Night's Fall (Night's Champion Book 2)

by Richard Parry

  “Pretty hard,” said John. “You’re barely recognizable. Basically just some anonymous stranger, helping his fellow man.” John leaned forward a little more. “Are you … are you wearing one of my T-shirts?”

  “I can’t remember,” said Val. He turned the volume up.

  “—Rex. I keep telling the cops I can’t remember. I came through the intersection, got banged up pretty good I guess. The funny thing is—“

  “Hey,” said Sky, from the bathroom door. “Is that Val on TV?”

  “No,” said Val and John together. Val looked down at the plate of brioche stacked in front of him. “We were just saying he looks a little like me.”

  “Yeah, I can see why,” said Sky. “He maybe looks like you, but his eyes are all weird.” She turned away, toweling her hair as she walked towards the bedroom she shared with John. That was close. She doesn’t know, she shouldn’t know … too many people carry the burden of my secret already.

  “One thing that’s been bugging me,” said John, flicking the TV off again, “is what’s in the case.”

  “The case?” Val blinked.

  John jerked a thumb over towards the windows lining the outside wall of the apartment. “That case. Over there.”

  The alley was close around him, the taste of delicious copper in his mouth. He reached out with a massive hand, lifting up the tiny thing of metal.

  John snapped his fingers in front of Val. “Hey. Buddy. You still with me? You kind of zoned out there for a minute.”

  Val blinked again. “I … sure. I don’t really remember.”

  “I see,” said John. “Thing is, you don’t usually go in for souvenirs.”

  “No,” said Val. “I think we should get rid of it.”

  “Why? Let’s take a peek.” John was walking towards the case.

  “Because,” said Val, “he wanted to bring it back.”

  John froze in his steps, then tossed a look over his shoulder. “You sure?”

  “No,” said Val. He looked at the case, tipping his head a little as he tried to remember. The memories of last night felt so far away—

  One of them grabbed the case, making a break for it on those tiny, spindly legs. So weak. He loped easy and slow next to the creature, then backhanded it across the alley. The shiny metal thing spun free, clattering against the wall. He reached to pick it up, then felt the hot spark of pain as something barked, harsh and loud. He turned towards another one of them pointing something small at him. He snarled with savage joy. The end of these creatures was always delicious.

  “Okay,” said Val, “yeah I’m sure. He brought it back.”

  “How’d he get in here?” said John.

  “Maybe you need to set up a webcam,” said Val.

  “A webcam for what?” said Sky, coming back out of the bedroom. She had a suit jacket on over comfortable pants. She looked at John, her voice softening. “How do I look?”

  “Like I’m the luckiest man alive,” said John, his eyes stuck to her. “Like a million bucks.”

  The corners of her eyes creased into the smile, and she leaned forward to kiss him, her lips lingering. “Don’t be late,” she said.

  “I won’t,” said John.

  The door slammed behind her as she left. Val looked after her, then back to John. “Late for what?”

  “My party,” said John.

  “You did that last night.”

  “No,” said John. “We had drinks last night. Tonight we’re having a party. You know how I know that?”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “Because you’re going to be there.” John reached down for the case, hefting it. “It’s pretty light.”

  “So I see,” said Val. “Let’s toss it in a dumpster and call it even.”

  “Let’s open it,” said John, “and be rich. It’s got to have money in it.”

  “How you figure that?” Val looked at the case. “You have a very fertile imagination.”

  “Easy,” said John. “Any movie with a metal case? It’s got money in it.”

  “Or nuclear launch codes, or heroin, or something that wants to eat your face.” Val frowned. “The eat-your-face thing I can probably deal with. I’d like another coffee first.”

  “I’ve seen all those movies,” said John, “and I’m telling you, there’s money in this one. I can feel it.”

  “Maybe,” said Val. “Bit of a moot point though. It’s locked, right?”

  “Always with the problems,” said John. “I’m going to grab a shower then I’ll show you how we get it open.”

