Hell's Warrior

by Jaye Roycraft

  But the pity was brief. Cade made his bed and slept in it. If he didn’t want to confide in anyone, that was his own damn problem.

  “No,” said Cade at last.

  “No, what?”

  “No, you don’t have to take the blame. If we get that far, we can make up any story we want. They’ll never find the body. We could blame her death on the Asian or even on our friends in the living room.” He nodded. “We’ll use Red as our ‘hostage.’ Even our hard-hearted friends on the council won’t sit back and let a woman die. Her real name was Angie McGraw. Did you know that?”

  Well, well. Slap me silly and pull my willy. Maybe Cade had felt something for Red after all. “No,” he admitted. He’d never fessed up to Peleg, and she’d never owned up to Angie. He wondered how it was that Cade had uncovered her real name.

  “I wish we’d kept something of hers, something to show she’s indeed still in our possession,” said Cade.

  Thor smiled. “Will this do?” He pulled her necklace out of his pants pocket. It was the one with the red hearts that she’d worn more often than any other. It was the one he’d kept when Cade had instructed him to dispose of her belongings.

  Cade returned the smile. “Well done, brother.” He started for the door and turned. “If it means anything to you, Red told me she liked that pug-ugly mug of yours.”

  IT WAS ALMOST dawn, and Cade felt the pull of sleep. It had been a long night of planning, but now that he and Thor were back at their safe house, his thoughts turned to his tyro. So Thor had been in love with Red. He’d never known Thor to fall in love with a mortal, but there was a first time for everything, as his own experience proved. No wonder Thor had blamed him for her death, even though it was the Asian who’d killed her. Would it make a difference in their relationship? Hatred was a strong emotion, as germane to a vampire’s psyche as that of a human, and he’d felt it when he’d touched Thor’s mind. Hatred was also a powerful motivator, and Cade wondered which was stronger—Thor’s hatred for him or his loyalty to his doyen.

  But hatred hadn’t been the only emotion he’d touched in Thor. He’d felt fear, something he’d never before sensed in his tyro, and the fear worried Cade more than the hate. Hate could drive a man, but fear froze him. Was Thor afraid of the BOS or of a vampire so brutal he killed his own kind for a mortal’s coin? Did he fear the Claw or the LAW, or simply the true death either could bring? Cade found all the possibilities hard to swallow. Thor, like him, had survived Hell. Then what?

  Love him.

  Cade sat up in bed. The words were in his mind, but they hadn’t been his own thought. Charlet? His love had taken up residence in his head well over a hundred years ago, but she’d never spoken to him. He’d seen her in his mind’s eye, and he’d felt her presence, but there’d never been any communication between his world and whatever spirit world she belonged to.

  He suspected that both Deborah and Red had joined Charlet in haunting him, and he guessed that the two words had come from Red. As chatty as ever, aren’t you, Sweetheart? She gave no answer, and as the break of dawn stole his consciousness, he reminded himself of the only truth he’d known since 1894.

  Love brings death.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chicago, Illinois

  Twenty-three Years Earlier

  WULF DUVALL HAD left him. Like a spurned lover, Cade’s calls went unanswered and his messages unreturned, and Wulf’s house sat as empty as Cade’s heart.

  Thor filled both Wulf’s and Boston’s dutiful-master shoes with zeal and tenacity, but that was all he filled. Thor had cut the strings of their father-son relationship decades ago and did nothing now to embrace his maker. That was fine with Cade.

  Just as Cade hadn’t felt anything toward the vampire who’d sired him to immortality, neither had he possessed fatherly feelings toward any of those he’d initiated to the other side. Turning Peleg Sweet into a bloodsucker had been a calculated move, and the dividends Cade expected had nothing to do with love.

  Thor stood before him now, awaiting his first assignment. Energy radiated from his glacier-blue eyes, and if he’d had a tail, it would be wagging like a young pup’s. Cade wondered if the enthusiasm was aimed at pleasing his doyen or simply eagerness to join the battle. No matter.

