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

by Richard Parry

  “What’d you get?” John’s eyes still held that pain, would for a long time unless Val missed his guess. “Something tasty?”

  “Knock yourself out,” said Val, handing over the bag. “Don’t fuck it up.”

  “That’s cold,” said John. “You can cook, you know.”

  “I know I can cook,” said Val. “You were the one who said he wanted to feel useful.”

  “I meant, you know, by fighting bad guys,” said John.

  “Lord preserve us,” said Carlisle. She was still pale, but moving about. “Did you get more coffee?”

  John tossed her a cardboard bag. She caught it one-handed, and inhaled the outside. “Divine.”

  “I need a shower,” said Val.

  “Yes you do,” said Danny. “Don’t take all the hot water.”

  “Maybe you should join me,” he said.

  “Deal,” she said.

  ∙ • ● • ∙

  “So here’s the thing,” said Val. They were sitting around their rickety table, empty plates in front of them. It actually hadn’t been terrible, but that was only because Jessica had stepped in to help. God dammit, Miles, she’d said. How do you manage to tie your shoelaces in the morning? You’re borderline incompetent.

  He’d smiled, because that’s what John did, and made space for her in the kitchen. Because she needed a purpose too.

  Adalia pushed her phone around in front of her. “You want to go hunting.”

  “Young lady,” said Val, “it gets annoying when you do that.”

  “I can’t help it,” she said, “if I know everything.”

  “You don’t know when to keep your mouth shut,” said Carlisle.

  “The deal,” said Val, “is that I’m tired of running.” He let that sink in, silence falling around the table. Rex looked thoughtful. Jessica looked eager. Carlisle looked bored, like she was waiting for him to get to the point. John was John, not really paying attention. Danny squeezed his hand, so he continued. “You ever wonder why there’re not more of us?”

  “Werewolves?” said Rex. “I’d say there’s two more than there should be. World doesn’t seem quite right anymore.”

  “That,” said John, “is racist.”

  “It’s not racist,” said Carlisle. “It’s…” Her words ran out, and she narrowed her eyes. “Anyway, it’s not racist.”

  “We remember,” said Danny.

  “Great,” said Jessica. “What exactly do you remember? I mean, that’s not really an inspirational line.”

  “I remember,” said Danny, “when dragons filled the skies.”

  “I remember,” said Val, “when we ran free. All of us. There were even unicorns. Can you believe it?”

  “There were fairies,” said Danny. She smiled at her hands, something sad in her face. She looked up at them. “They were very small.”

  “Point is,” said Val, “they’re gone. Everything wonderful. It’s all gone.”

  “Where?” Rex leaned forward. “You remember that?”

  “They were eaten,” said Adalia.

  The table fell silent. Val cleared his throat. “She’s more or less right.”

  “What … wait. Are you telling me that there was something out there that could eat you guys?” John stood up, walked to the window. He pointed outside, at the skyscrapers, and at the snow. “Ain’t nothing out there that can take you down. Not really. Not in a fair fight.”

  “The Night,” said Danny, “is full of wonder. We’re not the only members of our little club. But we’re almost all that’s left.”

  “For the longest time,” said Val, “we’ve been on the run. My … father, and his maker, and so on up the line. Hiding. Surviving. So, I made a deal.”

  “A what?” John looked around. “With whom?”

  “With the Night,” said Adalia. “It’s why he could come back.”

  “You’re like a small psychopath who steals all the punchlines to a guy’s jokes,” said Val. Danny glared at him, so he said, “I mean that in a loving way, Adalia.”

  “Sorry,” said Adalia. “You just talk a lot slower than you should.”

  “Sass,” said John. “I can work with that.”

  “No,” said Danny, “you can’t.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” said John.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Jessica.

  “Really doesn’t,” said Rex.

  “So, the deal,” said Val, moving on. “I said, well … I said, kinda, that the whole idea of Pack was flawed.”