  “I can’t wait,” said Val. But he couldn’t help but wonder—

  They fought to save it and paid with their lives.

  —whether it was something they should open at all.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “What I’m telling you,” said Carlisle’s voice, small and distant, “is that they’re on to us.”

  “They can’t be on to us,” said Danny. “We’re in Alaska. Wait.” She thought she caught a noise, something that could have been the crump of a footstep in snow.

  “Wait for what?”

  She held the phone away from her head, then put it back to her ear. “Who the hell are ‘they’?”

  “No clue,” said Carlisle. “They’re assholes, though.”

  Danny glanced at Adalia, asleep on the couch. The fire had burned low, and she was trying to keep her voice down. “There’s a problem.”

  “Just the one?” Carlisle coughed a sound like a laugh. “Hit me.”

  “You’ve got our truck.” Danny looked around the room, her eyes picking out the details despite the low light. “You took the damn truck, and we’re in a log cabin in the woods. I can’t just catch a bus.”

  “I get that,” said Carlisle. “It’s just that…”

  Danny heard something catch in the other woman’s voice, and she—

  Fear. Shame. Pain.

  —paused for a second, then said, “Carlisle?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What did they do?” Danny licked her lips. “What did they say to you?”

  The line hissed and crackled for a moment, and Danny caught the sound of something that might have been Carlisle shifting gears. “They didn’t say anything to me,” said Carlisle. “They didn’t do anything to me.”

  “Okay,” said Danny. “It’s just that—”

  They hunt us, and we are not for hunting.

  “—hell,” she said. “Hell.”

  “I know,” said Carlisle. “You know, the truck thing…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I figured you could give Adalia a ride. You know. Because you’re like a big horse. If horses had claws, and—”

  “It doesn’t work like that,” said Danny, but her lips pulled into a smile. Her eyes flicked to the couch where Adalia lay. “It can’t … it’s not an option.”

  “Sure it is,” said Carlisle.

  “People … it doesn’t always turn out for the best,” said Danny.

  “Girlfriend,” said Carlisle, “this situation is so far off the scale from ‘best’ that we’re in a whole new land. Uncharted territory, even for us.”

  Danny reached a hand down to Adalia’s head, stroking her daughter’s hair. “What … what did you see?”

  “I saw—”

  Danny heard a crack from outside and cut Carlisle off. “I’m going to have to call you back.”

  “Sure,” said Carlisle. “Sure. And if you can’t—”

  “Really. I’ll call you right back,” said Danny, and clicked the phone off. She put it down on the small table, the phone scuffing across the old, uneven surface. She reached a hand down, her fingertips feeling the wood, the age of it, the memories in it. Her hand tapped the wood once, twice, and then she turned to the door, her face gone hard and cold like the night outside.

  Her feet took her to the door without conscious thought, and she leaned against the wood, the feel of it rough against her skin. She listened, her ears straining, for the sound she tho
ught she’d heard before. Her hand touched the knob, held it, then with a twist of her wrist she jerked it open and stepped out into the dark. The door clicked shut behind her, Adalia murmuring in her sleep. She left her daughter with the fire, the warmth, and its meager light.

  The Night is for hunting.

  ∙ • ● • ∙

  Danny’s strides took her down the porch in two smooth steps, and she loped into the night. Her eyes picked out the trees, black and white against the stars, but it was her ears, her hearing—

  Three.

  —that was most improved since everything had … changed. She was always aware, always hearing those sounds around her, like a … what had her Valentine called it?

  Spider Sense. We’re like Jedi superhero rock stars with unlimited cocaine.

  The memory of his face made her breath catch. Focus. She moved on whisper soft feet around the cabin, the smoke from the chimney rising into the night sky, the smell of it reaching her nose, tickling the back of her throat. On a whim, she grabbed at the ridges of wood that made up the wall of the log cabin, and pulled herself up, quick and easy, onto the roof. She padded across to the rear of the cabin, looking down on a man.

