To Walk the Night

by E. S. Moore

  I kept low to the ground, moving light and quick. Barely a leaf rustled as I passed on vampire-light feet. I did my best to keep a heavy number of trees between me and Tremaine’s mansion, but there were still bare patches where walking exposed under the moonlight was inevitable.

  Lights were on in nearly every room of the place. From where I crouched behind an old oak, I could just make out the black shape of the driveway that snaked down toward the road.

  The mansion sat well back from the road, and a good portion of it was hidden behind large pines. From the road, only the pond and front entrance could be seen clearly. The pond itself was illuminated by soft lights. At the end of the drive, there was no gate, which had always surprised me. Even the Fledgling House I had taken down just a few days ago had had one. Tremaine was either extremely confident or extremely stupid.

  Most vampires were like that, really. They thought they were invincible, and oftentimes wouldn’t bother using security when something wasn’t going on. Only when tensions were high did they use more than a few guards—mostly wolves stuck patrolling the grounds or watching front gates or doors. It made slipping in pretty easy sometimes.

  It seemed as though Tremaine wasn’t planning on any trouble. There was no one on the roof, and as far as I could tell, no one peeked out the windows to scan the grounds. Without a gate, there was no guardhouse at the base of the driveway, which left him pretty open for attack if someone were interested in taking him down.

  Still, I wouldn’t want to take a chance that I overlooked something and go charging in without planning ahead first. I scanned the mansion, searching for some way in that didn’t look as though it was heavily used.

  There was a window with a vent beside it on the side of the mansion in which I was looking. The window was open a crack and there were no lights on inside the room.

  I watched the room for a good long while. It looked like it was the laundry room, if the vent was what I thought it was. I was pretty sure that traffic through the room would be light. If nothing else presented itself before long, the laundry room would probably be the best access point. Not too many vampires thought about guarding their soiled sheets.

  I remained crouched behind the tree for a good hour more, simply watching. There was a back door, but I doubted going in through any door would be a good idea. Doors tended to be watched. I couldn’t risk being seen the night of the assault until things were well under way. Getting caught because I used the wrong entrance would more than likely mean the fighting would start long before we were ready.

  At one point, a petite woman who had to have been only half my size came through the back door and walked the perimeter of the yard. She didn’t look like she was doing much more than going for an evening stroll, but I knew better. Her hand lingered at her side, fingers ready to draw a weapon that was hidden by a long coat.

  It was pretty brilliant, really. Send out the smallest and weakest looking member of the House in the hopes that anyone lurking around the property might take that as a chance to attack. She probably had enough firepower under that coat to stop an army of wolves.

  Of course, silver being illegal, it would only stop attacking vamps or wolves for a few moments before they would be on her. My guess was she was either a really powerful wolf or vamp, or she was completely expendable. No House would risk the wrath of the other vampire Houses by using silver.

  A nearby rustle brought me to my feet. There was a deep-throated cough, followed by someone spitting somewhere to my right. I tried to see past low-hanging branches but couldn’t make out much of anything from where I stood. The oak was a good place to see the mansion. It wasn’t so good of a place to spot a watchman in the trees.

  I slipped back up the hill, out of sight of the mansion, and waited. I could have probably fallen back all the way to my motorcycle and avoided a confrontation entirely. I might have if it wasn’t for the fact I was there to scout the place. Finding out what kind of security they kept was part of scouting.

  A few moments later, a stocky man with a pencil-thin mustache strode into view. His hair was parted to either side and greased down like he was some early era gangster. He even wore a tailored suit straight out of the early 1900s. He carried no weapon that I could see, but there was something about him that spoke of a man ready and willing to do some serious violence at the drop of a hat.

  I held my breath as he passed. He paused almost directly in front of me, his neck craned to the side as he sniffed the air like a dog. His head swiveled from side to side, his beady eyes scanning the trees all around him.

