The Black Knight Chronicles

by John G. Hartness

  I took the opportunity to raid her bar for another Miller Lite, then followed the little ginger satyr back out into the main body of the club.

  “Don’t suppose you want to just hang for a little while and have a couple beers?” I asked Sabrina as we passed through the entrance to the Champagne Room.

  She didn’t even look back at me, just kept walking toward the door. I killed my beer as I walked, which is my excuse for not seeing the five-foot gargoyle when it stepped directly into my path.

  “Oof!” All the breath went out of me in a rush as I almost ran over the little guy. I looked down and there was a gray face glaring up at me. He looked like he’d just flown down off the roof of a building, except there aren’t any buildings in Charlotte old enough to have gargoyles. His skin was uniformly gray, with some seriously wicked-looking fangs and claws. His leathery wings stretched out six feet on either side of him, so just stepping around him wasn’t an option.

  “Sorry, dude. I wasn’t paying attention. Totally my fault. I apologize.” I tried to step to one side, hoping he’d get the hint and tuck his wings away. He didn’t. In fact, he stepped to the side to get right in front of me again.

  “What are you doing here, bloodsucker?” His voice sounded like rocks grinding together, and he bared a lot of fang when he talked to me. I decided I didn’t like the little dude.

  “I’m leaving. Or I would be if you’d get out of the way.” Sabrina had stopped a few feet away and had her cell phone out. I really hoped she was calling Greg and wasn’t just going to video the beating I was probably about to receive.

  “Your kind aren’t welcome here. We don’t like you, and your Master doesn’t like you coming here. Does he know you’re here?”

  “I don’t know what you’re babbling about, Rocky. I’m just trying to leave before I break anybody.” I let a little menace creep into my voice as I looked down at the grumpy wall ornament.

  “You threatening me?” he rumbled.

  I sighed. There was no way I was getting out of this without punching something. Which was really just fine with me. That meeting with Lilith had set me a little on edge, and a good scrap seemed like it would be just what I needed. So I never bothered to answer the gargoyle. I just punched him in the nose.

  His carved-out-of-stone nose. I heard something crack in my fist, and my knuckles split on his rocky visage. I yelled, he laughed, and a stone fist rammed into my stomach in a punch that sent me sprawling. The bouncers didn’t budge as several other patrons came over to join in a rousing game of vampire piñata. When I rolled over onto my back I looked up at the gargoyle, a werewolf, what looked like a human except for the pointy ears and a lizard-man.

  “This would be a really good time to learn that turning to mist trick I saw on Buffy,” I said.

  Then the kicking started. I actually didn’t mind the kicking, because other than the gargoyle, they weren’t doing much damage. It hurt, sure, but they were too close to get a good kick in. But after the gargoyle tagged my shins for the third time, I figured they weren’t getting tired as fast as I was getting bruised, so it was time for Plan B.

  My Plan B was almost exactly like my Plan A in that it involved punching things. Except in Plan B I didn’t hit the rock guy in the face with my bare hand. I rolled over a couple of times, and took cover under a cabaret table. Then I came up swinging. I smashed the table into the gargoyle’s face, which had a lot better effect than my first punch. He went down in a crash of wings and granite dust.

  “That went better,” Sabrina said from across the room. She had a were-rat in a headlock and was punching him in the snout. A couple more short jabs, and she dropped the furry bugger on his face, out cold.

  I turned my attention back to my mob of supernatural chumps and saw Pointy Ears rushing at me with a knife. I picked him up over my head, threw him at the werewolf, and they collapsed in a tangle of fur and ears. I turned to the lizard dude and got slapped across the face with his tail for my troubles.

  “What do you think this is, a Spider-Man movie?” I yelled. I grabbed his tail and pulled, intending to swing him around my head and throw him far, far away, but his tail came off in my hands. I stared at the lizard-man in shock, and he growled at me.

  “Do you have any idea how long it takes to grow that back? Or how hard it is to balance without it?”

