The Black Knight Chronicles (Omnibus Edition)

by John G. Hartness

  We followed the tunnels from his lair to your cellar, and came up the stairs

  hoping to find him here.” I figured there was no point in lying about it. It

  wasn’t like we could have come from anywhere else.

  “And why are you looking for the professor? I would have thought that

  the antics of his group would not appeal to you.”

  “They don’t. He and his rejects from Lost Boys II torched our home,

  almost killed one friend of ours, and kidnapped a police officer. We intend

  to get her back and get a little revenge.” I showed a little fang and let my eyes

  go black around the edges.

  Tiram’s eyes widened when I mentioned Sabrina’s abduction. “That

  was not authorized, I assure you. Feel free to mete out whatever punishment

  you feel appropriate under the circumstances.” He turned to go into the

  restaurant. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have impatient customers that I will

  now be forced to bespell into thinking they had a delicious meal, and it

  seems I need to find new kitchen staff as well.”

  “Hold up there, Spanky.” I grabbed his elbow before he got too far

  away.

  I heard a sharp intake of breath from Greg, and Tiram turned back to

  look at me. The little smile that had played across his face since he first

  caught us in the kitchen was gone, and I felt a little bit of the will of a real

  Master Vampire hammer at my mind. I pushed past it, throwing him out of

  my head, and saw his eyes widen.

  “Is there something else I can do for you?” he asked after a second. I let go of his arm. “You said the attack on us wasn’t authorized. But

  something was. What was authorized, and by who?”

  “By whom, Mr. Black. Everything that happens in this city is authorized

  by me, of course. And when Professor Wideham told me you had been

  spying on him, I granted him permission to destroy your lair. I did not

  authorize an attempt on the life of a fledgling vampire, nor did I give my

  blessing to Detective Law’s abduction. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” He made

  to turn around again, but I dashed around him, blocking his path. “How did you know the friend they almost killed was a vampire? And

  how did you know they took Sabrina?” I got very close to Tiram’s face to

  watch his reaction, but it wasn’t at all what I expected.

  He threw back his head and laughed like I’d told a really funny joke for

  once. “Mr. Black, until very recently you have had only three friends in all

  the world. Mr. Knightwood is here with you. Miss Law is a detective, so it

  reasons that she was the kidnap victim, and poor Father Maloney is in the

  hospital. How is the good father, by the way? Please tell him I inquired about

  his health, won’t you? So, given that information, the only person left that

  you could have possibly stretched to consider a friend is young Miss Lahey,

  so newly turned by my lovely Krysta. Now that I’ve proven that I do indeed

  know more about you than you know about me, or will ever find out about

  me, may I go on about my business? Or must we have another unpleasant

  encounter?”

  He looked up at me without any mojo, without anger and without the

  slightest hint of fear. He just stood there, supremely confident that, if there

  was an “unpleasant encounter,” he would come out ahead.

  I figured he was right, so I got out of his way.

  “We’re not finished, Tiram,” I said to his shoulders as he went out into

  the restaurant.

  “Oh, no, Mr. Black. We’ve only just begun.” The swinging door closed

  behind him.

  I turned to Greg and found him leaning heavily on one of the long

  metal prep tables. He looked paler than normal, and I saw his hands shaking

  a little as he tried to get himself under control.

  “You all right, pal? Everything’s okay. We didn’t have to kill the big bad

  guy. It’s cool.” I tried my best to reassure him, and after a long minute or

  two, he got himself together.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. But Jimmy?” He raised his eyes to mine, and I hadn’t seen him that scared since we slipped the video camera into the girls’ locker room in seventh grade and caught the gym teachers doing the deed in the

  showers.

  “Yeah, bro. What’s up?”

  “I don’t ever want to mess with that guy again. He scares the crap out of

  me.”

  “Me too, Greggy. But I’ve got a really bad feeling that we’re not going

  to be able to avoid him forever.”

  “Yeah, I feel it, too. But let’s give it a shot, huh?”

  “Will do. Now, you got any great ideas about how to find Wideham and

  his goofballs?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got two. But you’re gonna hate both of them.” He looked at

  the floor, and I was pretty sure by his words that I knew what was coming. “Really?” I asked with a sigh.

  “Anna and The Guys have the best sense of what’s weird in town, man.

  Between the four of them, they should have some ideas about where to start

  looking.” Greg still wouldn’t look at me, but he had the little smirk bouncing

  around on his face that I really hated.

  “You’re probably right.” I groaned. “One meeting with Anna in a day is

  too many for me. You deal with Her High Priestess-ness, and I’ll meet you at

  the comic shop around eleven. That should give them time to get the

  civilians safely to bed, right?”

  “I doubt it. This is Game Night, so there’ll be people there all night. But

  on the plus side, that means that all three of the guys will be there.” He didn’t

  mention that he’d get to try out his new Magic: The Gathering decks, or

  whatever he played nowadays. I’d always been a nerd, but my partner’s

  geekitude truly knew no boundaries.

  “Great. Just what I need after a long week—a dive headfirst into the

  great unwashed horde of Dorkdom.” I turned and headed into the

  restaurant.