  Thor wasn’t alone. Five other masters stood with him to receive their orders. Cade had chosen the six carefully. No more defensive posturing, no more running from the enemy. It was time to go on the offensive. “The Brothers of the Sun aren’t immortal, and they’re not infallible. They’re human. Bring me as many as you can. I want them alive. I’ll leave it to you to work out the details. Work as a team and use whatever means you deem necessary. Above all, don’t get sidetracked in trying to save some pathetic suckling. Understand?”

  But apparently they hadn’t. Two nights passed, and no prisoners were delivered to Cade’s doorstep. Cade waited for news, a report, or the body of an enemy he could strip of anything vital, be it information or life’s blood. But the only thing that announced its presence in the mansion was Cade’s own hunger. He missed his nightly entertainment.

  Perhaps the concept of teamwork was beyond the comprehension of the undead. Perhaps being ordered about like so many minions was not in their nature. Or perhaps the fault is your own, a voice in his head told him, just like Wulf said.

  He’d always heard voices, ever since the Manitou had foretold his greatness, so many years ago, but he didn’t like what this voice was saying.

  His phone rang, bringing him out of his funk. “Cade,” he answered.

  “It’s Thor. I need help.”

  “Where are the others?”

  “Gone. Some ran off. The rest were killed by the BOS.”

  Cowards. Neither Wulf nor Boston would have let him down like this. But Thor was still with him. “And where are you?”

  “In the cellar of a burned-out house on Superior Street. I got a Brother with me, but no car, and the place is crawling with his buddies.”

  “What’s the cross street?”

  “It’s hard to know for sure. Everything is burned out north of Grand.”

  He knew the area. It wasn’t far away. “All right. I’ll be there in a half hour. Whatever you do, keep that bastard alive, understand?”

  “Sure.”

  Cade tried not to think, but simply went to work, changing into black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. He tied his hair behind his head in a long ponytail, strapped on the leather sheath that held Gravedigger and headed for the garage. He gathered up a gas can, rags, and matches, dumped them into the front passenger seat of his car, and headed out on his rescue mission.

  He was familiar with the area Thor was trapped in. It was an unassuming working class neighborhood near the railroad yards, comprised of short blocks, small houses, and humble dreams. Sucklings had replaced most of the ethnic populace for the cheap housing, but no one had noticed the change, for it hadn’t happened overnight. That is, no one had noticed until the BOS paid attention.

  Cade drove south and west, and when he crossed Western, the neighborhood he’d remembered was gone. Destruction scarred the cityscape, and the tiny blocks held nothing but the blackened skeletons of burned out houses. Even those houses left standing cried out their abandonment in broken windows and overgrown lawns. Surviving sucklings had fled north of the state line in droves, and those mortals still in the neighborhood had moved out for fear of being mistaken for vampires.

  He gripped the steering wheel like it was someone’s neck, and indeed he wished with all his heart that it was flesh beneath his fingers and not plastic. Hatred, unlike any he’d known since Otto Hammer, accelerated the flow of blood through his veins until he thought he’d explode. It wasn’t that the destroyed houses had been valuable. They’d been cookie-cutter, cheaply made cottages, unique only in the color of their paint. And it wasn’t t
hat he’d known the sucklings inhabiting those houses. Like the Illinois Indians he’d grown up with, they’d been a mild-mannered indolent bunch with no ambition but to live for the moment.

  But also like the Illinois, they’d been his, and no damn self-decreed servant of God was going to decide his people no longer deserved their place on this earth.

  He passed several cars parked along the desolate streets. Like many of the houses, they were forsaken. Most had either a flat tire, cracked windshield, or missing plates. Perfect. He stopped his car alongside one with a broken driver side window, soaked a rag with gasoline, and tossed it into the abandoned car. He lit a match and flicked it the way of the rag as he stepped on the gas pedal of his own car. In his rearview mirror he watched flames fill the interior of the doomed car. He torched several more cars, hoping they’d provide enough of a distraction to whoever else might be sniffing about the neighborhood.

  He punched the preset for Thor on his phone.

  “Thor here.” The voice in Cade’s ear was remarkably calm.