  He came at me, and I decided it was only fair to give him his tail back. So I hit him upside the head with it. A lot. The tail was a good six feet long, and probably two feet around at the base, so when it connected with his face, he stopped cold.

  “You hit me!” he said.

  “Yeah. That happens in bar fights. Are you new at this?” I reared back and clocked him in the face with his tail again.

  “That hurt!”

  “That’s kinda the point. That whole kicking me while I was down thing didn’t tickle, just, you know, FYI.”

  “Oh. Sorry about that. I thought it was . . . I dunno, part of the show. Like a lap dance, only violent.”

  “No. This is a fight. A real fight. You’re not on Jackass or anything like that.”

  “Oh. Well, what am I supposed to do?”

  I sighed, spun him around and shoved him at Sabrina. “Please kick this guy’s ass for me.”

  “Not a problem,” she said, planting a foot solidly in the lizard-man’s groin. He went down like a sack of potatoes, and I turned away, figuring Sabrina had him handled.

  Good thing, since the werewolf and elf (or whatever) had disentangled themselves and were coming at me from opposite sides. They sprang at me, so I sprang straight up. It was like something out of a Saturday morning cartoon. I grabbed a rafter, they smacked into each other and immediately went at each other’s throats.

  I dropped lightly down to the floor and observed the mess they were making, grabbing bottles off random tables to bash each other with, knocking over chairs, interrupting commerce, the whole nine yards. A couple of ogres were finally moving in their direction when I turned back toward the exit.

  And ran straight into a fist of stone. The gargoyle had struggled to his feet and nailed me with an uppercut that almost took my head off. I flew backward a good ten feet to land flat on my back on the stage. A leggy blonde with a huge dragon tattoo on her back was spinning around the pole as I slid underneath her, completely across the stage to land on my hands and knees. I needed about half a second to get my breath back.

  Then the gargoyle landed with both feet right on my shoulder blades and drove me into the cheap carpet by the stage. I learned a couple of life lessons in those few seconds. First—gargoyles are really heavy for their size. Must have something to do with being made of rock. Second—strip clubs don’t vacuum the floor by the stage nearly as often as you really want them to. I felt every one of my upper ribs crack under the gargoyle’s feet, and I screamed like a girl. Fortunately for my manly reputation, I couldn’t be heard over the screaming of the actual girls.

  The gargoyle hopped off my back, and I rolled over. I looked up at his grinning granite face and found myself laughing.

  It had just been that kind of night. I thought I’d be able to help Sabrina with something simple, spend a little time with her and maybe get a kiss out of the deal. Instead I ended up flat on my back with a bunch of broken ribs in the middle of a destroyed strip club with a gargoyle ready to stomp my face flat.

  “What are you laughing at, asshole?” He reached down and dragged me to my feet. “Well, at least you’ll die happy.” He pulled back his fist for one more massive punch, and then his ear disappeared. He dropped me and clapped one hand to the side of his head, then turned to look for the new attacker.

  My partner, Greg Knightwood III, stood six feet away holding his favorite pistol, a Beretta Px4 Storm with stainless steel slide. The gun glinted in the flashing lights of the club as he leveled it at the gargoyle’s head. “Wanna see what else I can shoot off?”

  “My ear! You wrecked my ear! You asshole!”

  “You wrecked my pa
rtner. I think we’re even,” Greg said.

  An ogre came up behind him and started to reach for the gun. Sabrina, newly rearmed by my partner, pressed her Smith & Wesson to his ear and smiled.

  “Now, now. We’re leaving. But you lay a hand on my friend, and there will be some new stains on this carpet.” She smiled as she said it, and I think that was the part that really worried the ogre. It sure scared the hell out of me. I shook my head and headed for the door, leaning on Greg for support. I hadn’t made it three steps when Lilith appeared in front of me.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” she demanded.

  “I think I’m going home. I think I’m going to drink about six pints of blood, then about twelve beers, and then I’m going do like the myths say and sleep the whole goddamn day away because every rib is busted, I think one arm is dislocated and I’m pretty sure I broke about eleven bones in my hand punching that rock-headed son of a bitch back there. Any other questions?”