  I slowly slid my hand down to the hilt of one of my knives. If he made so much as a single step more in my direction, I would bury it to the hilt in his throat. I didn’t want to do it, knowing that if I did, it would only make things harder in a few days. A dead body tended to draw attention and security would be through the roof.

  The man licked his lips and stuck out his tongue like he was tasting the air. He smiled and turned to look down at the oak I had so recently vacated. He sauntered toward it, glancing from side to side, almost casually. He crouched down and touched the ground where I had stood, then looked either way as if trying to determine which way I had gone.

  I moved my other hand to my gun. I was dealing with a werewolf for sure. No one else could sniff someone out like that. And even then, only the older, more powerful wolves could do it so easily. Vampires were hard to scent out, considering they didn’t sweat like a normal person.

  It was then I remembered my earlier encounter. I would have wolf scent on me, as well as the lingering scent of blood from feeding. It was somewhat comforting to know that he probably wouldn’t have smelled me otherwise, though it did little to alleviate my current situation. If he could smell the old blood, then it was only a matter of time before he sniffed me out.

  I waited for him to make his move. If I was forced to kill him, I would have to drop him fast. If he warned anyone I was there, things could get ugly in a hurry. If I could kill him in one stroke, I might be able to drag him away and hide the body so that it wouldn’t compromise the Luna Cult plan, though I was sure it would raise suspicions if one of Tremaine’s wolves came up missing. There was really no way to do this and not cause problems later.

  The wolf stood and scanned the trees once more. He withdrew a small case from his coat pocket. It looked to be made of silver, though I knew there was no way it could be. He removed a thin cigarette wrapped in brown paper and produced a match from his coat. The sweet scent of cloves filled the air as he lit and puffed on the cigarette.

  He stood there a moment longer, smoking and scanning the area before sauntering back toward the mansion, humming to himself.

  I watched him walk all the way back in disbelief. He had scented me out, I was sure of it, and yet he lit the cigarette, obscuring my scent, and walked away. Either he was really bad at what he did, or he was confident I wasn’t a threat. Maybe it was the Pureblood scent that did it.

  Once he was out of sight, I headed back toward my Honda. I wasn’t sure if the wolf would tell Count Tremaine of my presence or not, but I didn’t want to risk it either way. I moved quickly, not bothering to keep as quiet as I should have, knowing I might only have minutes before more wolves would be on me.

  Just as I broke cover from the trees, headlights appeared down the road, coming from the direction of House Tremaine. I dropped down into a ditch, pressing myself as close to the ground as I could. The vehicle rumbled past without slowing, and I was on my feet and moving again before the taillights were out of sight.

  A few minutes later, I was on my motorcycle. My scouting was done, though I wasn’t sure how safe my entry point would really be.

  I had snuck into vampire Houses under worse circumstances, so it really wouldn’t be any different than before. This actually seemed pretty easy compared with some of my other grand entrances. As long as no one was doing the laundry when I slipped in, I figured there was a chance I might get in unobserved.


  Of course, there was one little thing I needed to take care of before settling on any course of action. If I wasn’t satisfied with the result, then someone other than Count Tremaine would be feeling the biting edge of my sword.

  And this time, I would make sure he didn’t survive it.

  17

  No one tried to stop me as I marched down the sidewalk toward the renovated library that was the Luna Cult Den. The more I thought about my night, the angrier I became. I knew Jonathan had to know who my attackers were. The scar in the middle of my attacker’s forehead was too much of a coincidence for there not to be some sort of connection.

  I could feel eyes on me as I made my way to the Den. I knew more than one Cultist was probably watching me from the windows or other secure locations around the green. I didn’t know how much Jonathan was able to hide within his glamour.

  And, of course, Jonathan himself was probably watching me on his little monitor.

  I pushed open the doors and strode inside, breaking through the darkness, into the light. Even though I knew the sudden light was coming, it still caused my step to falter, and I had to close my eyes tight against the glare. I doubted I would ever get used to the sudden change from dark to light. Not that I planned on coming to the Den often enough to get used to it.