  “The streets are empty, and just for insurance I set fire to half a dozen cars north of Superior. Where exactly are you?”

  “Just off Rockwell, I think.”

  “I’ll be there in sixty seconds. Watch for my car.”

  “Got it.”

  Cade disconnected the call and rolled down the windows, willing to relinquish the protection of the tinted glass for the ability to touch the night with his senses. He breathed in air laden with the stench of charred lives—a stew of burnt wood, cloth, flesh and bones. He kept his mouth closed, breathing through his nose to filter out as much of the smell as he could. The summer humidity coated the blackened remains, adding a pungency to the smell of death. Broken street lamps doused the block in blackness, and what had once been trees reached for the sky like skeletal hands.

  He thought again of Wulf and Boston and how they’d faced this every night while he’d hid in his mansion, and for one of the few times in his life, he felt shame. He wondered if he’d ever see Wulf again or have the chance to make things right.

  Movement to his left caught his eye, and he saw two figures emerge from the shell of a house on the corner. He stopped the car and scanned the area, even checking his mirrors for traffic behind him. There was none, and nothing twitched in the shadows. He swung his gaze back to the figures picking their way toward him through a yard filled with debris. It was Thor and a mortal Thor held before him like a shield. The mortal, a man taller than Thor, tried to double forward in a coughing fit, but Thor held him upright and kept him moving.

  “In the back,” said Cade when they were close.

  Thor opened the rear door, shoved the man in and crawled in beside him. They both stunk, but the Brother smelled worse. There wasn’t a human body fluid that the Brother hadn’t excreted, and Cade flared his nostrils in disgust. He’d have to steam clean the entire back seat when this night was over.

  “Fuckin’ fang-bearing spawn of the devil,” spat the man. “This is just the beginning. We’re going to exterminate you like the pack of rats you are.”

  The man seemed pleased to have a new audience to preach to, but Cade was in no mood to hear the rhetoric of hate. “Thor, shut him up.”

  “Gladly.” Thor twisted the man’s head so that they were eye-to-eye. “Shut . . . your . . . fucking . . . mouth.”

  Cade rolled up the windows, stepped on the gas, and headed home. He couldn’t wait to suck the arrogance out of this bastard.

  CADE SAT CROSS-LEGGED in the tiny yard behind his mansion. He wore no shirt, and the air felt good on his skin. The night was warm, yet shivers danced across his muscles wherever the breeze kissed him. It made him feel alive. He didn’t exactly pray, but he focused on the stars and begged for their guidance. The stars had looked down kindly on him in the past, for the stars had brought him Charlet. Perhaps tonight they would send an answer to his question.

  The captured Brother of the Sun was dead. He’d provided a veritable feast of both information and entertainment, but now that the man was dead, nothing remained but the bones of hard fact. The BOS had chapters all over the city. Worse yet, their plan to infiltrate all aspects of local, state and federal government was about to begin. There was no way to stop it, no way to know who the moles were. Mortals everywhere were already buying into the propaganda of hate—that vampires were nothing more than killing machines, without a heart and soul and the feelings to fill them.

  Only a small patch of sky was visible to him, but it was a clear night, and he found his familiar friends in the northern sky, the Big and Little Dippers. He smiled, for they reminded him of Charlet. He could also make out the W of the constellation Cassiopeia, and if he looked directly overhead, he could make out the star Vega, so white and bright.

  What am I to do?

  There was no way to fight them all. Even if he could rouse every last suckling to a fighting fever, what could be accomplished? The demise of the human race? The destruction of not only Chicago, but every city across the land?

  Guide me. Instruct me.

  They were the same words he’d used to entreat the Manitou, so many years ago. He’d been but a boy then, and mortal, so different from the man he was now, and yet the plea was the same.

  He sat for three more hours, his heart so heavy he could barely lift his head to the sky, but he persisted, just as he’d done during his vision quest. He had to have an answer, even more so now as then, and if he had to sit here all night, he would.

  When the answer finally came, its simplicity shocked him.

