by Justin Sloan
That’s why she didn’t teach what she learned while under the Duke, or if she did, it was behind closed doors, talking strategy with Colonel Donnoly and the others. They could take it or leave it, but they had begun to listen more and more to the girl with the café. The girl who had been best friends with the most powerful vampire in Old Manhattan, while Valerie was here.
Now, the most powerful vampire—Diego surmised at night lying together with Sandra and discussing the future of the city—was likely this new guy, Brad. And they discussed the city’s future often, because now Sandra had been certain she was pregnant for over a month and, while that still wasn’t much, every day made it more of a reality. They were bringing another life into this world, and needed to ensure it was a better world before that happened.
Sandra stopped to watch Brad leading his squad, a mash up of former assassins and older vampires. Brad commanded the vampires to defend against a throat grab, then turned to practicing sword technique. They focused on blocking first, especially the neck, as a vampire being decapitated was an easy way to end their lives and leave them without a way to heal.
One of the vampires hit another too hard, and the second responded by charging him, but was felled by a quick blow across the forehead from the one who had been attacked.
The training wasn’t over, but Sandra felt slightly queasy again and decided she needed something in her belly. Preferably a warm, chocolate pastry. It hadn’t been too hard to pull together some old ovens out of the ruins and, with Diego’s help, they’d soon been able to organize the kitchen in her café to be able to make croissants, her favorite from the days before. She didn’t really remember those days, not exactly, but she remembered the scent of warm bread, the flaky crust as she bit into it, and the wrinkles around her dad’s loving eyes as he smiled and wiped chocolate from her face.
Losing them had been the single worst day of her life, so bad that it had made the horrors of being a slave to vampires almost meaningless. She was numb, didn’t want to live, and certainly didn’t give a damn what they did to her.
That was, until she was assigned to Valerie and everything had changed. Valerie had been loving, treated her like a human, or like a vampire, even. She had looked her in the eyes when talking, and never once struck her.
When they had left their old lives behind and Valerie had declared the old ways over as well, they were officially equals again, but nothing changed—they had been equals all along, both constrained by the chains that held them to the ways of the so-called Blessed. The Duke was scum, a piece of dog shit stuck on a shoe. And now the vampire Michael had gone to wipe that shit away.
Sandra asked Peter, the driver of her pod, a nice man with gray hair hanging low over his shoulders, to take her to the cafe. She leaned back, thinking about Michael, wishing she could have met him. She would have loved to shake the hand of the vampire who was going to kill the Duke. Even better if she could go with him and watch as he ripped the lower vampire’s throat out. Regardless, she’d toast his death. Or she would once this baby came out and she could have alcohol again.
Damn, she’d kill for a nice glass of anything, right about now.
The pod came to a stop in the alley beside the café, and she thanked Peter. He insisted on helping her out, only convincing her when he said that Diego would tear off his legs and beat him with them if he didn’t, and Diego caught wind of it.
She took Peter’s hand and stepped out of the pod, glad to have him there as she felt herself nearly fall.
“Shut up,” she said at the sparkle in his eye. “And thank you.”
He laughed. “You going to be long? I only ask because I haven’t slept, and—”
“Why the hell haven’t you slept?” She was about to leave it be, when she saw him blush. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me the details, but… really?”
“You don’t want to hear the details?”
“I know, I just said that.” She shook her head, laughing. “Not that I’ve been any better, but what is it about a torn apart world that makes everyone get all screwy?”
“Pun intended?” He laughed. “Maybe it’s the fact that we’ve seen so much death and destruction, we know the next day could be our last.”
“Yeah, maybe that. Maybe we crave extra comfort to get us through these bleak times.”
“Or maybe we just like to fuck.”
She hit him, playfully. “Watch your mouth in front of a lady.”
He tipped his non-existent hat and said, “My apologies. I mean, sorry for not knowing you were such a prude.”
“Hey, I like to get down as much as the next gal. I’m just saying there’s going to be a baby here soon, and if you talk like that around him, I’ll slap your face off.”
With a laugh he said, “I don’t doubt you would.”
“See ya, Peter.” She gave him a mock salute, something she had started doing recently, though she didn’t really know why, and laughed at herself.
What was she doing up so early? She glanced out at Capital Square and saw the usual homeless people on the far side, mostly trying to sleep but a couple eating some scraps they had found. At least she wasn’t the only one up in the city, though she found it humorous that it was pretty much just the homeless, the new army, and her.
She fumbled with her key and got the back door open, mouth watering at the thought of those chocolate croissants. The craving was so real, she could swear the scent of the fresh dough was already in the air.
At first her keys didn’t turn, so she had to jiggle them and then shove the door with her shoulder, and then she froze. There was no doubt about the croissants now—a tray of freshly rolled dough and chocolate sat on the counter, the oven emitting a warm glow.
“Diego?” she asked. “Where’d you learn to make croissants?”
A clatter came from the other room. She took a step back as the silhouette of a man nearly twice Diego’s size appeared from behind the curtain. Her hand reached for any weapon she could find, and landed on the tray of croissants.
