The Darkest Colors

by David M. Bachman

  Now, with the taste of both Duvessa’s blood and body still mingling with that of Raina’s upon her tongue, Brenna was almost alarmed to see just how quickly Duvessa had seemed to buddy up to her as she had with Raina. Perhaps she was truly being honest when she had softly apologized for misjudging her. It was not clear whether Duvessa’s change of tune was simply a matter of how Brenna had conducted herself publicly, doing her best to be mindful of all the many rules and bits of etiquette, or if it was simply how Brenna had gone about exacting her very public revenge upon Dante Giovanni. Perhaps it was neither of those things at all. Maybe Duvessa had simply decided to like Brenna in spite of her personality, rather than because of it. It was not the kind of relationship that Brenna would have preferred, but it was certainly better than being decapitated or bled to death.

  “Guess I missed out on all the fun,” Mary said to Brenna as she helped her along through the hotel lobby. “I would have loved to see it.”

  “Why? You some kind of voyeur?” Brenna asked with a smirk.

  Mary shrugged and smiled. “Maybe a little. But it’s good to see you and her patched things up. Y’know … you and your mistress.”

  Brenna shook her head, laughing as the motion made her stumble aside enough that Mary had to hold her upright. “Nah, I was just blowing things outta proportion. I mean, I might’ve thought it was a big deal at the time … but I was just freaked out by everything. It was just, like … just a misunderstanding. Y’know? I mean, we had our little tiff, and now things are cool. It’s not like it’s the end of the world or anything.”

  No sooner had she spoken those words than the sound of a sword clearing its sheath with a ringing scrape met everyone’s ears. Brenna thought her heart would leap out of her chest when she saw a woman with long, bright red hair walk into view, placing herself in the general path that everyone was taking across the large, wide hotel lobby. The woman was wearing a long black overcoat, which she shrugged out of before grabbing a handful of that red hair, yanking it off, and then throwing aside the elaborate Halloween wig. Brenna was two pairs back from the others, but she could quite clearly see the Countess standing before them with a sword drawn and ready in both hands.

  “Duvessa Fallamhain!” she yelled with an almost shrill voice that rose in volume and anger with every syllable as she aimed the tip of her sword at the Grand Duchess.

  As one, everybody fanned out on either side of the Grand Duchess as she stood with Noriko. Svetlana protectively pushed Raina back behind herself, and Noriko attempted to do the same with Duvessa, although she was met with some resistance. William and Robert flanked her on both sides, drawing pistols from under their suit jackets and holding them readily in both hands but aiming them at the floor – they could not simply shoot the Countess on sight, it seemed. Mary tugged at Brenna’s arm and tried to pull her away, but she nevertheless struggled against her and moved to stand beside Raina, taking her hand.

  The Countess was both beautiful and frightening at once. As on the night she had killed Duke Sebastian, she was wearing the same clingy black cat suit and tall boots as before, having drawn her straight single-edged sword from a sheath strapped to her back. Her long blonde hair was tied back neatly in a French braid once more, her High Court ears bared and readily visible. While she was wearing makeup, it was quite minimal and simple. She was all business, ready to kill, but she somehow appeared no less feminine and elegant than the Grand Duchess … just darker and more evil.

  The look in her eyes was perhaps the most haunting feature of all, even more so than the sword that she gripped. The Countess looked as though she was trying to kill someone with her glare, alone. The paparazzi that had followed them inside from the parking lot were snapping photographs furiously now. Two professionals with video cameras were documenting the encounter, while several people merely standing around in the lobby scrambled to whip out cellular telephones to either take pictures or capture video of the moment as well.

  “Countess Wilhelmina von Reichenbach,” Duvessa greeted her formally. “I was beginning to wonder if you would ever find the courage to face me.”

  “I grew tired of waiting for you to face me. I realized, of course, that you never would,” she replied in a calmer, lower tone as she kept her sword pointed at the Grand Duchess’s face from only a few yards away. “You’ve never had the courage to face me alone … even before I learned how to use a sword. You have always found a way to avoid me. You have always hidden yourself behind others. Now, there is no one left for you to hide behind. I have killed all of your consorts.”

