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

by Richard Parry

  “I’d like to say something without you breaking my arm,” said Val.

  “Is it something that I’m likely to want to break your arm over?” Carlisle’s tone hid a smile.

  “Maybe,” said Val. “Thing is … thing is, I don’t think I’ve seen you let someone get close. Not us,” he said. “Someone who’s not us.”

  “I only want the family I can choose,” said Carlisle. “The real thing hurts you instead of…” She trailed off.

  “Carlisle.”

  “What?” There was something sharp in her voice now. “I’m not looking for more touchy-feely crap. I’ve had days of that on a road trip with psycho Barbie and her adorable half-alien child.”

  “This is your family.” Val pushed himself to his feet. “We won’t hurt you. Or we’ll try not to, but if we do we’ll make it right.” He shrugged. “We’ll get him back. Then you can find out if love is a choice.”

  “Now I want to break your arm.” She looked past him. “He came across half the world to find me.” Her face twisted into something bitter. “To trap me.”

  “Then we’ll get him back,” said Val, “and you can break his arm.”

  “Now you’re talking sense,” said Carlisle, pushing herself to her feet with a wince. Her face was more ashen than Val had seen before.

  “You okay?”

  “No,” said Carlisle. He watched as she slotted the bits of herself back into place in her head, pieces coming together like a suit of armor. She patted the sidearm at her back, the motion almost unconscious. “But I will be.”

  ∙ • ● • ∙

  The plates had been cleared away, the regular workaday tasks of eating and cleaning, done with good company, pushing aside fears for a moment’s peace. We might all be about to die, thought Val, but at least we’ve had a good meal of stale bread and spam. There were probably worse ways to go — at least this way, they had—

  Pack.

  —family. They’d traded stories as they ate, about the things big and small that had happened to them. Somewhere along the way it had got too much, too wild. Rex had come up with a solution.

  “So what we’ve got,” said Rex, pointing at the scrawls on the wall behind him, “is a lot of unexplained shit.”

  “I think we’ve explained it pretty well.” Sky was sitting with her arms crossed. She’d pitched a fit when Rex had started to use a Sharpie on the wall, but the old man had pointed to the Ramset nails and she’d just crossed her arms with a sigh. Val agreed with the old man though — they could fix the wall later if they survived. This gave them something to do; they could work the problem.

  “Yeah,” said John. “I know what’s going on.”

  “Son,” said Rex, “son, you don’t know your ass from your elbow.”

  “It hurts me when you say mean things,” said John. “Tell you what. Race you to 80. No, wait. You win!”

  “That’s cold,” said Just James. “I mean, that’s really cold.”

  Val leaned forward. “Let’s see if we’ve got this right.” He started to count on his fingers. “First up, we’ve got a city of zombies.”

  “Pretty sure that didn’t come first,” said Just James. “I’m pretty sure the werewolf thing came first.”

  “A fair point,” said Val. “So, first up, we have werewolves. As far as I know, there were two left in the world as of a couple weeks ago.” He looked at Danny, then down at his feet. “Now we have one, and that takes us to the second point.”

  “Spiders,” said Sky.

  “Spiders,” said Val, nodding. “In a briefcase. But the briefcase did something nasty before the spiders.”

  “Right,” said Rex, pointing to the wall behind him. He underlined a piece that said Weird briefcase sucks all the joy out of Val. That’d been John, of course. “Someone stole your … son, I’m having trouble saying it.”

  “Superpowers,” said Just James.

  “Thanks,” said Rex. He sighed. “It’s not getting any easier.”

  “This is why your generation has such a problem with Snapchat,” said Just James. “It’s like trying to teach an old dog new tricks.”

  “My generation?” said Rex. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Third,” said Val, pushing on, “we have some kind of motherfucking sorcerer.” He pointed to the words motherfucking sorcerer on the wall. Carlisle had written next to that in tight, small letters the name Talin Moray.

  “Language,” said Adalia. She was playing with her phone. No way she had coverage, so must be Angry Birds or whatever the kids played these days.

