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

by Richard Parry

  “I think Mr. Pospisil fancies himself a bit of Old Mrs. Berisha.” Val shrugged. “Seemed the fastest way to get out of the conversation. ‘Hell yeah, Mrs. B, I’ll shift that piano. Only can we do it now? Got to be somewhere in five.’”

  “That’s gross.”

  “Shifting the piano wasn’t gross.”

  “No,” said John, taking a hammer out of the bag. He considered it a moment before tossing it back in. “Old people. Sex.”

  “Jesus, man, I didn’t say they were having sex. I said they were talking.”

  “Strongly implied,” said John. He held up a chisel. “What do you think of this?”

  “I think you’ll hurt yourself,” said Val. He bent over to look in the brown leather bag, rummaging through the contents. “She wasn’t sure where to put it.”

  “Not surprising,” said John. “When you get to her age, you forget, you know?”

  “No, I mean, the piano,” said Val.

  “That’s what I meant,” said John. “What were you thinking of?”

  Val stared at him, flat and steady, then looked back in the bag. He pulled out a mallet, old, chipped, heavy. He hefted it, then took the chisel from John.

  John frowned. “Best let me.”

  “Why?”

  “You ever done this before?”

  Val looked down at the chisel and the mallet. “No, but I can’t see this being a hard thing to do.”

  “That’s why you’ll get cut,” said John. He took the mallet in his right hand, then slotted the blade of the chisel in between the lid of the silver case. “This look right?”

  “You tell me,” said Val, “since you’ve done this before.”

  “Always a critic,” said John. He hefted the mallet, then swung it hard into the chisel. The impact spun the case away off the coffee table and into the floor. John stumbled forward, the chisel carving a groove into the surface of the table.

  Val looked at the table, running a finger along the groove. “You sure you don’t want me to try?”

  “I got this,” said John, standing up. He retrieved the silver case from the floor.

  “It’s just that this table is Sky’s,” said Val.

  “I know,” said John.

  “Well,” said Val, “it’s possible she’ll be pissed that you cut a—”

  “I know,” said John. He sighed, looking over at Val. “You want this open or not?”

  “Pretty sure it was you who wanted it open.” Val shrugged. “Do what you need to do.”

  John put the case on the ground, clasp facing up, and put the blade of the chisel in between the lid. He hefted the mallet, then slammed it down again. The chisel spun away with a metallic ping, and John dropped the mallet on the ground. “Son of a bitch,” he said, putting his finger in his mouth.

  Val looked on with crossed arms. “You getting anywhere?”

  “I think I cut myself,” said John.

  Val sighed. “Okay. Hand it over.”

  John looked sullen, but lifted the silver case and handed it over. “Here.”

  Retrieving the mallet and chisel, Val put the blade of the chisel in the lid. He hefted the mallet and—

  Crack the Earth.

  —slammed it down onto the chisel. There was a snap and the case lid clicked open a few hairs. Val hefted the mallet again and—

  Shatter the stone.

  —smashed it into the chisel. The mallet head cracked, spinning off across the room, the chisel shattering. Val looked at the case. “Huh.”

  “You get it open?” John leaned over.

  “Kinda,” said Val. “Wait one sec.” He lifted the case off the ground, the lid creaking, and put it on the table.

  “Careful,” said John.

  Val paused. “What for?”

  “Could be a bomb.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Kind of,” said John. “Okay if I go wait in the hall?”

  “No,” said Val. He wriggled his fingers in the gap in the lid, then braced himself and pulled. He felt his muscles bunching, arms shaking a little with the effort. The case gave a metallic groan, the lid coming open a few more inches.

  “Keep going,” said John. “Almost got it.”

  Val put the case down. “You want to do this?”

  “You’re doing good,” said John. “Pro job.”

  Val wriggled his fingers into the gap in the case again. He pulled again, the metal creaking before it pulled open in his hands with a shriek of metal. The case fell from his hands, dancing across the top of the table before it fell onto the ground.