  “You don’t like family?” said Carlisle, something catching in her voice.

  “Hear him out,” said Danny, her hand finding Carlisle’s across the table.

  “I said,” said Val, “that what we needed to do was … enlarge the problem.”

  “Ah,” said Rex. “Do an Eisenhower.”

  “A who?” said Adalia.

  “I thought you knew everything,” said John.

  “Important stuff,” said Adalia.

  “Eisenhower was important,” said Rex. “He was—”

  “The deal,” said Val, “is that we consider that most of the human race is broadly on our team. That we stop killing people, in order to focus on the real issue.”

  “Which is?” John walked back to the table, kicked his chair back, and sat down. “Space aliens?”

  “No,” said Danny. “The real problem is that we are hunted. And we are never hunted. We are the hunters.”

  Val looked around the table, meeting their eyes. He knew John would be in, whatever it took, because of Sky. Because of their history. And because he was John Miles, and the Universe was just going to have to keep owing him one for as long as it took. Carlisle wasn’t watching him, she was looking between Danny and Adalia, and Val knew she’d do whatever it took to—

  Shield them. Protect our Pack.

  —look after her friends, her family. It was Rex and Jessica he watched closest of all, these new people who’d come into his life. The Guide. The Lost Warrior.

  “Way I see it,” said Rex, “is that there’s some assholes out there been killing all that’s good in the world.”

  “Not everything good,” said Val. “We’re still here.”

  “Right,” said Rex. “But it wouldn’t be such a heavy job lifting the load if there were a few more of you to go around.”

  “Right,” said Val.

  “I think that’s a problem we should be solving,” said Rex.

  “Why?” Val leaned forward, palms on the table. “I need to hear why you’d care.”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do,” said Rex. “Because my wife would kick my ass if I didn’t.” He swallowed, and looked down at his plate. “Because I miss having a family.”

  “Jessica?” Val looked at the ex-soldier, still sitting military-straight in her chair. “You’ve paid your dues. You’ve helped Chicago, more than you should have. You lost your job. You got places you’d rather be?”

  “No,” she said. She looked at Adalia, then at Carlisle. “You people do incredible things,” she said after a moment, looking for all the world like she was trying to choose her words with exquisite care. Like she was going for a job interview for a job she really wanted. “You change the world.”

  “Reckon so,” said Val. “I reckon we’re going to keep changing the world.”

  “I’m in,” she said. “This will be something worthy of my service.”

  “You won’t get to see Gabriel again,” said Adalia. “That was … I shouldn’t have done that at all.”

  Jessica reached out a hand to grab Adalia’s, holding on to her like a lifeline. “I won’t forget it.”

  “It was a trade, that’s all,” said Adalia, almost mumbling. She was hiding behind her hair again, before she picked up her phone.

  “Okay,” said Val. “Then we’re agreed?” He scanned the table, first to Danny, her purpose as clear as his own. Carlisle, her faith and strength burnished for all to see. Jessica, straight, guided, quiet, ready to s
erve. John, well, he was John. He was always going to make the difference, whatever was required. Rex, the old man looking astonished at his own words, like he’d expected to be in a home and here he was, playing a younger man’s game, but alive with the thrill of it. And Adalia, sweet Adalia, who’d had to carry them, when they all failed her.

  “You didn’t fail me,” she said. “It was my turn, is all.”

  “Okay,” said Val, again. “It begins.”

  “Yes,” said Danny. “Now, we hunt.”

  We are the Night.

  ∙ • ● • ∙

  The lights were out, the small apartment rooms full of sleeping family. Val was standing watch, looking out at the scattered dark and light that was Chicago.

  “What was the deal?” said Adalia. “Really?”

  “You can see it,” said Val, not turning around.

  “No,” she said. “I can’t see into your home.”

  “Oh,” said Val. He smiled. “That’s too bad.”

  “Don’t be mean,” she said.

  “I’m not being mean,” said Val. “I just think it’s funny. I think it’s good for you to learn there are … limits.”