  “No. Not all of them,” she replied calmly.

  Duvessa stepped aside and gestured to Raina, whom had almost been deliberately standing behind her, out of sight. Brenna’s heart sank as the Countess zeroed her gaze upon Raina with narrowed eyes. What? Raina was officially the Grand Duchess’s consort now? Was that even possible? As Duchess, Raina had been declared as heiress to the House of Fallamhain and the Grand Duchess’s title … but did that also automatically make her a consort? She wasn’t sure how that worked. Brenna truly wished that she had read up on the whole High Court thing a bit more before deciding to carelessly throw herself right into the heart of its violent politics.

  But why should any of that matter right now, anyway? The Countess and Raina had talked. They had an understanding. Raina knew what was going on, and the Countess was … well, counting on her to fulfill her part in the deal they had made. There was something of a truce between them … wasn’t there? Brenna saw it, even standing beside and slightly behind Raina, the way she could not hold the Countess’s stare, how she looked slightly down and aside. Was it guilt? Shame? Or just fear? It was hard to tell, anymore. She found herself envying the High Court’s ability to sense the emotions of others, for in that moment, she wanted desperately to know what to expect from her dear friend … her mistress, Duchess Raina.

  “I see,” the Countess mused with the barest hint of a smile. “So, you wish to force my hand again? You would prefer that I kill your precious bloodspawn, rather than accepting responsibility for your own crimes?”

  Duvessa chuckled bitterly. “What crimes? I have done nothing to you.”

  “Do not insult me with your lies!” the Countess cried with a sudden burst of volume. “Would you have me tell the world everything you have done? We would be here for hours! You have been guilty of everything that you have ever blamed upon me! The only crime of which I am guilty is of having trusted you in the past.”

  The Grand Duchess laughed at that, a long, apparently genuine laugh. “And who would be foolish enough to believe anything you say? Who would believe the words of a certifiable madwoman?”

  “I am a woman, and I am mad, but I am no madwoman.”

  “Your continued insistence that you are sane is only further proof of your insanity,” Duvessa insisted. “Only a deeply crazed individual would choose to confront me in this way.”

  “Then perhaps I must be crazy, after all … or at least I am a fool … because many years ago, I loved you,” the Countess conceded. “I was crazy to love you … and Sebastian. I was crazy, and stupid, and naïve. And then you took advantage of me. You used me to save yourself, and your precious Sebastian. You threw me away like a worthless piece of rubbish.” Her expression darkened. “You should have killed me, Duvessa.”

  Countess Wilhelmina began to stalk towards the Grand Duchess with slow, graceful steps, though she remained slightly squatted down in a fighting stance of sorts. She lowered her sword slightly in a more neutral position, gripping it firmly with both hands in the same sort of classical samurai kind of pose she’d seen Raina use in her own sword practice before. Raina suddenly began to try to tug her hands free from Brenna and Mary’s grasp as they stood on either side of her.

  “No, honey, no,” Mary pleaded in a whisper as Brenna similarly murmured, “Don’t do it. Don’t be stupid.”

  “I do hereby challenge you, Duvessa Fallamhain. Will you fight me?” the Countess asked the
Grand Duchess as she slowly closed the gap between them.

  “Lower your sword this instant! You cannot challenge me directly!” Duvessa declared loudly. “I am your Maker!”

  There were a few subtle gasps from onlookers, and the pause in the exchange reflected the obvious collective reaction of surprise amongst everyone else … everyone, of course, except for the Countess. She shook her head sadly as her laughter echoed subtly in the relative stillness of the hotel lobby.

  “Your arrogance is as stunning as your stupidity!” she laughed. “Did you learn nothing at all from that exhibition you and your servant put on for the world earlier this evening with Mister Giovanni?”

  Duvessa actually hesitated for a moment before angrily replying, “What on Earth are you babbling about, woman?”

