Void: Book Five of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  “Feeling better?”

  “Yes. It’s almost like being home.”

  “Oh?”

  “Even the air is bright!”

  “So it is.” I wondered what she meant by “home,” but I didn’t want to interrogate the convalescent. “Do you need anything?”

  “I’m tired.”

  I didn’t think it was a proper answer, but I inferred she only wanted to rest. She closed her eyes and I did my best to believe in fairies.

  When the Diogephone rang, Mary greeted me.

  “Hello, dear!”

  “Hi, honey,” I replied. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Just checking in to see if you’re busy. I know you’re getting our Las Vegas house ready, but we have a visitor from the Black King. Would it be too much of a hardship to come back?”

  “Of course not. Happy to. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

  “Thanks, sweetums.” She hung up and I stared at the phone. She knows I’m not establishing a house in Las Vegas. We’re like colonial marines near a damaged atmosphere processing plant: we are leaving. Therefore, she wasn’t talking to me. She was talking to her visitor. Presumably, the visitor was from the Black King. She didn’t mention why we had a visitor or how he arrived, but it was a singular, not a plural. She wasn’t in need of rescue, though, and it wasn’t a squad with shotguns.

  “Diogenes?”

  “Yes, Professor?”

  “Do we have a land-line to the lair in Flintridge?”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  “That last call, was it from Mary’s phone or the landline?”

  “The connection was through one of the micro-gate devices installed in a telephone exchange within Lorenzo Castiglione’s casino, the Cosmo. Analysis of Mary’s voice indicates a landline connection.”

  “So she didn’t want to use her mobile phone. Got it. What’s the travel time between Las Vegas and the lair? I don’t want to show up inexplicably quickly.”

  Flintridge, Monday, October 6th, 1969

  My first arrival was near midnight and as near to stealthy as I could arrange. I landed in the garage and did a quick scan to see how many pissed-off vampires were waiting to burn down the house.

  I think I can be excused for a little caution. I have few happy memories of the last time it happened.

  Firebrand?

  Here, Boss.

  What’s going on?

  Visitor from Las Vegas. I dunno what she wants. This sort of vampire is hard to read—it’s like looking at the bottom of a dark well, trying to make out what’s under the water.

  Fair enough. Mary okay?

  Annoyed and concerned, but she’s pretending to be nice to the guest.

  One guest?

  Just one vampire. She has a driver. Human.

  Thanks.

  Finding nothing untoward, my second arrival was also in the garage, but I was on a motorcycle and my cloak was pretending to be a suit of riding leathers. The motorcycle was only there for show—it gave me a plausible form of mundane transport. One of the last things I want to do is explain shift-booth enchantments to the local vampires.

  I circled around to the front of the house, next to a land yacht of a Cadillac. The driver was sitting behind the wheel. He touched the brim of his uniform cap with one black-gloved hand. I nodded in return, swung down the kickstand, turned off the engine, and headed up to the front door. Inside the house, Mary was in what would be the parlor, entertaining a guest. I could see immediately the guest was a black emptiness, a hungry darkness.

  With an effort, I shifted away from spirit-sight and regarded the more material form. She was a vampire, but not obviously so. Maybe five-six normally, she was closer to five-nine in her expensive heels. Her face was oval, with a slight point to her chin. Blue eyes like glaciers glinted behind long, black lashes. Dark hair, a deep chestnut, coiled around the top of her head like a wooden crown. A ruby pin adorned the lapel of her skirt-suit. Her nails were done in a non-stereotypical tan, matching her skin—I expected blood-red nails. I wondered if she was naturally darker and her vampire paleness lightened it, or if there was some sort of body makeup involved. She sat very straight on the edge of the loveseat, knees to one side, calves crossed, a small clutch in her hands on her lap.

  “Sweetheart!” Mary said, rising and holding out her arms. I hugged her briefly and she whispered, “Been stalling.” Somewhat louder, she added, “We’ve been waiting.”