  They both looked over the edge of the table. Val reached down, snaring the case. He lifted it onto the table, then flicked it open.

  “Well,” said John, “I was not expecting that.” The case was empty.

  That’s when Val started screaming.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “We can’t keep it,” said Carlisle. “No way.”

  “It’s got a TV in the back seat,” said Adalia. “It’s got a heater that works.”

  “It’s got a tracking device in it,” said Carlisle.

  “How do you know?” said Danny. She kicked snow off her boots, rubbing her bare arms more from habit than from the cold. She and Adalia had made the short drive without speaking, her daughter’s teenage silence filling the cabin. “It’s pretty nice to drive.”

  “I know,” said Carlisle, “because that’s what I’d do.” She looked cold, tired — old, she’s getting old — her leather jacket doing nothing to keep the freezing wind at bay. They’d met up here at a turning bay they’d agreed on, perched against the side of the mountain. The snow swirled around them. Danny could see down into the valley below, the lights of a tiny town she’d started to hope might become home twinkling in the night. Guess we won’t be sticking around. Not anymore.

  “But,” said Adalia, her head sticking out through the window, woolen hat on crooked, “it’s got a TV.”

  “No one’s after us,” said Danny. “No one’s here.”

  “To be fair,” said Carlisle, “we’ve only just got here. I said a tracking device, not a device that predicts the future.”

  “Right,” said Danny.

  “Because,” said Carlisle, “if we could get one of those we’d be happy. Predicting the future would be neat.”

  “I get it,” said Danny. “They haven’t caught us yet.”

  “Right,” said Carlisle, “because no one has a device to predict the future with.”

  Danny pushed her foot through the snow, watching the two trucks at the side of the road. Their truck — a big old Dodge they’d picked up six or more months ago from the cash she had left — looked like the dented rust bucket it was. Next to it sat the GMC Yukon the men who’d come to their cabin had been driving. It was shiny as a new penny, the black standing strong against the white of the snow. “These guys look like they got some money.”

  “I’d guess,” said Carlisle. “Not a lot of brains, but money, sure.”

  “How much you reckon one of these costs?” Danny looked up at the sky, the clouds—

  Ice and wind.

  —racing across the dark sky as if they were running from something. “Round figures.”

  “Fifty large,” said Carlisle. “More or less.”

  “They had another one down at the bar?”

  “Yeah,” said Carlisle. “Where you going with this?”

  “You think they might have helicopter money?”

  “I don’t know anyone crazy enough to fly in this weather,” said Carlisle.

  “Great,” said Danny. “Adalia? Time to go sweetie.”

  “I like this one better,” said Adalia. “Our truck sucks.”

  “Our truck doesn’t have devil-worshiping Satanists tracking it,” said Carlisle. “C’mon kid. Out.”

  Adalia hopped out of the Yukon with a glower and a slam of the door, trudging through the snow to the old Dodge. She put a gloved hand up on the handle, then turned around. “Why doesn’t one of you
ride in the middle?”

  “Because we’re not fourteen,” said Danny. “I need to drive. Carlisle needs to shoot.”

  “No way,” said Carlisle.

  “What?” Danny blinked into the gentle flakes falling around them.

  “You’re not driving,” said Carlisle.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re a psycho behind the wheel,” said Carlisle. She held out her sidearm. “Here.”

  “I can’t shoot that well,” said Danny. She tipped her head sideways. “Arm wrestle for it?”

  “Fuck it all,” said Carlisle, throwing Danny the keys. She trudged towards the Dodge, then spoke to Adalia. “Don’t say I didn’t try, kid.”

  “I heard you,” said Adalia. She opened the door, getting in to the cab. “Try harder next time.”

  “I got to put up with this from her,” said Carlisle. “Not from you. Get in.” The door closed behind them. Danny could still hear Carlisle talking, starting a story about one long stakeout she’d had in a car in the snow. Danny turned her attention away, looked back out at the road, then at the GMC. She walked towards it, yanking the door open, then grabbed the keys. Danny turned and tossed the keys out over the edge of the road, watching them tumble end over end before being lost from view. Danny brushed her hands on her pants then walked over to the Dodge.