  I stopped cold at the scene before me. The restaurant was full and

  gorgeously decorated in a classically elegant style. There were lots of

  high-backed booths for privacy, marble floors and leather chairs, and not a

  screaming kid anywhere in sight. The clientele was as high-tone as the decor,

  Charlotte’s version of the glitterati out for a gourmet meal, and by all

  appearances, everyone was having a grand old time—eating, drinking,

  laughing and chatting like all was normal. I even saw a waiter bringing a

  check to one table, as a man in a tailored dress shirt and tie folded his napkin

  onto his plate.

  His empty plate. His clean, fresh-from-the-kitchen empty plate. What

  made the scene so bizarre was that there was no food anywhere. The plates

  were all empty, not a crumb or splash of sauce dirtying up the joint. And all

  the customers seemed full, or at least seemed to think they were full. I made my way over to where Tiram stood at the host stand near the front door, greeting people and telling them that the restaurant unfortunately was fully

  committed for the weekend.

  “And honestly, we are booked solid for the rest of the month. If you

  would like to make a reservation for a weekday evening, I believe we have

  some openings next month. Our weekends are committed until summer, I

  hate to say.” He wore a look that told everyo
ne he didn’t really hate to say it

  at all.

  “And how hungry will your clientele be by then?” I mused as I stood

  next to him.

  “If someone hadn’t terrorized my entire kitchen staff, tonight’s guests

  would be dining on grand American cuisine rather than simply thinking they

  were getting their money’s worth,” he replied, shooting me a dirty look.

  “Now, please leave my restaurant. You don’t meet the dress code.” “Good point. Since I don’t meet the dress code, and the amount of

  human blood in your wine doesn’t meet the health code, why don’t you loan

  me an American Express card or two so Greg and I can replenish our

  wardrobes?” I held out my hand.

  The Master of the City gave me a condescending look, then broke into

  peals of laughter. “You idiot. You actually pay for things? Just take whatever

  you want, then tell the cashier you’ve paid for it. I haven’t dealt with

  currency in three hundred years. We don’t need money, child, we have

  power. Now, shoo.” He waved us out into the night with a peremptory

  gesture, and we left.

  Greg and I stepped out onto the sidewalk. Apparently, we’d covered a

  couple of miles underground because the restaurant was in an upscale retail

  development south of the college, complete with high-rise condos, a

  man-made lake and a towering Hilton hotel.

  I looked over at Greg, and said, “Okay, then. Plan stays the same. You

  go talk with the Wicked Witch of the New South, and I’ll meet you at the

  comic shop.”

  “How am I supposed to get there?” Greg asked.

  “Well, you can either eat a cabbie or steal a car. I’m going to steal a car.

  Over there.” I pointed toward the hotel parking lot. “You steal yours

  somewhere else.”

  “When did we become thieves?” Greg asked, a little whiny. “I became a thief shortly after I became dead. You became a thief when

  the really bad guys burned down our house with all the money in it,

  kidnapped our friend and blew up our cars.” I was getting tired of explaining

  things as I felt the seconds tick by. Even if Sabrina had made it through the

  night alive, there was no guarantee that she’d survive another one. We had to

  find the Professor and his students, and soon.

  “What do you mean blew up our cars?” Greg was pretty attached to his car, so I’d been holding that tidbit back until he regained a little more

  strength.

  “Yeah, when they burned up our place, they torched the garage, too.

  Your ride is a goner. Sorry.” I shrugged.

  “Now, I’m pissed. Your car?”

  “My car was a piece of crap. Of course, it melted. But I didn’t have a

  decent ride, anyway. I plan to correct that in the immediate future.” I started

  walking toward the Hilton lot.

  “Hey, Jimmy?” Greg called after me.

  “What?”

  “What are we gonna do about King’s truck? He’d be pretty pissed if you

  left it there.”

  All visions of swiping a nice Mercedes or Lexus faded from my mind.

  “I’ll get a cab back to the truck.”

  The night was getting nothing but worse. Not only did I have to drive a

  pickup full of guns to a comic-book store, I still had no idea where Sabrina

  was being held. But I was damn sure about to find out, if I had to eat every

  comic-book nerd in Charlotte to do it.

  Chapter 22

  I pulled into the parking lot beside the comic shop a little after eleven o’clock, and found Greg leaning on the hood of a Porsche convertible. He’d obviously taken the MoC’s advice about upgrading his ride to heart, but he didn’t seem proud of his wheels. When I got closer, I could tell by the look on his face that Anna had told him about Mike’s prognosis, so I did something I never, ever did. I walked up to him, didn’t say a word and gave him a big hug. He and I held each other for a long moment before he pulled away, and we stood there wiping at our eyes.

  “If I hear a single gay vampire joke out of you right now, I swear to God, I’ll stake you in your sleep,” I said once we had our crap relatively together.

  “Deal.” Greg’s voice was still a little thick with emotion. I gestured to the back door of the comic shop. “How do you want to do this?”

  “Dude, we’re not talking about a SWAT entry. We’re going into a comic-book store on all-night Game Night to talk to some nerds who happen to be friends of mine. I think we can just walk in.”