  There weren’t nearly as many Cultists lurking around as there were the last time I was there. There were still enough to ensure my good behavior, or at least, whatever good behavior I was willing to impart. If I felt like shooting someone, I would. There was nothing they could do to stop me.

  I forced a smile and asked the first person I saw to fetch Jonathan for me. The Cultist could have been no more than seventeen. He held a book in his hands, a finger marking his page. His scalp looked freshly shaved, and whoever had done it hadn’t been too careful about it. Tiny nicks marred his head, the scabs still fresh and gooey.

  The Cultist stared at me and didn’t move. I don’t think he knew what to think about my abrupt appearance. I didn’t recognize him from the last time I was there.

  I looked around the room, my forced smile fading. Faces peered out at me from the railing above, curiosity prevalent amongst them. No one looked like they had any intention of doing what I wanted. Why would they? As far as they knew, I was just some mercenary Jonathan had hired to help them out.

  Pablo stepped into view a moment later. He glowered at me from the second floor, his anger displacing the curious faces. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. He started down the stairs, slowly, meaningfully. “You weren’t invited this time. You have no business here.”

  I ground my teeth to keep from saying something rash. I was in their house, their home, and I would have to abide by their rules. For now. I wasn’t sure Jonathan or the Cult had anything to do with the attack. Until then, I needed to keep myself in check.

  “I need to speak to Jonathan,” I said. “Where is he?”

  “Busy.”

  “Tell him I’m here. He will want to see me.” I was pretty sure he already knew I was there. Even if he hadn’t been watching his monitors, someone would have told him. People weren’t just allowed to waltz on in uninvited like I had.

  “He might, he might not,” Pablo said, reaching the bottom of the stairs. He stopped with his arms crossed, head lowered so he was just about looking through his forehead to see me. I think he meant it to look menacing. “You aren’t wanted here.”

  The young Cultist on the stairs closed his book and retreated somewhere above, out of sight. He could probably feel the tension in the room as much as hear it.

  “Don’t make me go in search of him,” I said. “I’ve had a real pissy night, and I don’t feel like dealing with your bullshit.”

  Pablo’s expression tightened and he took a threatening step forward. I drew my gun and aimed it at him, using his tattoo as a target. Screw diplomacy. This was the way I preferred to do business anyway.

  “I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you,” I said. The smile that reached my lips wasn’t forced this time. It wasn’t pleasant either.

  “Enough.” Jonathan’s voice rang out from upstairs. He stepped into view a moment later, the young Cultist close behind. Jonathan’s hood was up, concealing the ruin of his face. “How many times is this going to happen? I don’t want someone getting killed over nothing.”

  Pablo glanced up the stairs and bowed his head, cowed. “She wasn’t invited,” he said. “She walked right in here as if she belonged with the rest of us. She disrespects us.”

  Jonathan sighed and came down the stairs. “Until further notice, she is to be treated as one of us. She can come and go as she pleases. As long as she abides by our rules and avoids violence, no one is to hurt her.” His head turned my way. “Would you mind putting the gun away?”

  I had half a mind just to shoot Pablo and get it over with. I didn’t like being here as it was, and the rude bastard only made it worse. It was clear he didn’t like the idea of treating me as a member of the Cult. Neither did I. I wasn’t a werewolf or a werewolf worshipper. I killed them and Jonathan knew it, even if the others didn’t.

  I put away my gun and lowered my hands to my hips. If Pablo made a move for me, I could have a knife out and in his throat before he closed the distance. I still wasn’t sure he hadn’t been the one to order the attack on me, so I was itching for a reason.

  “Would you follow me to the office?” Jonathan said. He turned without another word.

  I followed him across the floor and into the office we had held our earlier meeting. I offered Pablo a quick, satisfied sneer before I went. I couldn’t help myself. I could tell my being there was eating at him.