“Not those!” a rough voice said, “Hit me with whatever you need to, but oh my God, please let me have a croissant.”
She froze, tray in the air, careful not to spill its contents, and then smiled as recognition hit her. The man had just poked his head around the curtain—he was tall, muscular, and had black hair closely shaven on the sides and short on top.
“Sergeant Garcia, what…?”
“What am I doing here?” He entered now, hands up to show he meant no harm. “People said this was where I could find you. They also said your croissants were to die for, so I thought I’d take my chance.”
“You nearly did die for them,” she said with a chuckle, lowering the tray back to the counter.
“Death by cooking tray.” He laughed, too. “It wouldn’t be worth it if I didn’t even get to taste them, though.”
“Wait, so someone tells you I work here, then you break in and decide to help yourself?” She waited, hands on her hips. “W.T.F., Sergeant?”
“Did I mention the part about croissants?”
She relaxed slightly at that. After all, anyone who worked with Terry Henry Walton was okay by her.
“Wait, how do you even know what croissants are?”
He smiled and said, “I didn’t, but found your recipe and figured that, if anything was to die for, I better try it out.”
She glanced back at the tray of croissants. “Not perfect, but not bad for someone who had no idea what they’re doing.”
“I know my way around a kitchen.”
“But you’ve never tried croissants?”
He shook his head.
“Then, good sir, I’m about to blow your mind.” She adjusted the temperature in the oven—because it wasn’t in perfect condition and she was the only one who knew it well—waited a moment, then slid the tray of uncooked croissants in.
When she turned back to him, Garcia was leaning against the counter, looking at the bottles of wine and counters of chee
se.
“You New Yorkers sure have it different,” he said.
“If I remember correctly,” she replied, “you all served steaks the last night we were in Chicago.”
“I said different, not necessarily better.”
“Wait until you try the croissants, then we’ll see.” She opened a pitcher of water and poured them each a drink. After handing him his glass, she took a long swig of her own and said, “I hope this isn’t a social call. You know I’m seeing Diego and have a bun in the oven.”
“Croissants and a bun?” He winked, then glanced down at her belly. “What a magical life you live.”
“Your point for being here?” she asked, sternly.
“Ah, yes.” He sat down this time, and she followed, sitting across from him. He cocked his head, then said, “Where’s Valerie?”
“She went north to deal with that pest problem she kept talking about.”
“That puts a damper on things, but assuming she’ll be back eventually… TH has a proposition.”
“He couldn’t have made this proposition when we were out there?”
“Sure, he could have.” Garcia leaned forward, smiling. “But I liked the idea of traveling out here to see you again, and since it fits into the plan…”
“You’re losing me here.”
“Okay, TH has been working for a while to secure America. He had this area down for a while, but it’s hard to keep all of the continent secure, you know what I mean?”
“It’s hard to keep our backyard secure, so yes.”
“So, he gets to thinking—what if we partnered up?” Garcia smiled now, revealing how much he liked this plan. “We send someone strong, who knows what they’re doing, to help train your fighters. Then we form a coalition of sorts, working together to keep it all secure.”
Sandra glanced around, wishing she hadn’t finished her water but not wanting to get up to fetch more. Not right now.
“You realize most of our fighters are Weres and vampires, right? I mean, they know how to fight.”
“They know how to brawl, or how to kill,” he admitted. “What they don’t know is cohesion, how to operate as a unit. With discipline and integrity.”
It was true. She was doing her part, as were Donnoly and the police force, but none of them were military. None of them really knew anything about external defense, aside from the intense butt-kicking they’d given the bad guys over the last couple of months.
“You’re going to stay here and help us train?” she asked.
“Fucking A.”
“And there’s no misguided idea that TH will be in charge of us, calling the shots or something?”
“As I said, this is more of a collaboration, a partnership.”
She smiled and stuck out her hand. “I think we need to celebrate with some amazing chocolate croissants.”
“I think you’re right,” he said as she shook it.
She stood and went to the oven, then laughed. “Right, of course we still have a bit to wait. Damn.”
“I ain’t in a rush,” he said. “Maybe some of that wine?”
“This early in the morning?” She shrugged. “That’s how it’s done.”
She stood and poured him a glass, then sliced some of her favorite cheese. A glass of wine actually sounded perfect, but not with the baby growing inside of her.
“Everything settled down out west?” she asked.
“TH keeps everyone in check, as long as there’re no super powerful vampires or CEOs running around. We still have to properly thank you all for taking care of that, by the way.”
“And this space mission that TH mentioned?”
Garcia’s smile faded momentarily, but then he shrugged. “Far as I know, there’s a bigger battle going on. One that, if the vampires and their kind can’t win, none of what we’re doing here to survive will matter.”
“Well, shit.” She swallowed, considered that, then scrunched her eyes. When she looked up at him, her voice came out lower. “It’s true then? I mean, there’re other beings out there? Aliens?”
He nodded. “That’s what TH says, and honestly, I wouldn’t doubt him on much. Shit, he could tell me my balls were diamonds and I’d probably try to sell ‘em for some extra coin.”