  “You cannot claim Maker’s Immunity. I am no longer your bloodspawn. You made a bargain with Count Klaus von Reichenbach to save yourself and Sebastian from being imprisoned in Birkenau. Don’t you remember? Instead, you gave me to him, and then he gave me to the Nazis.” She was but a step or two from being within striking distance now. The Countess ceased her advance. “The things they did to us … the things you did to us … and the way you left us all to die. You were a fool not to have simply killed me.”

  Brenna could barely see it from where she stood, but the hint of what she could see was backed up by the emotion she could not deny hearing in her voice. The Countess was so enraged, so driven by the memories she claimed to have – assuming that any of them were true – that her chin quivered subtly and her tone seemed almost strained. To have heard her relate her tale to them with a surprise visit in a limousine, while also holding a pistol, it was somehow less convincing and tough for Brenna to believe; however, seeing and hearing Duvessa’s reactions to her every accusation, she quickly began to rethink the idea that the Countess was simply a devious, evil, homicidal bitch on the warpath.

  “You are sadly mistaken if you think that your lies will cause anyone to pity you. You are a monster, Wilhelmina…”

  “Elizabeth!” the Countess cried, emotion creeping into her voice. “My bloody name is Elizabeth! I was born Elizabeth Ellen Fallamhain! I am your daughter!”

  “Not anymore … Countess Wilhelmina von Reichenbach,” Duvessa replied in a low tone, slowly reaching for her sword. “And soon, you shall be nothing at all.”

  “Then draw your sword and fight me!” she yelled, taking one last step towards her.

  Abruptly, Noriko took a broad step that placed her directly between Duvessa and Countess Wilhelmina … or Elizabeth, or whatever the hell her name really was. Noriko held her arms apart widely like a goalie protecting the net in a soccer game, and she began to babble something in Japanese. It was a brave but stupid, sad gesture to protect her mistress.

  From where Brenna stood, she could not see the actual thrust so much as she simply saw the Countess move forward with a smooth but swift lunge, and approximately four inches of the tip of her sword suddenly protruded through the back of Noriko’s beautifully long, straight, silky black hair. As though it were playing peek-a-boo, that blood-smeared length of sharpened steel disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, Noriko’s arms fell limply, and her body dropped straight down like a puppet whose strings had suddenly been cut. Blood oozed quickly from the wound to her throat, but not as much as Brenna would have expected. The Countess’s sword had pierced right through her spinal cord, stopping her heart instantaneously and sealing her fate as surely as a clean decapitation, although a lot more cleanly. Noriko’s eyes were wide with terror and her mouth was agape, her tiny fangs bared. Her expression was permanently fixed. How long did the brain stay conscious when there was no blood flow? A few seconds? A few minutes? Either way, poor Noriko was already dead to the world.

  Jen shrieked with horror and Svetlana dropped to her knees beside her fellow servant, but Duvessa’s reaction was utterly cold and indifferent. She had merely stepped aside when Noriko’s body had dropped, narrowly avoiding her. She only glanced down at her for an instant before looking back up to the Countess who had now backed up a step. For someone that had just witnessed their servant sacrificing herself to protect her, Brenna thought that the Grand Duchess could have at least shown some small measure of shock or grief. Instead, she simply looked annoyed.

  Countess Wilhelmina backed away a full step as she stood with her sword high and ready. She watched Noriko’s blood trickle down the length of her blade for a moment before swinging the weapon downward with a slashing motion, flinging a stripe of slightly darker crimson upon the red carpet of the hotel lobby floor. It was something she had seen Raina do in her shinkendo practice, a traditional way of cleaning one’s blade of an enemy’s blood after striking them down. However, she did not immediately re-sheathe her sword. Instead, she kept it naked to the air and aimed at the Grand Duchess.

  “She is dead,” Svetlana declared softly, looking up to Duvessa with a shocked expression as though to silently ask, Now what?

  “Is this a sick tradition with your people?” the Countess demanded. “Do they always throw their lives away when their mistress or master is challenged?”