  Val looked back at the wall. “This guy, Moray, comes to our town, steals the … the—”

  “Night,” said Danny, leaning in to his shoulder. She smelled good.

  We are the Night.

  “Night,” said Val. “He takes it.”

  “Then,” said Rex, “the zombies.”

  “Near as I can figure, yeah,” said Val. He pointed to the rough time line they’d drawn next to words on the wall. “That looks right. Mark it in there.”

  Rex drew on the wall with the Sharpie, Sky looking away. While Rex was drawing, he said, “Yeah. Zombies.”

  “See?” Just James was beaming. “I knew you could do it.”

  Rex sighed again. “I think,” he said, “that brings us to the fourth point.”

  “I see dead people,” said Adalia. She looked up from under her hair at the brief silence. “What? I’ve seen the movie.”

  “When?” said Danny.

  “There’s not much to do in the snow in Alaska, Mom,” said Adalia.

  “Doesn’t feel related,” said Val, rubbing his chin.

  “Dead people and snow?” said John. “No, I can see how snow would give you dead people.”

  “More the dead people to werewolf thing,” said Val. “I think we’ve skipped a step.”

  “Right,” said Rex. He drew a thick black line — Sky looking away again — between zombies and Talin Moray. “It’s like a kind of battery.”

  “What?” said Just James.

  “Figures, doesn’t it?” Rex frowned. “What. You all can’t see it?”

  Val thought for a moment. “I see. Because there were no zombies before.”

  “Right,” said Rex. “Maybe I can’t use Snapchat, but I can use my brain.” This last was directed at Just James, who breathed a whatever and went back to watching his shoes. Rex pointed at the wall. “Look. All I’m saying is that if I’m the kind of sociopath who can turn the city of Chicago into a force of brainless wonders three million strong—”

  “I’m not sure that he made them brainless,” said John. “Have you seen reality TV?”

  “—I’m probably not going to wait for Tuesday before I make that happen,” said Rex. “What holds me back?”

  “He was hunting,” said Danny. She looked at Val. “He was hunting us.”

  We have ever been hunted.

  “I think,” said Val, “that he’s not the only one. Didn’t Ajay try to get you in Alaska?”

  “He said,” said Carlisle, her voice quiet, her chest still giving her trouble even through the cocktail John had given her, “that he represented a different buyer. Raeni Williams.”

  “What’s the connection?” Val pointed at the wall. “What’s the connection between the motherfucking sorcerer and—”

  “Language,” said Adalia.

  “—this Williams chick?” Val frowned.

  “There is more than one light against the dark,” said Adalia.

  Danny was looking over at Adalia. “Sweetie? Is … is he telling you that?”

  “I wish we knew Gabriel’s play,” said Just James. There was a hint of teenage jealousy in the air, but Val figured it was a tough rap trying to compete with a dead guy. If compete was the right word.

  “You shouldn’t say his name,” said Adalia. “You shouldn’t know his name.” She shivered, as if trying to turn back into a 14 year old girl. “Whatever. He didn’t say that. It just makes sense.�
� She looked out from under her hair at Rex. “I can use Snapchat and use my brain.”

  “The new master race,” said John.

  “It makes sense, Uncle John,” said Adalia, “because we can’t be alone. Can we?” Her eyes moved to each of them in turn. “We can’t be the only ones who want to fight what’s wrong. I don’t believe it.”

  “‘Uncle John?’” Val looked at his friend.

  “It’s cool,” said John. “Right? It’s cool. I think it’s cool. Is it cool?”

  “It’s cool,” said Sky, a smile slipping between them. Her hand was on John’s arm. “It’s very cool.”

  “It makes you sound old,” said Just James.

  “That,” said Rex, “is how you kill a beautiful moment, son.”

  “What I want to know,” said Val, “making the broad assumption that Raeni and Ajay are on-team, is what they can do.”

  “He’s got some tricks,” said Carlisle, looking out the window.

  “He knows things,” said Danny.