  “I’m not going to become a monster,” said Adalia. “I’m still Adalia.”

  Val turned to face her, seeing her face picked out in the lights coming in from the street. “Yes,” he said. “You are, and you always will be.”

  “I think you should do it,” she said.

  “Do what?”

  “Ask her what’s in your heart.” She tipped her head to one side.

  “Will she want me to?” Val ran a hand through his hair before looking back out the window. “Do you know?”

  “I … no,” she said. “Some stuff is hard, complicated. Like I shouldn’t know.”

  “Sounds about right,” said Val. “Sounds about the way the rest of us see things.”

  Adalia was quiet for a moment before she moved closer. Leaned her head against his shoulder, sharing a view out at the street. They stood in silence for a while before she said, “I’d like it.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. No pressure, right?”

  “No pressure,” she said. Then, “What was the deal?”

  “I’ll tell you something, straight up,” said Val. “You ready?”

  She took a step back, then nodded. “Ready.”

  “Sometimes,” said Val, “you don’t always get to know everything. Not for certain. But if you want, we can walk the path together. Are you okay with that?”

  Adalia looked at him, then she gave a small nod. “I’m okay with that.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now go to bed. Even the Universe needs a good eight hours’ sleep.”

  She gave an exaggerated sigh, but walked away. He watched her go for a moment, then looked out the window again. “Tomorrow,” he said, “we begin the hunt.”

  We begin the hunt.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I hadn’t written Night’s Favour with a sequel in mind. How the hell did we get here?

  Mostly because of you, out there. More than a few of you wanted to know what happened next. I get asked a lot — and I mean, a lot — about whether Volk is really dead (I’m providing no more or less clarity on that here). But anyway: thank you to those who liked my first story. Thank you for wanting more. It’d be hard to write without readers.

  Oh, related point. Thanks to those of you who left a review on Amazon, or a rating on Goodreads. You’re doing God’s work. While it’s a great ego-trip for me, you’re also helping guide like-minded souls through the mighty recommendations engines of the Internet. Every review (positive or negative) helps an angel get their wings.

  My writer’s circle — or did we settle on coven? — have been of tremendous help. Their most excellent advice has helped shaped some of the finer areas I don’t have huge experience on. Having once been a teenage boy, I naturally assumed I knew everything about teenage girls through a certain set of shared experiences. As it turns out, not so much: Cassie, Kate, and Frances helped slap the silly clean out of me. Their feedback has hammered flat the the words you’ve just read, in a sort of water-to-wine kind of way; as my first critics, they voted a huge amount of shit right off the island. But where they really shone is in guiding me to create a character I’m particularly proud of: Adalia is a credit to them.

  I’m pretty sure I’ve said something like this before, but writing is a team sport. It’s not a solitary pursuit where you take a typewriter into a forest and emerge three months later with a finished manuscript. First of all, that’s crazy because no Internet. But it’s also crazy because no people. My friends and family (who’ve once again dived into the simmering pool of slime that is my first, second, or fortieth draft) have made Night’s Fall relatable, bearable, and understandable. Anthony, Arran, Cheryl, Erin, Greg, Jane, Julia, Lynda, Matthew, and Raelene, you are amazing. Your comments made me think, some of them made me laugh, and all of them made this a better story. I’m humbled by your relentless drive to help me tell better stories. Thank you.

  The particularly astute among you will have noticed a change in cover art style. I’ve been introduced to the tremendously talented Karl Thiart; it’s his work you see on the front. He was able to pull that together for me despite living in a jungle at the time. Legendary. If you need a good artist, then head over to his site karlthiart.com. Prepare to be amazed.

  Oh. We’re at the end. One more, before we go: my Rae. I don’t know how you put up with me, but I’m ever thankful for it — and for you — each of these days we are given to share. I want them to last until the sun grows cold and the world stops turning. Until forever. And longer.

  — R. P.

  June 2016, Wellington