.”

  “You’re sure about this?” Byron directed his question at Loirot.

  The playboy werewolf looked up from the bed. “If you’d brought Cloire back, maybe we’d have more to offer as a death-squad in Lereba—but since you failed, I don’t see that we have much choice. At least this way we have an opportunity to become the right-hand men of future kings. That might be worth the risk involved.”

  “Are you with us?” asked Kilian.

  “What if I said no?” Byron said.

  “That hadn’t occurred to me, to tell you the truth. We’re a unit. A team. And you, Byron, are the heart of that team, as well as the muscle half the time.”

  “Then what am I?” said Loirot.

  “You’re just here for your good looks.”

  “As long as I’m good for something.”

  Byron forced himself to be calm. “What if I did say no? Would you and Loirot still leave with her?”

  Lyshira pursed her full lips. “I’m sorry, guys, but I was told that either all three of you go or none of you. But, really, Byron, you’re being too nervous. Come with me and listen to what Junger and Jagoda have to say. If you don’t like their proposition, whatever it is, then you can leave. But I’m told that you will all like the proposition very much. It has something to do with your last assignment, about completing it.”

  Kilian grinned. “You’re talking about Ruegger, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He turned to Byron. “Come on, buddy, this has got to be something concerning Ruegger. Maybe they want us to kill him finally.”

  “They could do that themselves, I’m quite sure,” Lyshira said.

  “So it has nothing to do with Ruegger?” He seemed disappointed.

  Again, she shrugged, and at the motion a strand of her lustrous mane fell in front of one beautiful eye. To Byron, this slight concealment was more intoxicating than her whole wonderful body exposed. He could easily see why the Balaklava sent her up here, for what heterosexual or bisexual man wouldn’t follow this radiant lady to his death?

  “I’ve told you all I know,” she said. “Maybe it’s something to do with the Dark Lord’s Heir, maybe it’s not. At any rate, they expect me back shortly, and you don’t want to witness how they treat those who are tardy.”

  “We’ll protect you,” promised Loirot, and she laughed delightedly.

  “I can fend for myself,” she assured him. “But, really, it’s time to be going. So, gentlemen, shall we?”

  Before Byron could think of another question to stall her, someone knocked loudly on the door and then, without permission, entered. It was Cloire, and he could see that she’d recently been crying—not only that, but she looked rather feisty, too. Perhaps he’d left a larger impression on her than he’d thought.

  “Who the hell is that?” Cloire said, staring at the naked, glistening figure of Lyshira.

  “That,” answered Kilian, “is the road to greater things.”

  “I’m Lyshira,” said the dragon-lady.

  “I don’t really care who the fuck you are,” Cloire said. She paused, looking at the tall redhead as if in recognition, but she shook the thought away. “I’m here to announce that I’m returning to the fold, if that’s all right with you.”

  Byron beamed and started to approach her, but she held out a hand to keep him at arm’s distance. “No thanks,” she said. “You love me, you said. Love! I want no part of that ever again. I also want no part of Ler
eba—not yet, anyway. I’ve been thinking. First we’ve got to go and find out what the hell happened to Vistrot, and if we can still work for him. If we can’t find him, then so be it: Lereba it is. Or Hauswell. Anyway, I’m back in, and those are my conditions, that we find out what happened to the Titan before we do anything else.”

  “You haven’t changed a bit, Cloire,” Killian said.

  “I wish I could say something different about you, Killer.”

  “Well, on behalf of us all, I want to welcome you back. But as far as hunting down Vistrot ... we’ve gotten a better offer. Lyshira, will you explain it to her?”

  Lyshira cleared her throat and began to speak, but before she could, Cloire clicked to the name and said, “Lyshira! Fuck. Jesus.”

  “Yep,” muttered Loirot. “That’s pretty much what I—”

  “Shut it! Lyshira, honey, if you’re who I think you are, you’re a fucking zombie—which means you were probably sent here by Junger and Jagoda. Kilian, is that your idea of a better offer?“

  “Well, I—”

  “I don’t want to hear it. I’m going to find Vistrot, with or without you.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Byron said.