  Brenna caught a blur of movement from the corner of her eye and glanced in time to see Jen streaking towards the Countess with a long, slightly curved knife in her hand. She literally flung herself at her foe with a running leap, meaning to drive the length of her knife into the blonde High Court with a downward thrusting motion. The Countess sidestepped and ducked slightly to dodge the attack, simultaneously slashing her blade downwards and across. Jen cried out as she landed upon her feet with a stumble, then wailed with agony as Wilhelmina followed the first cut across her chest with a backwards thrust that impaled Jen right through her midsection. She jerked the blade free of Jen’s body with a scrape of metal upon flesh that sounded like a meat cleaver being dragged across a raw steak. Jen dropped to her knees, clutching at her front as blood quickly drenched the cloth of her black dress.

  “Svetlana, no!” Mary cried as the blonde Russian scrambled to her feet and drew her own blade with an angry jerk from the sheath fastened at her waist. Brenna impulsively grabbed for Mary, holding her back as they watched Svetlana slowly begin to step towards her enemy.

  The Countess was momentarily oblivious to Lady Svetlana’s approach as she assumed another samurai-like stance behind Jen with her sword held high above her shoulders with both hands. Brenna could see it coming a full second before it happened, but she could not turn away. She watched with her mouth agape in utter shock as Countess Wilhelmina let out something of a karate-like yell and made an expertly-delivered horizontal cut through the air behind her enemy. Jen’s body fell forward while her head separately rolled off to one side, blood spurting high and far from her exposed neck as a gurgle of air escaped her severed windpipe. This was no elegant or neatly-choreographed fight scene, nor was it any kind of sporting duel between two rival bloodlines as the many stories of the High Court would have people believe. This was simply a slaughter.

  Ian simply came unglued. He screamed and tried to make a run for the Countess as Jen had done, but Robert caught him by the belt of his pants and held him back, literally jerking him backwards off his feet. Ian stumbled and fell upon his rear like a dog that had just run out to the end of its leash. Unfazed, he immediately scrambled to try to get up, so vehemently overcome with emotion and rage at the sight of the slayings that his curses and angry words were almost completely unintelligible – his Irish accent didn’t make it any easier to understand him, either. Even with the benefits of physical strength as a vampire, Robert had to holster his pistol to control Ian with both hands, essentially needing to pin him to the floor.

  Mary was a sobbing wreck, but she clung to Brenna tightly as though she expected her to be the next to wade into the bloody melee. Brenna was simply too stunned and horrified by what she was witnessing to even hardly twitch, much less bring herself to commit to any kind of futile attack upon that death-dealing blonde High Court with a
sword now wet with blood. She was aware of her state of inaction, but she could not help but to stand in place, paralyzed with shock.

  Brenna had never considered herself to be a deer-in-the-headlights kind of person. She was not prone to watch train wrecks transpire without at least trying to say or do something about it. Nevertheless, there she stood … watching … perhaps waiting for her own turn to die, as though they were in the midst of an assembly line of sorts and the angry blonde High Court was a factory of death. Countess Wilhelmina watched them all as well, but with some sick, dark expression of amusement upon her face at the reaction she had elicited with her actions, seemingly unaware of the Commoner approaching her from behind.

  Lady Svetlana had removed her shoes and now padded along barefoot with almost a calm, casual demeanor. She held the dagger at her side almost loosely as she approached with slow, silent steps while the High Court continued to watch Robert struggle to restrain Ian’s berserker rage. More horrifying than any of this, Brenna realized as she glanced aside for just a moment, was the seemingly indifferent expression upon the Grand Duchess’s face. She was watching her followers, the House of Fallamhain, being cut down like ineffective pawns one at a time, and she didn’t even seem to be the least bit inclined to stop the other of her two personal servants from essentially committing suicide. If anything, she seemed to be pondering her next move, but for all Brenna knew, she could have been simply deciding whether to actually face her enemy in combat or simply run for the nearest exit.

  Countess Wilhelmina flipped the blood from her sword once more, twirled it in a half-circle, and wiped the remaining blood off upon the left sleeve of her cat suit before expertly re-sheathing her weapon. Svetlana raised the knife slightly higher, drawing it back in preparation as she crouched slightly and raised her other hand as though she intended to grab her. Did she really think that she could sneak up on a High Court vampire?