  “I’m sorry. I got here as quickly as I could.”

  “Dear, this is Samantha Woodbine, herald to the Black King. Madame Woodbine, may I present my husband, Vlad.”

  “Charmed,” she offered, extending her hand. I noticed she didn’t stand, but I took her hand, bowed over it, and didn’t quite kiss it.

  “The pleasure is mine,” I replied, releasing her hand. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

  “His Majesty commands your attendance.”

  “Of course. We are honored to be summoned. If I may ask, however…?” She nodded, a small smile playing about her lips. “How did you find us? I had intended to send a note when we had a permanent residence within his sphere of influence, but you seem to have anticipated us.”

  “We each have our little talents,” she answered. “One can hear what is said a thousand miles away. Another can see the hearts of men. Yet another can find anything she looks for.”

  “A useful talent. I can certainly see the value in it. Is it exclusively in service to His Majesty?”

  “It has been known to be hired when it is not otherwise engaged.”

  “Excellent. So, can you tell us why he wishes to see us? If he wants a service, it would be best if we went prepared.”

  “I am not privy to his reasons, merely his orders. Shall we go?”

  “It’s already late,” Mary pointed out. “We can make Vegas and still have an audience, but we’ll need somewhere local for the sunrise.”

  “This is hardly my problem,” Samantha stated, rising. “I have delivered the summons. The consequences of your actions—or lack thereof—are entirely yours. Good evening.”

  We watched her walk away, legs scissoring in the sheath skirt. Mary and I glanced at each other. I shrugged. Mary shrugged. Samantha made it to her car and left.

  “She could have mentioned it was a summons,” I complained, “before I supposedly drove all the way out here from Vegas.”

  “These are not nice people,” Mary reminded me.

  “So I’ve gathered.”

  “Now what do we do?”

  “Oh, we’ve got lots of options. I’m tempted to ignore him completely and see if we can vanish from this space-time continuum before he gets too irked.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “A dozen vampires with shotguns will burn down our lair.”

  “Again,” she added. “I can’t say I’m a fan of this.”

  “Or we could go see what he wants. If it’s simple and quick, we can deal with it. If it’s complicated and lengthy, we can pretend we’re working on it until we vanish.”

  “And if he wants us dead?”

  “The lair would already be on fire.”

  “Good point.” Mary thought it over for a bit. “I don’t see the harm in visiting. I want some of my explosive jewelry, though, and a sacrificial gun for them to find and confiscate. I don’t like being disarmed.”

  “Fair enough. You get dressed. I’ll double-check on Trixie and be right back.”

  “Trixie? What happened to Trixie?”

  “I’ll explain in the car.”

  Trixie was recovering nicely. I added more gillyflower petals to the water and popped back.

  As Bronze galloped with all eight cylinders down the highway, I explained what happened to Trixie. Mary was not happy with Harald and expressed her displeasure rather mildly, all things considered.

  “The brat needs to be put over a knee and given some good stripes with a belt!”

  “And forced to watch Trixie in
a jar, looking sad, while he’s being spanked?”

  “Good touch!”

  “Does it matter at all that he’s about six years old, may be in the shallow end of the autism pool, and simply does not understand what he’s doing might be harmful?”

  Mary opened her mouth to say something, checked herself, thought about it.

  “How shallow? Does he need medication or a just training on how to behave?”

  “I’m not sure it works that way.”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  “How about we let Trixie decide if she wants to punish him?”

  “Suits me. I think she can be vicious when it suits her.”

  “Meanwhile, keep an eye out for police cars. Bronze is doing over a hundred and fifty, I think.” As I spoke, I glanced at the dashboard. The speedometer maxed out at a hundred and sixty. I would have sworn the last time I checked it only went to a hundred and forty. Maybe it did. The needle was still jammed hard over. “We should be in Vegas in an hour or so, I’m guessing.”

  “Why the rush? We don’t have to be in our coffins at sunrise.”