  He was dressed in white, and should have been hard to pick out against the snow. He held something small and hard in both hands, a weapon of some kind. It didn’t look like a gun. It wouldn’t have mattered if it was. She lifted her face to the night sky, and sniffed. No—

  Poisonous, burning.

  —silver that she could smell. Danny grabbed at the edge of the roof, swinging herself down, and landing on the man with both feet. He let out a small noise like the sound of a pillow being plumped as he dropped into the snow. She snared the weapon he carried, holding it up. Danny wasn’t an expert in weapons, not before the change, and not since, but she felt the heft of it, fingered the firing stud. She knew the taser for what it was.

  It didn’t make any sense. Tasers didn’t work on her. Not really.

  She scampered around the side of the cabin, coming up behind the second man. He was also in white. She let her feet pull her close behind him, then leaned forward so her face was almost at the back of his neck. “Hey.”

  The man jumped, a small yell — almost a scream — coming from him. He spun around, firing his taser, the shot going wide as she leaned out of the way. Her hands came up and batted the weapon from him, then she reached forward with one hand and grabbed the front of his jacket, lifting him off the ground.

  His arms and legs flailed. Danny waited for a couple heartbeats, then gave the man a shake. “Hey. Cut it out.”

  She could see his eyes through the goggles he wore. Dark skin, brown eyes, wide with fear. She saw him nod, the movement on the edge of frantic.

  “You’re here for me, aren’t you?”

  A nod. Yes.

  “And you’re here for her. Me and my daughter.”

  A pause, then another nod.

  Pup!

  “That’s too bad,” she said, a snarl twisting her face. She slammed the man into the wall of the cabin beside her then tossed him aside, not waiting to watch as he slumped to the snow.

  Danny was off at a sprint, closing the distance to the porch where she’d exited the cabin. She rounded the corner of the cabin, the porch coming into view, and saw the back of a white jacket as the door started to close behind him. The ground under her was icy, and she slid. One hand down in the—

  Cold is nothing. Pup!

  —snow, she bounded over the porch railing in time to snag the edge of the door just before it shut. She wrenched it open, saw the man inside had already heard her, had already turned…

  She looked down at the taser darts stuck in the front of her shirt, the barbs in her skin. Didn’t he know what would happen? He shouldn’t, he couldn’t pull the trigger, she wouldn’t be able to stop it then—

  Danny felt the hot white fire as the taser discharged, her teeth clamping together as her body locked. She tasted copper and heat, felt the harsh brush of the door frame on her shoulder as she fell against it. Her hands—

  Tooth and claw are best.

  —tore away a strip of the frame, the wood coming away in her hands, and she swatted the taser wires away. A quick step forward and she slammed the piece of wood against the man, and he stumbled back. He tried to regain his balance, his hand coming against the couch where Adalia slept, and—

  HE THREATENS PACK.

  She held the man above her. Danny couldn’t remember — didn’t know — how she’d crossed the room to reach him. She smashed her fist against his goggles, the plastic and metal fragmenting around her fist. She hit him again, and again, then threw him across the room to fall against the wall.

  He was still moving, still trying to — what, to get away? — after all of this, crawling on hands and knees towards the cold hallway. She was on him quicker than a stolen kiss, lifting him up again. Danny snarled, her fist hitting him in the head, the stomach, and she could smell the blood inside him, wanted to taste the hot wet salt that would set them both free—

  “Mom!” It was Adalia, her voice shrill with fear.

  Danny felt the wrench inside her, her heart thudding against her ribs. The room came back into focus, the flickering light from the fire casting shadows against the black and red on her arms, her shirt. She looked down at the man she held, the piteous, mewling thing that pawed, weak and dying, against her grip. The white of his clothing was so red it was almost black. Danny turned slowly to look at her daughter, took in Adalia’s horrified expression, her hands covering her mouth. Danny looked back down at the man she held as the life leaked away from him, his broken body growing still in her hands. She let him slump to the old wooden floors, the dry wood drinking at the red stain that started to spread.