  “Who’s going to pay for all these damages? You wrecked my club, Black, and that doesn’t come cheap.”

  I lost it. That’s the only way I can explain going off on Lilith like I did, because most days she scares me silly. But I was in pain, a lot of pain, and my night was not going the way I’d hoped. I was pretty pissed about it.

  “I didn’t wreck your club, Lilith. Your asshole patrons wrecked your club. You know, the ones that started a fight with me. The fight your bouncers didn’t do anything to stop. The fight you watched on your little video monitors until it was over and you could come out and make a scene. I don’t know what kind of beef you guys have with vampires around here, and I sure don’t know who this Master is y’all keep talking about and I don’t give a shit. We’re leaving. And if you want to try and stop me, we can find out just how damn immortal you are right here, right now. So, you wanna get outta my way, or you wanna dance?”

  Lilith looked up at me, mouth hanging open. I guess it had been a matter of centuries since anyone had really pushed back at her, and she had forgotten how to handle it.

  Then in between eyeblinks, she was pressed against me, looking up at me with eyes of fire. “Oh, we’ll dance, little vampire. We shall definitely dance. But not now, and not here. You may leave. Unmolested . . . if you like. But you owe me, little vampire. And I always collect on my debts.” Lilith gave me a smile that started a fire in my toes and seared me all the way to the top of my head, while simultaneously sending chills down my spine.

  I motioned for Greg to help me walk, and we headed for the exit. Greg tossed Sabrina his keys, and she went on ahead of us as he half carried me out of the club.

  Once we were out on the sidewalk with no one following us, I said to Greg “Thanks, pal. I don’t know what I would have done without you in there.”

  “Probably died a horrible death. Again.”

  “Yeah, probably. Hey, how did you know to shoot the gargoyle’s ear off to get his attention?” I asked as we walked across the bridge to where Sabrina waited with the car.

  Greg didn’t answer, and didn’t look at me for a long moment.

  I pressed. “Come on, buddy. That was really good. I mean it. I just want to know where you learned about gargoyles and how you knew that you could shoot off little parts of it even if you couldn’t hurt the body.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “I didn’t know all that about shooting its ears off.”

  “Then why did you shoot its ear off?”

  “I was aiming for the back of its head. But an ogre jostled me, and I missed.”

  I opened my mouth to freak out on him, but Sabrina rolled up in Greg’s car just then. She pulled up alongside us and opened the doors.

  “Get in.” She said, moving around to the passenger side. I slid into the backseat and lay down as best I could. Greg had a towel behind his seat, because he’s a hoopy frood that way, so I tried to put the bloodiest parts of me on the towel to save the upholstery.

  “What’s up?” Greg asked Sabrina.

  “I just got a call while you were in there. There’s been another attack. It’s just a few blocks away. Let’s go.”

  “What’s the rush?” I said as we peeled rubber out of the parking lot.

  “The victim. He’s my cousin.”

  Chapter 3

  A narrow alley separated the main branch of the public library from the arts center that had once been the First Baptist Church. Now labeled Spirit Square, the old sanctuary was more likely to see an acoustic concert than a choir singing. But tonight it was blue lights instead of bluegrass music as half a dozen police cruisers and a pair of ambulances crowded into the tight space between the buildings.

  Greg pulled his car into the small parking lot, and we climbed out and headed into the alley. Sabrina flashed her badge at the uniform guarding the scene, and we were in the middle of a crime scene. Again. But this time we hadn’t caused any of the damage.

  Sabrina hit the alley and headed straight for a tall black man in an expensive coat. He did not look happy to see us, so I waved Greg over to the side, and we stopped well out of human earshot, which of course was plenty close for us to hear every word.

  We picked up the conversation a couple of sentences in, but it was clear that this guy was some kind of boss, and he totally didn’t want us to be there.