  Peace.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  THE TRAP WAS RESET, and new love letters were sent via the mole to the three councilmen. As promised, Cade sweetened the words.

  We are disappointed you chose to ignore the instructions in our previous directive. This is our final offer of terms. Failure to comply this time will result not only in disclosure to both the media and FBI, but in the death of Angie McGraw. Meet us at midnight tonight. The address will be called in to your office at city hall at exactly eleven thirty. Come alone. If we spot any police or any Organization or Outfit muscle, Miss McGraw will be killed. If you send anyone in your place, Miss McGraw will be killed.

  Cade left these notes unsigned. If he hoped to work with mortals in a leadership role in the future, it would be best not to put his signature to a letter threatening the death of a mortal. Not that he imagined the councilmen truly cared a whit for Red. But it would have to do. He wouldn’t take hostages.

  They figured Doyle for the worst of the bunch, so they enclosed Red’s necklace with the note to be delivered to him.

  The new location for the meet came easily to Cade. Vamphasia. It was a huge building, still closed following Phryne’s death, and best of all, full of secret stairways and passages. Nate and Cat had all day to rig the main dance floor with visual and sound recording equipment and to salt the entire building with various kinds of weapons. Once the sun went down, Cade and Thor scouted the building, located all its secrets, and hid their own cache of weaponry. At eleven-thirty, Cade, Thor, and Nate delivered simultaneous phone messages to Koslik, Stammler and Doyle giving them Vamphasia’s address.

  After that, it was simply the wait for the next move on the chessboard. As before, they all took up positions outside the building, but Cade waited alone, not with Cat. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. Quite the contrary, he probably trusted Cat more than he did Nate, but this time Nate had insisted that Cat not take part, stating it was simply too dangerous. Cat had protested no end, but Nate’s word was final. Cade didn’t actually mind. It was hell to stand around and wait with a hard on.

  He stood on the rooftop of the building directly across the street from Vamphasia. Nate waited behind Vamphasia, and Thor was a block down from the club in the St. Bonifacius Cemetery. Cade preferred to wait outdoors this tim
e, not inside or in a vehicle, for he wanted his senses to have maximum exposure to his surroundings. If so much as a rat scuttled across Vamphasia’s shadow, he’d know it.

  Earlier in the evening Nate had wired them all for hands-free communication, and they’d laid out their escape routes. Nate and Thor were to stay outside and keep watch for those who were sure to follow. If one of their intended targets showed up and went into Vamphasia, Cade alone was to pursue him inside. Cade wished he had more men to watch his back, but that was the price of distrust. You were pretty much on your own. But he wasn’t on his own, of course. He had two beside him, which was two more than he’d ever had before in his battles.

  But can I trust either one of them? The question burrowed into his mind. He had a tyro whose eyes burned with rebellious fire and an ex-foe turned comrade in arms. He made a quick vow to himself. Whatever was to come, he’d watch his own back.

  Suddenly he wished Cat was there beside him. She’d been honest with her feelings, admitting her loathing of him and his kind. But somehow he felt she wouldn’t betray him. Maybe it was the physical attraction he knew to be mutual. Maybe it was the effect he knew he had on women. Maybe . . .

  He glanced at his watch, shaking himself of his sentimental musings. He needed to stretch his senses outward not inward. Five minutes to midnight. He drew a long, deep breath, as if he could smell the approach of his enemy, but all he inhaled was the warmth of the human flesh around him, sharpened by the contrast of the crisp night air. Since the closing of Vamphasia, the corner of Lawrence and Magnolia was less crowded than before, but the neighborhood was still a cauldron for all that was hot in Chicago. Restaurants, bars and theaters drew humans like ants to a picnic. Cade smelled immortal flesh as well, for the humans in turn drew inhuman predators. Vamphasia may be closed, but the hunts continued, and Cade knew that those who followed Phryne and the old ways looked for the thrill of the kill as much, if not more, than mere blood. But the scent of blood and flesh and death was all very normal to him, and what Cade searched for instead was the inorganic stench of his enemies—metal and oil and chemicals—all the things that made up the machines and weaponry of the police.