  “He is the Reluctant Wanderer,” said Adalia.

  “Right,” said Val. “What’s that mean?”

  “I don’t think that’s important,” said Rex. “We just need to know what he can do.”

  “Cause trouble,” said Carlisle. “Like he’s doing now.”

  “Okay,” said Val, “wildcard. Let’s ignore that for a moment. So we’ve got a werewolf sorcerer, and a city full of zombies. I can fly a helicopter. And we’ve got a dead kid on our side.”

  “Rock on,” said John.

  “What am I missing?” Val looked around the room.

  “Small detail,” said Rex. “I think we’re in agreement: we’re going to go clean this guy’s clock.”

  “With you,” said John.

  “So,” said Rex. “Where is he?”

  “Can’t you feel it?” said Adalia. “He’s where the wind touches the earth. He’s where the dark is strongest. He’s under the world, and over it. He lives in the space between our thoughts, touches our dreams, and gives us nightmares that make us fear the fading of the sun. He sits aside the water, drawing power from it. He is the Leader of the Damned.”

  The room fell silent. Val looked at Danny, her face as surprised as everyone else’s.

  Rex stepped into the quiet first. “Okay. Where’s that?”

  “Shit,” said John, “that’s easy. He’s in Trump Tower.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Talin looked out over his city, pride in his soul, hate in his heart. Such promise, a city like this, and that pack of dogs was trying to bring it down. Bring him down. It didn’t matter what they did, of course, the city was lost — but they weren’t to know that. Only he and one other could know, and she was dead.

  Dead, and buried. He’d killed her himself.

  It was always easier with a woman. She’d fought back, of course, her eyes bulging out as his fists closed around her throat, but her strength was … insufficient.

  He’d had only a tiny fragment of power then, enough to know that there was more to be had, and enough to make him feel powerless among the powerful. His plans had wrought an outcome, set his feet on the path that led him to today, to here, to the very now of life.

  He’d sent his Five off to do God’s work. He had so much strength now, power to spare, he could gift it to a thousand like the Five and not want for more. He stretched, marveling — again — in the youth that his body had found once more. He held the Five in the palm of his hand. Shamshoun, the strongest of them. L’inglesou, to bring night to the brightest day with a kiss of her sweet steel. Agni, who would scar and burn all in his path. Saint John, the balanced, the easy, the benign, the very devil himself. And — his first, his favorite — Choler. Choler would give them all a cloak of sweet lies, whisper into the ears of the angels themselves and make them doubt all that was true.

  “You know that stolen power is never yours to keep.” The voice came from behind him, familiar and strange in equal measure, and he turned to see a well-dressed man entering his domain. “Talin Moray. You know this to be true. You must trade for it, or it will consume you.”

  “I bow to no such rules,” said Talin. “Who are you, to come in here and tell me my business?”

  “I’m the one who made you,” said the man.

  “Oh,” said Talin, laughing as he understood. “This is too rich. No, no, no. It is I who made you.”

  The man shrugged. “If you say so.”

  “I know so,” said Talin. “Whose body do you wear?”

  “Your son’s,” said the man. “Your only child.”

  “I have no son,” said Talin.

  “If you say so,” said the man again. He was familiar, something scratching like an irritating insect at the back of Talin’s mind.

  Could it be? “Tell me,” said Talin. “Tell me your story.”

  “You know my story,” said the man. “You want to ask a different question.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Talin, the irritation creeping into his voice. He waved a hand. “Tell me the story of my son.”

  “What will you trade?” said the man. “You can’t take the story from me, like the power you pull around you like old curtains. It shuts out the light, Talin, and you can’t see what is true in this world anymore.”

  “Trade?” Talin shrugged. “A moment of your life. You live a tiny sliver of time longer, at my pleasure.”

  “Your son’s life,” said the man. “You’ve already taken mine.”

  Ah. There it is. “Yes, Raeni Williams,” said Talin. “I know your voice. I remember taking your life with my own hands.”