She just stared at him, unblinking.
“Damn, lady, it’s a joke.” He shifted uncomfortably. “You New Yorkers aren’t into jokes?”
“Sorry, just… it’s a lot to process. And no, I don’t mean your balls, which I’d prefer to not hear jokes about. Why is it soldiers are always making jokes about down there?”
“Imagine having a huge bulge in your pants, and it never goes away,” he said with a grin. “It’s going to be always on your mind, right? How can it not be?”
“There you go again.” She shook her head, at least allowing a small laugh this time.
“Okay, New Yorkers are prudes, too… check.”
“I wasn’t always a New Yorker.” She hit him, a gentle swat upside the arm. “If I had a glass of wine or three, I wouldn’t care if you joked about the hairs growing out of your ass, but when you’re telling me everything could come to an end if some vampires up in space don’t protect us, well, I’m not sure how to take that.”
“None of us are.” He rubbed his arm with a half-smile, then said, “I’m sorry. The Force de Guerre, FDG I mean, we all just know it so it doesn’t seem like a big deal.”
“Well, Valerie mentioned something that Michael had said about all this, so it’s not out of nowhere. It’s just… When you hear it from two sources, it’s different.”
They sat there for a moment, each lost in thought, until the scent of the croissants brought Sandra back to the moment. She stood and found two plates, then served a croissant to him and sat down with her own. It was still hot enough that, when she bit into it, the layers collapsed onto the chocolate and steam came out.
And oh, my, God, was it delicious. Flaky, chocolaty goodness filled her mouth and senses, overwhelming her so that she was barely able to hear the moans coming from Garcia.
“The fuck is this?” a voice said, and a moment later the door opened to reveal Diego. His face was pale, eyes wide with confusion.
“Yo,” Garcia said, wiping chocolate from his mouth. “How the hell do you stay so thin with your wife cooking it up like this?”
The red of Diego’s cheeks returned as he processed the man in front of him. “Oh, damn, I… I heard moaning and…”
Sandra sat her croissant down and turned to him, arms folded. “Excuse me? You thought what, that I might be having an affair?”
He grimaced.
“Trust me, mate,” Garcia said. “If she were having an affair, it wouldn’t be with me. I’m too tall.”
“Freakishly,” Diego said, striding forward to give the man an embrace. “It’s good to see you, really, but I can’t focus until I have one of those croissants in my belly.”
So he joined them, and Sandra was certain any passersby would think they were having a ménage a trois in here. But, as Garcia went on to explain the situation to Diego now, Sandra couldn’t help but think about two things. The first was that, he was right—though it wasn’t about short or tall, it was about Diego. He was her type now, no one else. And the second was that, while they’d never been married, Diego didn’t correct the man when he had called her Diego’s wife.
CHAPTER FIVE
On the Air Ships
Sunrise had already hit as Valerie heaved Royland over the side railing and into the blimp. He grunted from the short fall onto the deck. She had kept him in the shadows, so the sun couldn’t touch him. A moment later, she had climbed over to join him.
“Hurry and heal, would you?” she said, glancing around at the shapes of men and women who had apparently not noticed their arrival yet.
Robin crouched down beside them under cover of several crates of supplies, her two swords at the ready.
Valerie glanced down at Royland and decided it was best to give him another vi
al of blood. “Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of chances to fill these up in the next few minutes,” she said as she pressed a vial to his lips.
He was already looking better, and this time took the vial for himself and drank.
“The hell happened?” she hissed, holding her hand up to tell Robin to give her a minute.
He finished the blood, gave her the vial, and then breathed in deep before forcing a smile.
“I jumped.”
It took her a moment to process what he had said, but then she just laughed. “That explains why you’re all beat up. Not that it makes sense.”
“They had her in the other blimp, I thought I could make it.” He sat up now, leaning against the crates, and turned his head to see Robin. “Who’s the new girl?”
“Right, you two haven’t met yet. How about we take this ship, and then commence with introductions?”
He nodded. “Not sure how much help I’ll be.”
“Don’t get killed,” she said with a laugh. “That’s all I can ask for.”
“I can do that.”
“Cammie would kick my ass if she found out I let you die.” Valerie motioned to Robin to move forward. “Well, try anyway.”
“She’s grown more vicious since you left,” he said. “Just… better keep me alive.”
“Guess we’ll see what happens.”
She glanced over to see Robin at the edge of the crates, a pirate running past and toward the captain’s cabin in a rush.
The man never even saw the assassin coming. Quick as a flash, Robin was at his side, one sword in his gut the other under his throat. She lifted both and used them to propel him over the side of the blimp, his throat slit so that no sound came as he fell.
Valerie had to nod with respect at that move. This Robin girl didn’t have half the power she did, but that didn’t stop her from being a regular badass.
Now it was Valerie’s turn. Two pirates were pulling in the ropes on the far side of the ship, so she charged them. Figuring she would keep her blade clean, she simply slammed their heads together and then tossed them over the side to join their fallen comrade below.