  “Yes, but we don’t want to tell them that. I’m trying to avoid complications to our leavetaking. The last thing I need is a hundred vampires poking their collective noses into who we are, what we own, and where we’re spending money. We have enough troubles with that from the various incarnations of the Infernal Revenue Service.”

  “You mean the Internal Revenue Service.”

  “I know what I said.”

  “Fair enough. What else has been going on? We haven’t had much time to talk.”

  “We have,” I countered, “but you keep insisting on doing physical things. Not that I’m complaining, you understand.”

  “Bronze is driving. Want to make out in the back seat?”

  I’m in the back seat! Firebrand protested. Go be mammalian elsewhere!

  Mary laughed and turned to look at Firebrand.

  “It’s okay, Firebrand. I’m not serious. Besides, we would move you to the trunk.”

  Boss! Firebrand wailed.

  “She’s kidding,” I advised. “You’d be in the front seat.”

  That’s better.

  “So,” Mary said, settling down and facing me. “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

  So I did. It seemed like a good time.

  We stopped for fuel right before the Black King’s residence, the Lady Luck hotel and casino. It was possible we might need to leave in a hurry and run extremely far. I didn’t want to worry about finding the time and energy to build a getaway gate. I suspected it would be easier to outrun the pursuit until we have enough of a lead.

  Bronze took us into the parking garage, found herself a spot, and settled in to wait.

  “I’d love to bring you along,” I told her.

  What about me? Firebrand asked.

  “You’re an enormous weapon and we’re dealing with a very touchy monarch.”

  So hide me in your cloak.

  That gave me pause. Could I wear my cloak as a… a suit coat, maybe, with one unnaturally deep pocket? It might be doable, at least at night.

  “There’s a risk you might fall in forever,” I pointed out. “We’ll experiment with it later, but I don’t want to accidentally lose you in an infinite emptiness.”

  Well, when you put it that way, I guess I’ll stay here and keep an eye on Bronze.

  The engine turned over once, much like a derisive snort.

  Or she’ll keep an eye on me, Firebrand amended.

  “Mary?” I asked, offering my arm. “Shall we pay a call on His Majesty?” She took my arm.

  “Yes, let’s. Did you bring a change of clothes, or do you intend to look like a biker?”

  My cloak obligingly transformed into a black suit and tie. Mary hastily turned away as it started changing.

  “Is it done?”

  “Yes.”

  She opened one eye to check.

  “It still creeps me out when it does that.”

  “I don’t know why.”

  “It’s something about the way it moves, I think. I’m not sure. It’s not supposed to do that and it messes with me.”

  “I’m so sorry. I do try to warn you before it does anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, do we go straight up to the penthouse?”

  “It takes a key. Lounge?”

  “Good thought.”

  We took the elevator up to the ground floor and headed for the vampire-only lounge. We smiled at the doorman again and were admitted. I spoke with the hat-check girl about the summons. She nodded and we went on into the lounge to wait.

  Bill, the vampire thug who showed us around last time, came in, spotted us, and moved to our table. The local ruler didn’t keep us waiting long, at least. I like that in a monarch. The whole hurry-up-and-wait shtick strikes me as an unnecessary power play in most cases. He called, we came, and that was sufficient. Having a narrowing window of time until dawn might have influenced things.

  “Good evening. The Master will see you now.”

  We rose and followed Bill to the elevator. He took us up, showed us out into the plantation-house décor, and left us there. Degas took custody of us and led us to a waiting room, where a pair of vampire flunkies patted us down for weaponry. Mary gave up her little ladies’ pistol. I didn’t have anything on me.

  Degas took charge of us again and showed us into a parlor, complete with chaise lounge and high-backed chairs. LeSange was already in one of the chairs. He wore an outfit more appropriate to the court of Louis XIV—lots of brocade on the coat, a froth of lace at the sleeves, that sort of thing. He did not rise when we entered, which seemed odd to me. If he was trying for Old World manners, shouldn’t he rise when a lady enters the room? Maybe he was feeling more like a king than a gentleman.