  “Where to?” said Carlisle. Adalia sat between them, playing with her phone.

  “I don’t know,” said Danny. “North, maybe.”

  “I think we should go south,” said Carlisle.

  “No,” said Danny.

  The desert misses the rain.

  “Because,” said Carlisle, “Everard and that clown Miles are south. Miles ain’t good for much, but Everard—”

  “No,” said Danny.

  The night misses the moon.

  Carlisle breathed out a sigh in the cab. “It’s just that—”

  “I’m not ready.”

  “Right, because—”

  “No, Melissa.”

  “For Christ’s sake,” said Carlisle. “There’s not being ready, then there’s being stupid.”

  They challenge us. “What did you say to me?” Danny could feel her hands clenching the steering wheel.

  “You heard me,” said Carlisle, “and if you think being the big bad wolf is going to help you here, I will slap you until the silly stops coming out.”

  Danny’s teeth clenched. “Don’t. Push. Me.”

  “Or what?” said Carlisle. “You’ll throw me down the side of the mountain after those keys? I thought—”

  “Mom wouldn’t—” said Adalia.

  “Not now, kid,” said Carlisle. “You were tired of this thing making all the decisions for you. You want to run from your boyfriend who calls you every single day just hoping for the sound of your voice? Fine. Seven kinds of stupid, but fine. But I tell you, there is some shit going down here we don’t have a label for, and we need to get the band back together.”

  They CHALLENGE us. “I. Can’t.” Danny was staring straight ahead, then steering wheel creaking in her grip.

  “Course you can,” said Carlisle, staring out the windscreen. “You just don’t want to.”

  “I can’t!” Danny yelled it at the windscreen, the steering wheel coming free in her hands with a shriek of metal. She knew her teeth were bared, tried to close her mouth. Danny felt Adalia shrink away from her on the seat.

  The silence sat in the cab with them, thick and dirty. Adalia spoke first. “I want to get out.”

  “It’s below freezing outside, kid.” Carlisle frowned. “She doesn’t want to hit you anyway. Not really me either.”

  “Who’s she want to hit then?” Adalia looked between them. “I don’t understand you at all.”

  “Makes two of us,” said Carlisle, rubbing her arms in the chill of the cabin. “Nice work on the wheel, Kendrick.”

  Danny started to cry then, great choking sobs that shook her shoulders. She looked down at the wheel in her hands. “I never wanted this. Never.”

  “No, I suppose not,” said Carlisle. “I didn’t want to be on a road trip in Alaska either. Sometimes shit happens.”

  “Mom?” Adalia was looking between the two of them, her face more confused than ever. She reached a hand out to Danny. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” said Danny.

  “I guess it’s good Everard’s not here after all,” said Carlisle.

  Danny looked up, confused now. She—

  We are strong. For Pack.

  —wiped a hand at her face, trying to brush the tears away. “You said … why not?”

  “Because you don’t cry pretty,” said Carlisle, pushing her door open. “We’d best try and find those fucking keys.”

  ∙ • ● • ∙

  The big Yukon lapped up the miles, trampling the ice and asphalt as they sped along. Danny’s hands were steady on the wheel as she looked over at Carlisle. “Thanks.”

  “Eyes on the road,” said Carlisle. “Two of us can still die in an auto accident.”

  Danny felt herself start to smile, and she looked forward again. “Sure.”

  “Statistically speaking, this is a terrible idea. Driving at night in the snow with the lights off is up there for a Darwin Award.”

  “I’m not sure I’m the product of evolution,” said Danny.

  “I am,” said Adalia, her voice coming from the big back seats. She was watching something on the TV in the back of Carlisle’s seat. “I think I’m too young to die.”

  “Pretty sure I am too. Thing is, I’m just old enough to know what life’s got to offer,” said Carlisle. “With you, you’d never know what you’re missing out on.”