  “I understand your hesitation, sir, but these guys have some resources that we don’t have. They have connections within the community to people who are . . . reluctant to speak with the police,” Sabrina said to the tall man, who I guessed was her lieutenant.

  “I appreciate that, Detective, but it’s not your call to make.”

  “Then whose call is it, sir?” Sabrina was getting upset, and I could tell that her personal relationship with the victim was not going to do her any favors with her boss. “Either I’m the lead on this case or I’m not. And if I am the lead, then my resources are mine to do with as I see fit. If I’d rather hire a couple of investigators outside the department than just line the pockets of the same snitches all over again, I should be allowed the freedom to do that. And if I’m not . . .”

  I decided Sabrina shouldn’t really give her boss that option, especially judging from the stormy look on his face, so I barged in, feigning ignorance of anything I shouldn’t have been able to overhear. “Detective Law? I was able to reschedule our other client. We’d be happy to do whatever we can for you on this case. Oh! Excuse us. Greg and I didn’t realize this was a private conversation.”

  I extended my hand to the man, who looked at it just a second too long before shaking it with his expensive gloved one. “You must be . . . ?”

  “I’m Lieutenant Joseph McDaniel. I assume you’re the private investigators we’ve heard so much about.”

  Someday I’ll meet someone over the age of twelve who doesn’t say “private investigator” like it’s a venereal disease, but I doubt they’ll work in law enforcement.

  “Well, sir, I can’t vouch for what you’ve heard, but we’re here to help any way we can.” I put on my best aw-shucks face and tried not to look like I could drink every drop of blood in his oversized frame without batting an eye. Not that I thought he’d recognize that look.

  “So what can we do to help, Detective?” I didn’t put too much extra emphasis on “detective,” but I made it pretty plain who we were here for. McDaniel’s eyes flashed a little, and I could tell my subtle dig wasn’t lost on him.

  Sabrina led Greg and me over to one side of the alley as McDaniel made his way back to the main street where all the reporters were waiting. “Here’s where it happened, at least the last of it.” She indicated a wall of the library with blood smeared at least eight feet off the ground. “It looks like he was held high against the wall somehow and pummeled. The bloodstains and spatters are high.”

  “Maybe the guy that attacked him moonlights for the Bobcats. But those spots are high even by NBA standards,” Greg wisecracked. I kicked him in the shin. “
Sorry.”

  “How is your cousin?” I asked once the boss man was out of earshot.

  “They’re pretty sure he’ll live, but they don’t know if there’s going to be brain damage. He was beaten so badly I didn’t recognize him. They only knew it was Stephen when they looked in his wallet.”

  Just then a distraught young man ran into the alley and headed straight for the crime scene. He was well dressed, attractive and slender, with perfect hair, and tears were pouring down his face.

  He got to the mouth of the alley and froze. “Sabrina?” he asked.

  Sabrina turned and stared at him. “I’m sorry, sir. Do I know you?”

  “I’m Alex. Alex Glindare. I’m Stephen’s husband. You’re his cousin Sabrina, right? I recognize you from old family pictures.”

  Sabrina got that deer-in-headlights look, and her head swiveled from cop to cop trying to see if anyone had heard this little tidbit.

  “I gotta take care of this,” I muttered to Greg.

  “Take care of what?” my socially inept partner asked.

  “If her supervisor knows that Sabrina has a personal relationship with one of the victims, she’ll be off the case in a heartbeat. I need to quiet this guy down. You see what you can find out from the crime scene guys while I talk to him.

  Everything about Alex was the picture of a modern young gay man whose partner just became a statistic. He had on a long dark wool coat over a nice suit, and his shoes probably cost more than my entire ensemble. His wardrobe screamed “bank vice president,” but the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks shouted “terrified spouse.”

  I put an arm around his shoulders and steered him back the way he came. “I’m Jimmy, and I’m a detective. I’m here to help. So you’re Stephen’s partner?” I didn’t bother to add the “private” to the “detective,” since the longer he thought I had some official capacity, the more information he was likely to give me.

  “Husband. We were married in Boston last year. Where is he?”