  When prompted, we seated ourselves on the lounge—carefully, in my case. It was a sturdy piece of furniture and it held us. Two vampires in black suits took up station to either side of their ruler. Two more moved to stand behind us. I felt threatened and tried not to show it.

  There followed an awkward silence while he regarded us. I finally broke it.

  “Excuse me, but is there something we’re supposed to say? Some sort of formal protocol?”

  “Indeed. Degas?”

  Degas, standing by the door, told us what to say. Mary and I parroted it.

  “We have come at your command, Sire. How may we serve?”

  “Much better. Yes. Your service is not entirely the matter at hand. Instead, I must ask more interesting questions.”

  “We’re here to help, Sire.”

  “I somehow doubt that, but the thought is pleasant. I recall from previous discussions your knowledge of the rule regarding tourists. Do you also recall?”

  “Of course, Sire.” I resolved to use that word as often as possible. It always annoys me, but he seemed to like it.

  “Perhaps, then, you would wish to explain why I have reports of bloodless bodies in my city? Tourists, to be exact.”

  “I don’t know anything about this, Sire,” I admitted. “Mary?”

  “Wasn’t me.”

  “The two of you are newcomers,” LeSange pointed out. “Everyone else is aware of the harsh penalties for disregarding my commands.”

  “We don’t even know what the penalties are, Sire. We hoped never to find out.”

  “An admirable attitude, but you are the only suspects.”

  “If this is the whole of the evidence, Sire, it seems somewhat circumstantial to me. If I may offer my opinion, of course.”

  “Of course. However, witnesses place each of you in the near vicinity at the proper time. I’m afraid you will have to be questioned more stringently.”

  “May I ask what you mean, Sire?”

  He snapped his fingers amid a small cloud of lace. Degas opened the double doors to the parlor and admitted yet another vampire. He was unexceptional in most ways—average height, slim build, dark hair, pa
le complexion; the usual—but wore black glasses and walked with a white cane. I couldn’t see through the glasses. They were opaque, not merely tinted, so I was unable to tell if his eyes were missing or merely nonfunctional.

  “Vlad, this is Edwin,” LeSange said, by way of introduction. “He is one of my most valued vassals.”

  Edwin entered, waving his cane gently in front of himself, and occupied one of the chairs. It struck me that he knew where he was going. He either had some extra sense or was familiar with the room.

  “Is this an answer, Sire?”

  “Indeed. Tell me again, please. What is your name?”

  I glanced at Edwin. He seemed to look straight ahead, not exactly at anything, but relaxed and attentive.

  “Vladimir Harkonnen.”

  “A lie,” Edwin stated. LeSange smiled, showing fangs.

  “A most valuable vassal,” he noted.

  “So I see, Sire.”

  “Perhaps you would like to tell me the truth of things?”

  “I firmly believe neither I nor Mary have killed any tourists in your domain, Sire.”

  Edwin remained silent. LeSange raised an eyebrow.

  “Interesting. Normally, when someone is so foolish as to lie to me, he is foolish enough to do other foolish things. I presume you have something about your past or about your future you do not wish to share. You will understand I must safeguard my domain.”

  “I understand, Sire.”

  “What is your name, and where do you come from?”

  I thought about it for a moment. Technically, I have several names. In the same spirit, I could rightfully claim to be from several places. It seemed like a good time to test Edwin’s capabilities.

  “Halar.”

  Edwin said nothing.

  “I’m from Pennsylvania—or do you want to know where I was born?”

  “Pennsylvania will do,” LeSange agreed, after glancing at Edwin. “Madam?”

  “My name is Mary, and I’m from Virginia, technically, but I also lived in England as a child.” Edwin nodded and LeSange’s lips tightened.

  “Why have you come to Las Vegas?”

  “I was hoping to establish a residence here, and to see about business opportunities.”

  “Something in that is a lie,” Edwin stated.