  “You didn’t take my life,” said the man. “You gave me a path to a different way of living.” He looked tired, like a worn-out old photo, the colors of life fading around the edges. “Let me tell you the story of your son. He was born the product of incest after you raped your sister. Another woman you left for dead, but she — unlike me — lived. She bore her shame for years, held it up for all to see, but no one wanted to look. She grew heavy with your child. She called him Ajay, and gave him the surname of her father’s house. Ajay Lewiss is your son, Talin Moray, and he stands before you.”

  “Then all I need to do is pull you out,” said Talin, “like an oyster from its shell.”

  “That’s one argument that can be made,” said the man — Ajay Lewiss. “Another is that you tried to kill me once, and failed.”

  “I succeeded,” said Talin. “You are a dead woman wearing a body that is not yours.”

  “Who are you to lecture me on taking things from people?” said Ajay. “You have robbed an entire city of will.”

  “Raeni, Raeni, Raeni,” said Talin, tsking at the end. “I don’t want to lecture you. You’ve come here wearing a different skin. You think I care? You think that I won’t tear the life from you like I did before? This man — he is not my son. How long have you lived inside him? How much of him is left?”

  “I think if you were going to tear the life from me,” said Ajay, “that you would have done it already.”

  “You think wrong,” said Talin. He paused for a moment. “Or at least, you have the wrong reasons. My son holds no place in my heart. I don’t know him. But others do. He lives inside the heart of another, does he not?”

  “You are blind, as always,” said Ajay, but there was something hiding under the faded face he wore. Yes, thought Talin. You are nervous about something.

  “We’ll see,” said Talin. He turned back to the windows overlooking the city.

  “You mistake my words, Talin,” said Ajay, his voice carrying across the room. “You think that I don’t know that the Shield cares for this body. You think that I don’t know that her Pack will not cross the dangers you’ve set against them. You think wrong.”

  “Wrong?” Talin turned back to Ajay. “You think they will come for you?”

  “I know they will,” said Ajay. “They just needed another reason. Am I a traitor they must kill? Am I a friend they must defend? Either fac
e serves equally well. They will come here, and they will kill you.”

  “Because,” said Talin, “you cannot.”

  “Because,” said Ajay, “if I kill you, you’ll come back like the black sickness you are. I taught you too well. You know my tricks, although you lacked the strength before. The Night, though. The Night you carry, the strength you’ve stolen? The Night will have its revenge.” He smiled at Talin, a bitter, crooked expression. “And then, I will have my revenge.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  “It’s a crappy plan,” said John. He was shouting over the noise of the rotors, the wings of their Black Hawk beating the air as the machine carried them across a damned city.

  This place was always lost.

  “It’s a great plan,” said Val, the unfamiliar — yet memory perfect — flight controls around him. The cyclic stick had felt natural as soon as his hand had touched it, yet he’d never piloted a helicopter in his life.

  Had he? He remembered speaking with such authority on it.

  “We need to go in through the roof,” said Val. “Save us walking up a hundred flights of stairs.”

  “You getting old?” John had looked at him across a table overlaid with a map of Chicago.

  “I’m getting dead,” Val said. “Virus, remember?”

  “Sure, roof, whatever.” John hooked a thumb at Rex. “Bet you the old guy could do a hundred flights of stairs. He’s got forty years on you.”

  “Is he dying of a virus?” But the plan was workable — hit the top of the tower, where Talin Moray was likely to sit. He wasn’t the kind of man who lurked in the belly of a structure like that; he would want a penthouse view of the city he owned.

  “Okay,” said Carlisle. “Roof, I get the theory. Do we have a way to get there?”

  “Helicopter,” said Val. “Two Black Hawks. I found them earlier.”

  “You can’t fly a helicopter,” said Carlisle.

  “Sure I can,” said Val. “I used to bull's-eye womp rats in my T-16 back home.”

  Carlisle blinked at him. “What?”

  Val sighed, rubbing his face. “Doesn’t matter. Look, I can fly it.”