  “Good. That makes one. Loirot, you in?”

  Loirot swiveled his eyes from Kilian to Cloire and back again. To Byron, he seemed confused, and the Australian guessed that Lyshira was a big part of that confusion, as the Balaklava had desired.

  “No,” Loirot said. “Cloire, if you hadn’t shacked up with that human, I’d feel different about following you. But right now I think Kilian is the most clear-headed among us, and I’ll follow his lead.”

  “Sheep,” she spat. “So, Killer, what about you? You were Vistrot’s mole once; if he’s still alive and you don’t attempt to find him, don’t you think he’ll react to you ... well, in a way that you wouldn’t find pleasurable?”

  Kilian bared sharp teeth. “Vistrot, if he’s still alive, has no real power anymore. When I’m set up as Junger and Jagoda’s right hand, I doubt I’ll lose any sleep over the fucking Titan.”

  “Killer, take a look at your little zombie friend there. With her around, I doubt they have much use for right hands anymore.”

  Lyshira’s eyes became slits.

  Loirot rose to his feet. “That wasn’t called for, Cloire. Now come on, be civil. You can have a place in this, too. I’m sure Junger and Jagoda would welcome you.”

  “I’m sure they would. But they ain’t going to get me. Sorry, guys; I guess this really is farewell.”

  “Yeah,” said Byron, and nodded solemnly to the other two werewolves. “Be careful. Maybe when you’re rich and famous, me and Cloire will send you a postcard.”

  Byron felt much relieved now that she was here. His problems with Kilian and, more specifically, with the Balaklava were solved. Now he and Cloire could wander the earth together, just the two of them, endlessly. Someday she would see him for who he really was and—

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m done with all that. I’m never going to be alone with someone who loves me again. Fuck that shit. If you won’t all go with me as a unit, I’ll go myself.” She looked hard at him, and he could see little tenderness behind her strange eyes. “Sorry, Byron. I guess we just got the wrong end of the stick.”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but she slapped him across the face first and said, “That’s for old time’s sake.”

  She slipped out the door and was gone before he could even speak. Stunned, Byron turned back to the others, who regarded him silently, and massaged the side of his cheek that Cloire had struck.

  “Well, By?” Kilian said, then, oddly, thought to add: “I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too,” Loirot threw in.

  Lyshira crossed her arms over her chest, which just served to push her breasts up higher.

  “Gentlemen, are you ready to go?”

  * * *

  Ruegger had little trouble with the mud-shark, once he got his bearings. With fang and nail, and blade and boot, he tore the monster apart from its acidic insides. He inflicted as much damage as he could, and when he felt the beast stop moving he knew he’d won. The strong acids of its belly had wounded him, but he would survive.

  He cut through its thick hide and found nothing but dirt.

  “Where the hell am I?” he muttered. “Just how far in did you take me, anyway, you big worm?”

  There was nothing for it. Ruegger plunged headfirst into the earth, plowing through the blackness for some minutes before his hands broke into a pocket of air. He pulled himself into a slim passageway. After dusting himself off and assessing the burns the parasite’s gastric juices had dealt him, he looked up the ceiling and said, “I’m still here, you bastards.”

  Even as the words left his lips, he wondered. The mud-shark could have killed him, if it had wanted to, but it hadn’t. Rather, Junger and Jagoda must have been using it as some form of elevator to deliver him into their hands.

  Maybe they didn’t want him dead.

  Why? Because they still feared Amelia’s wrath, he supposed. As well they should.

  Carefully, he pressed down the length of the tunnel, keeping his senses alert for another unwelcome visitor. The last thing he wanted was to be delivered to Junger and Jagoda without addressing Malie first.

  He didn’t give himself any false hopes. This was probably a one-way trip. All he wanted was to stop the coming battle. At best, he hoped to sway Malie to his side and, with her help, pin the Balaklava down and force them to reveal who hired them to kill Ludwig. For the moment, however, he could sublimate his own desire for vengeance to the greater cause of establishing peace between mortals and immortals, and giving all the earth’s damned a homeland to be proud of.