  “You’re not going to die,” said Danny. “I’m a good driver.”

  “You’re a werewolf,” said Carlisle. “Being a good driver is a sometime accidental benefit. You get road rage like a rising red tide.”

  “If people would just pull the hell over—” Danny caught herself, then laughed.

  So did Carlisle. “How’d you find the keys?”

  “Knew where I threw ‘em,” said Danny. “More or less.”

  “Fair enough,” said Carlisle, before turning to Adalia. “Kid. What are you playing with?”

  “Facebook,” said Adalia.

  “Facebook?”

  “Some of the time.” Adalia shrugged. “Coverage is shit out here.” The expletive sounded forced, like she needed practice.

  “Watch your mouth,” said Danny.

  “Why?” said Adalia. “It’s not like there’s anyone to hear me except you two, and you say cu—”

  “Kid,” said Carlisle, “there are some words it’s never safe to use.”

  “But—”

  “Kid?”

  Adalia looked sullen. “Yeah?”

  “Have I ever lied to you?” Danny could feel Carlisle’s smile in the dark of the cabin.

  “No,” said Adalia.

  “Some words you can never use. Trust me.”

  “But you—”

  “Never.” Carlisle started fiddling with the radio in the dash. “You’d think for the money they spent on this there’d be satellite radio.”

  Adalia crossed her arms, sullen, and Danny laughed. She kept driving, the feel of the big machine around her almost alive. “Thanks,” she said after a while.

  “What for?” said Carlisle.

  “You know,” she said, still smiling.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “You can’t say anything,” the boy said. His eyelashes were long and black against his pale skin. “The Facebook line was good.”

  Adalia typed on her phone, knees scrunched up to her chest. The back seat of the Yukon was huge, like two couches sewn together. It must have taken a whole herd of cows to make the seats. Why can’t I just tell them?

  “They’d think you were crazy,” said the boy. “You thought you were crazy, remember?”

  Still do. Adalia sighed, deleted the line of text. She liked that the back seat was d
ark, as if she was alone in the whole world. Except for the boy. I don’t know why you’re here.

  “Neither do I.” The boy tossed himself back against the plush leather, the seats not indenting at all. Dark shapes of trees raced past the window, their tall black clothed in the luminous gray of snow. Warm and snug in the back seat it felt like they were sitting still, alone as the universe sprinted away behind them.

  We’ve seen some weird shit. Adalia pointed at the phone’s screen. She deleted the last word, then typed, stuff.

  “I don’t mind if you swear,” he said to her. “It’s not the worst thing I’ll hear today.”

  What will be the worst?

  He turned away, face to the window. No reflection was cast in the glass as he sat there looking out. “You don’t want to know.”

  You said when we first met—

  He laughed. “When we first met, you screamed.” He looked abashed, ran a hand through his black hair. Adalia wanted to reach out and straighten a few of those strands, just tug one away from his face. “Remember?”

  I remember. Her phone ticked as she entered the text. I was in the shower! She underlined the last word. The shower is not where I thought I’d meet a boy.

  “Believe me, it’s a good place to meet a…” He stopped as all his words guttered out. “If you meet the right kind of boy, is what I meant.”

  A shudder ran through the Yukon as a wheel scrabbled outside in the cold snow for purchase. Adalia ignored it, passing her phone from hand to hand. Gross.

  “You won’t think that in a few years.” He looked down his nose at her, his face arch. His eyelashes looked very long from this angle, and Adalia smiled to herself. “You probably don’t think that now.”

  The boys out here have webbing between their toes. She thought for a moment, then typed, That’s not it. I just don’t like the boys out here. They’re into shooting deer and racing snowmobiles. Boring.

  “I’d bet your Mom would be into hunting deer.”

  Below the belt.

  He laughed. “Sorry.” He shrugged, leaning back in the seat again. “I think that’s why, though.”

  Why what? You know I hate it when you get cryptic. I get enough from the front seat not telling me anything.