  She took an unsteady step towards the couch, her hand outstretched. Adalia shrank bank from her, and Danny caught a glimpse of herself in the old mirror hung against the wall. She could see her torn shirt, the blood staining her arms up to the elbows, the red dripping down from her lips, all below lambent, yellow eyes.

  It hit her then that Adalia was afraid of her. The shock hurt more than the taser, and she sank slowly against the floor, sitting half way between the body and the couch. She felt that midpoint, half way between damnation and salvation, as if there was a bitter seed inside her twisting everything she held dear. Danny gulped big lungfuls of air, and realized she was—

  The fallen have no time to weep.

  —crying, hot tears falling silent and quick down her face. She didn’t know how long she sat on the floor until she felt the scratch of warm wool around her shoulders. Danny looked up, Adalia’s face above her, as the blanket settled into place.

  Her daughter reached out a hand to her, touching her shoulder, as delicate as a butterfly’s landing. “Are you … are you okay?”

  No. Danny tried for a smile, but it caught somewhere inside her before it could reach her eyes. “I’m fine, honey.”

  “I … I’m sorry,” said Adalia.

  “Oh, sweetie. You don’t have anything to feel sorry about.” Danny pushed herself slowly to her feet, wanting to pull her daughter close, but aware — so aware — of the blood staining her arms, her chest. She didn’t realize she was caught, frozen until she felt Adalia hug her, thin arms wrapping around Danny. It felt like—

  Salvation.

  —this time.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Tell me,” said Val, “how you’re going to get it open.”

  “With this,” said John, hefting a brown leather bag. It was closed with a loop of worn cloth at the top, creases and scuffs all over its surface. It smelled of old oil and worn metal.

  “Tell me you didn’t steal that.” Val crossed his arms. “Look me in the eye and—”

  “Hey,” said John. He jiggled the bag, the clink of metal coming from within. “It’s me.”

  Val didn’t say anything, just kept looking at his friend.

  “Okay,” said John, “let me correct
that. I didn’t steal this. I … borrowed it.”

  “You stole it.”

  “From the guy in Maintenance. Mauricio.”

  “Jesus,” said Val, “that’s how the poor guy makes his living. You stole his bag?”

  “No,” said John, “I borrowed it.”

  “He just let you take it?”

  “No,” said John. He shrugged, looking at the floor. “I said you’d help him move Old Mrs. Berisha’s piano later this afternoon.”

  “You said what?” Val took a step forward. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because she’s got a piano that needs moving, and you’re the man for the job.” John put the bag on the floor. “Hey. Don’t look at me. I’m the brains of this operation.”

  “I hate shit like that.” Val rubbed the back of his neck. “I have to pretend the piano’s heavy, right, but not so heavy I can’t move it.”

  “Poor baby.” John picked up the TV remote, flicking the TV on. The news was still spinning the story of the mysterious stranger who’d dived into a burning bus to pull out a kid, and how there was this other guy who’d been pulled from a Prius moments before it exploded—

  Val snatched the remote from him, clicking it off. “I hate it when you do that.”

  “You’re hating a lot of things. Don’t hate the player. Hate the game.” John raised an eyebrow at him. “You know you can be heroic without leaving our apartment building. You move that piano, you’ll get fresh baked cookies for a lifetime. It’s like the great circle of life.”

  “I hate her cookies.”

  John looked surprised. “When did you try out Old Mrs. Berisha’s famous pistachio and rum butterball cookies?”

  “Last week, when I moved her piano.” Val shrugged. “She said she couldn’t get a hold of Mauricio so I helped her out.”

  “Why’d you help her out if you hate doing it?”

  “I was trapped,” said Val, “between her and Mr. Pospisil—”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Czech guy on three.”

  “Looks about a hundred and eighty?”

  “That’s the guy,” said Val. “Anyway—”

  “How’d you get trapped?” John hefted the silver case, then laid it flat on the table.