  He just hoped that Malie was open enough to hear him out, and that he was capable enough to evade Junger and Jagoda’s pets until he could reach her.

  He didn’t give himself any false hopes on that end, either.

  Chapter 15

  After attending to his duties as a military officer, Raulf D’Aguila realized that he was famished. He marched up to the captain known as the Stablemaster (he was in charge of the human fodder) and said, “Give me one.”

  The Stablemaster grabbed a clipboard from one of his subordinates and shoved it into Raulf’s hands.

  “What the hell’s this?” D’Aguila said. “There’s a waiting list?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes, sir. Of course I do. But there aren’t enough humans to go around in liberal doses. If you need to eat immediately, there’s a shorter waiting list for those who don’t mind sharing.”

  “Sharing? We’re back to that again, are we?”

  “Now, let’s see, you’re a jandrow, and you really only need the heart, don’t you?”

  Raulf lifted his lip in answer.

  “Good. Then you complete the short list of folks that have been waiting on a shareable human. If you’ll just sign there ... Good. Next, if you’ll just wait, I’ll summon your other dinner companions, as well as your dinner, and you can begin dining at your leisure. Candlelight is optional.”

  “I don’t like sharing,” growled D’Aguila, who didn’t appreciate the man’s sense of humor.

  “None of us do, sir. Trust me, if there was a mortal to spare, you—among all of us—would receive it. But since the situation doesn’t permit such wanton killing of humans, we—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just call me when the others are ready.”

  Ten minutes later, he and four other shades were dining on a human in a far corner of the great chamber. Two vampires drained the mortal of blood, while a ghensiv straddled the man at his waist, taking from him what she needed. On the other end, a morbine was sucking the brain fluid out of his skull, and Raulf was waiting for the proper moment to take the victim’s heart. He couldn’t take it before the vampires finished, because then they would be drinking dead blood, which did not go down well with the b
loodmongers. On the other hand, he couldn’t wait for the morbine to kill the man’s brain, because then the heart would be dead, as well, and it would cease to serve D’Aguila’s needs. So, glumly, he waited until the man was almost dead, and when Raulf was tired of waiting, he plunged his fist into the mortal’s chest, tore out the warm organ and began feasting.

  One of the vampires, not yet done, screamed and toppled to the floor, where he rolled about for several minutes until the pain subsided. Raulf grinned around his heart and kept on munching.

  As he was wiping the blood off his face with a sleeve and preparing to light up the stub of a cigar, a messenger ran up.

  “Captain D’Aguila? The Mistress requests you, sir.”

  Raulf loosed a healthy belch. “Lead the way, my good man.” He was feeling much better.

  The messenger led the way past Malie’s outer and inner ring of soldiers, at last coming into her dense circle of advisors and lackeys. No longer did she sit at a desk; after her triumphant counter-ambush, she’d had a small throne built out of fire-dried mud, and it was upon this that D’Aguila found her.

  “Well, Captain, you look much better.”

  “No thanks to your recycling system,” he said.

  “We have to make do.”

  “Of course.” Careful to keep his voice respectful, he said, “And, ah, what is the reason I’m here? I was just about to take a smoke and a nap.”

  She cocked her dark head toward the far side of the large room. “Look at them, Raulf.”

  He peered into the far side until his eyes located the Balaklava, hunkered quietly on their own thrones—so quietly, in fact, it seemed as though they might be taking a nap. If so, Raulf envied them.

  “What?” he said. “You want me to fetch them a pillow or something?”

  If he had hoped to make her laugh, he was disappointed. “Damn it, Captain,” she said. “I advise you to watch your tongue.”

  “Funny, I thought you’d always liked my tongue.”

  “Captain.”

  “Sorry,” he said, somewhat unnerved at the change in her; not so long ago, she would have responded favorably to his bawdy talk. Of course, surrounded on every side by her hangers-on, could he expect any different from her? “Is there something I can do?” he added.