  Then, he did just that, pulling the door open and walking in to thunderous cries of nerd appreciation. It was kinda like when Norm walked into the bar on Cheers, only with no beer and lots of Red Bull. I followed him into the brightly lit back room, where about a dozen folding tables were spread out with all kinds of table, role-playing and collectible games in progress. There were nerds of all shapes and sizes scattered around the room, from your classic forty-year-old Star Trek geek who lived in his mother’s basement to the preteen nerdlets playing Yu-Gi-Oh! or some other unpronounceable card game.

  The three guys we needed to talk to were at the head table, moving little lead figurines around in a complicated-looking game. My particular nerddom was always focused in a different genre, so I had no idea what they were up to, but Greg fit right in. He was almost a hero to some of the youngest dorklings, having once won the weekly Magic: The Gathering tournament for four months straight. His streak probably would never have been broken, but we had a zombie thing come up one night, and he missed that week’s game. I wasn’t sure he’d forgiven me for that yet.

  Nick, the shop owner, sat at the head of the table surrounded by books, dice and a laminated, colorful dungeon master’s screen. His screen looked like it was from the original ’70s set, and knowing Nick, it might have been. Nick was pushing fifty, having started the shop back in the eighties in a desperate attempt to avoid getting a real job. Now, thirty years later, the guy with the ponytail and a T-shirt with D&D dice on the front was a successful businessman, although much of that credit belonged to the clean-cut guy beside him.

  Trey was the business guy of the operation, and the one who looked the most out of place in a comic shop. He actually wore shirts with collars most days, but he’d succumbed to the casual-Friday atmosphere and wore a Naval Academy T-shirt.

  Dusty was . . . well, Dusty was an institution more than an employee. He was that skinny guy with the cactus-looking chin beard and an encyclopedic knowledge of comics that was a little creepy in the depth and breadth of it. He knew as much about R. Crumb and Maus as he did about Captain America and Green Lantern, and would happily go for hours on the difference in artistic styles between John Byrne and Neal Adams. Dusty was always working on a project of his own, talking about leaving the store to make his own art, but he still showed up for work every day.

  These were the guys on whom we had pinned our hopes of finding Sabrina. I felt the ball of dread in my stomach grow with every step closer to their gaming table, and it didn’t shrink at all when Nick looked up over his DM screen and shouted, “Greg! Come for my rematch? We’re in the middle of an adventure right now, but go ahead and warm up on the vermin, and I’ll get to you in a couple hours.”

  I was pretty sure he included me in the “vermin” remark, but he’d waved his arm over to where a bunch of kids were playing cards.

  “Nick, I need your help,” Greg said quietly, and the buzz of conversation halted immediately.

  Every head in the place turned to Greg and Nick, as the two superstars of this little universe got ready for a team-up. It was like a real-life crossover issue for Charlotte’s nerd set.

  Nick leaned back in his chair, affecting a Godfather posture, and said,
“What can I do for you, Greg? Whatever it is, I’m sure we can come to some sort of an . . . arrangement.” He smiled a slow smile, and I remembered Greg mentioning that Nick had been after a few of his more prized comics for the last few years.

  “We don’t have time for this,” I muttered to Greg, keeping my voice out of the range of human hearing.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I did notice one teenager jump a little at the words he shouldn’t have been able to hear. I looked at him, and he ducked his head and started throwing decks of cards into a backpack. Wonder what he is? I thought, and filed his face away for future reference.

  “Be cool. If it looks like he’s going to be a real ass about helping us, you can eat him. But let me try to talk first,” Greg whispered back.

  “Fine, but talk fast. We’re running out of moonlight, and I’m finishing this tonight no matter who I have to kill to do it.”

  “So what do you need, Gregory? I’m in the middle of a new Rogue Mage campaign here.” Nick always used full names when he was being a jerk. I never got it.

  “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?” I asked.

  Nick turned on me what he obviously thought of as his best demeaning stare, the kind of look that made preteen boys quail with fear when questioning the valuation of a comic. It didn’t have a lot of effect on me. Face certain death enough times, especially if you really did end up dead, and normal mortal intimidation techniques just don’t work like they used to.

  “Anything you have to say to me, you may say in front of my minions and my legions of adoring admirers.” Nick made what I was sure looked like a grand gesture in the movie in his mind, but in real life looked like he swung a scrawny arm around his head in a spastic flurry of motion.

  “We’d really rather do this in private,” I insisted.

  “Greg, tell your rude friend that I’m not leaving my game.” Nick folded his arms in front of his equally skinny chest.

  “Okay, pal. Your disaster.” I moved to the front of the room where everyone could see me clearly. “Hey, everybody!” I clapped my hands.

  Every head in the place swiveled around, and all eyes were on me. Über-geeks weren’t that accustomed to being addressed, so when given the opportunity for some attention, they got a little deer-in-the-headlights look about them. I noticed that I felt stronger, like it was less of a strain to mojo that many people. Hmmm, maybe eating faeries and immortal succubi has its privileges.