  As soon as the door closed behind us, I had the gun back out and had it pointed straight at Jonathan’s mangled face. He had removed the hood the moment he entered, so I could see his surprised expression. No one else was in the room.

  “Who was it?” I demanded, taking a step away from the closed door. I moved so I could keep an eye on it, as well as on Jonathan. I didn’t know what kind of tricks he might have up his sleeve. I mean, he was a sorcerer. Glamours might not be the only thing he could do.

  “Who was what?” Jonathan raised his hands, palms outward. His surprise faded and was replaced by a curious look. He didn’t seem too concerned about the gun I was pointing at him, which served only to piss me off more. He eased himself down on the edge of his desk.

  “The wolves that jumped me. No one but you and your goons knew I was going to House Tremaine tonight, and I find it hard to believe it was just some random attack. Did you send them? Did you think you could get rid of me that easily?”

  Jonathan opened his mouth and then closed it without speaking. He went pale and his hands dropped to his sides. He looked utterly stunned.

  “What?” I said, my will wavering. Something was clearly amiss.

  Jonathan took a deep breath and looked up at me, a pleading look in his eye. “Please,” he said. “Put the gun away and I will explain everything.”

  “Then you know who is responsible for the attack?” My grip tightened on the gun.

  “I think so.”

  I bit my lip to keep from cursing. I had been such a fool to think I could trust the Luna Cult, even a little bit. What did I really expect from a bunch of werewolves and their worshippers?

  “It isn’t what you think,” Jonathan said. “Let me explain, and if you think I intentionally deceived you, I won’t stop you if you decide to shoot me.”

  My aim wavered and then finally dropped, though I didn’t put the gun away. “Make it quick.”

  “First, can you tell me what he looked like?”

  “The wolf?”

  Jonathan nodded.

  “He was hairy. They all look alike.”

  “Did you see him before he changed?”

  “No.” I paused. Why was I being difficult? I wanted answers. “The passenger of the truck wasn’t shifted, if he was a wolf at all. He had a pretty nasty scar on his forehead. They both di
d. It was what made me think of you and the Cult.” I left out the bit about my silver weapons not working on the wolf. I wasn’t so sure I could trust Jonathan with that information.

  “Because of our tattoo.”

  “Yeah, a little too coincidental, don’t you think?”

  “You would be right,” Jonathan said with a sigh. “There was something I should have told you when you were here last. I didn’t think it would come up. I see I was wrong.”

  “And that something is?”

  Jonathan slowly stood and motioned toward the chair behind his desk. “May I sit?”

  I waved the gun toward the couch. “Sit there,” I said. I didn’t want him behind the desk where there might be some sort of alarm or intercom.

  Jonathan took a seat on the couch without complaint. He sat back and folded his hands in his lap. “There are those who do not agree with how the Cult is run. I believe those who attacked you belong to this group.”

  “Rebel wolves.”

  “Only one, originally,” Jonathan admitted. “Adrian Davis. He was Simon’s second at the time of his defection. He left before Simon was captured, taking quite a few Luna Cult Purebloods with him, most of them the more violent of our members.” He scratched the flat part of his head. The sound of his nails on the scarred flesh made my skin crawl. “He believes we should turn all the Cultists, making them werewolves. In doing so, we would have much more power, would be able to take down the vampire Houses on our own if that was our desire.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Because that is not our way. While many in the Cult wish to be turned, not all of them do. It is one thing to want to be a werewolf and an entirely different thing to actually be one. The reality of the change doesn’t really hit many until it is too late to go back. It would be like wanting to be immortal and then finding yourself bored with life. There is no going back.”

  I frowned. It made sense in a way.

  “When Adrian realized we weren’t going to change our minds, he left. The Cultists who went with him had been the most adamant about being turned. They tore away their tattoos with their newly gifted claws the moment they were turned. They turned their backs on everything the Cult stood for.”