The Night's Champion Collection: A supernatural werewolf thriller trilogy

by Richard Parry

  Adalia turned back to look at the creature. Its jaws were wide, and it looked at her, at the door, at her, at the door. “Mom!” Adalia screamed the word at it. “Stop!”

  The thing stopped looking at the door, focusing on her. Adalia felt the weight of its gaze, the yellow of its eyes a murky glow. It took a step towards her, one clawed hand raised, the motion slow. Gentle as a moth’s wing, the clawed hand touched Adalia on the cheek. Adalia felt her terror return now her friend was out — safe! — and readied herself for the end.

  The creature gave a chuff, chuff, then took a step back. Its hand pulled away like it had touched something hot, and its eyes widened before it let out a howl full of pain and loneliness. It spun, charging through the store and out the back. It shouldered aside wood and brick to burst into the air beyond, and Adalia lost sight of it as it ran into the winter air.

  Adalia realized she was crying, the tears falling down her face. She felt rough hands on her shoulders, and she was spun around to face Carlisle. “Are you crazy? What were you thinking? You could have been killed!”

  Adalia held her face behind her hair. “She would have killed you. He said I had to help. He said … I didn’t want to lose you too.” Her voice ran out as she choked out a sob.

  Carlisle’s face went from hard planes of anger and fear to something softer. She pulled Adalia close in a savage embrace, and Adalia felt her shaking. Carlisle’s voice was soft against her hair as she said, “Shhhh. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

  • • •

  “Who were you talking to?” Carlisle’s hands gripped the steering wheel of the big Yukon, guiding it down the old side road, fallen debris crunching under the wheels. It was the first thing she’d said in the half hour since … since the convenience store. Thinking of it like that made it easier, like a person hadn’t died. Like it was a place, not an event.

  Adalia straightened in the passenger seat next to Carlisle. “No one.”

  “Kid,” said Carlisle, “I’m not in the mood.”

  Adalia knotted the edges of her sweater in her fingers, pulling at the hem, stretching it. “Promise you won’t tell.”

  “I’m not promising shit,” said Carlisle. “Today’s not that kind of day.”

  “Then I’m not telling you shit,” said Adalia, something fierce and unexpected in her tone.

  Carlisle pulled the Yukon to an abrupt halt. “Here’s how it is,” she said. She held up a hand as Adalia was about to speak. “Just give me the floor for a second, okay?”

  She’s so tired. Adalia could see it in the lines on Carlisle’s face, in the way her shoulders were a little less than perfectly straight. With a small nod, Adalia said, “Okay.”

  Carlisle ran a hand through her hair, trying to tease it out. She wasn’t looking at Adalia as she started to speak. “The reason I won’t promise not to tell is that’s how people die.” Adalia saw her friend tightening her grip on the wheel. “No. I said no lies between us, didn’t I? Okay.” She took in a couple deep breaths. “Okay. Okay. I don’t want to tell you this, and you sure as hell don’t want to hear it, but here we are in the fucking woods chasing your mother who’s gone all feral. We’ve got an unconscious guy in the back seat, and my deodorant gave out an hour or more back.” Her words ran out like a clock winding down, then she took another deep breath. “That’s what he always asked,” she said, at last.

  “Who?”

  “He always asked me not to tell. Said it was…” Carlisle broke off. Adalia could see her fingers were gripping the steering wheel so hard they were white. “He’d come into my room, sometimes with the liquor in him, sometimes not. Didn’t matter if I was asleep or not. Or pretending to. And after…”

  Her face was wet with tears, and Adalia reached out a hand to her. “Melissa…”

  “No.” Carlisle shook herself, wiping her face with an angry hand. “I said no more tears for that bastard. No more fear. No more hiding.” She cleared her throat. “After he was done, he always made me promise not to tell. It was something special, he said, that other people wouldn’t understand. Do you hear me? Do you hear what I’m saying?”

  “Yes,” said Adalia, her voice a whisper.

  “So,” said Carlisle, her tone turning brisk. “Who the fuck were you talking to?”

  “Did you ever…” Adalia looked out at the woods around them. “Did you ever feel like people wouldn’t believe you?”

  “Every day,” said Carlisle. “He always said that no one would believe me if I said anything. No one would believe the word of a child over the word of…” She stopped herself. “Enough of that story, but sure. I reckon people would have had trouble swallowing it down. If only because the truth of it was so monstrous.”

  “I … I’ve met someone,” said Adalia.

  “Right,” said Carlisle. “How’d you manage that in Hicksville, Alaska?”

  “I met him in the shower,” said Adalia. She saw the angry flash in Carlisle’s eyes, and held up a hand. “What did you say? Give you the floor?”

  Carlisle nodded, the movement slow. “There’s gonna come a time when you can’t use my own lines against me, kid.”

  “Today is not that day,” said Adalia, a small smile resting on her lips. “It’s not like what you think.”

  Slipping the Yukon back in gear, Carlisle let the big machine start to roll forward again. “Tell me what I should think, then.”

  Adalia let her hair fall down to cover her face, then pushed it aside. No lies between us. No hiding. “I don’t know his name, or where he comes from. And I think Mom can see him, when she’s a … a monster.”

  “I’ve known real monsters,” said Carlisle, her voice dark at the edges. “Your mom ain’t no monster.”

  “Okay,” said Adalia, “but back to the shower. So I was there, and the soap got in my eyes. I was reaching outside the curtain for a towel, and I felt something cold. Like the door had opened, right?”

  “Right,” said Carlisle.

  “Right,” said Adalia, “so I found the towel, and I wiped the soap from my eyes, and there he was.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re not very good at telling stories,” said Carlisle. “It’s honest criticism. There’s shit you need to know in a story, like how it begins, and how it ends, and the names of the fuckers in the story.”

  “He doesn’t remember his name,” said Adalia, “or it’s against the rules to tell me.”

  “Rules?” Carlisle turned the wheel, pushing the Yukon further into the woods. Her gaze was intent, focused on tiny details that were invisible to Adalia.

  “I think he’s an angel,” said Adalia.

  “I think you’re full of teenage hormones,” said Carlisle. “What’s he look like?”

  “About my age,” said Adalia. “He’s got these wonderful lashes—”

  “Hormones,” said Carlisle, “are more dangerous than crack cocaine.” She was quiet for a moment. “He was in the store.”

  It wasn’t really a question, but Adalia rolled with it. “Yeah. And in the car.”

  “Which car? This one?”

  “Yeah.” Adalia looked down at her hands, wanting to fill them with something.

  “Is he here now?”

  “No,” she said. “I think … I think Mom did something to him.”

  “So…” Carlisle thought for a minute. “No one can see him. I can’t see him. Your mom, under the normal order of the universe, can’t see him. But you can see him.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you…” Carlisle trailed off, before trying again. “What I mean is, what happened in the shower?”

  “I screamed.”

  “After that?”

  “We talked,” said Adalia. “After I got a towel.”

  “Talking,” said Carlisle. “That’s all?”

  “What would we have done?” Adalia felt her brow furrow. “Should I have done something?”

  “Heaven
s no,” said Carlisle with a nervous laugh. “No, doing something with your invisible friend would have been worse than … well.”

  Adalia looked out the windscreen for a moment. “Thanks.”

  “For what?” Carlisle was intent on something, slowing the car down a bit.

  “For not asking if I was making it up,” said Adalia. “I was afraid no one would believe me.”

  “Kid,” said Carlisle, “I’ve told you before. We don’t lie to each other. You save that for your mom or Everard. You and I are honest, right?”

  “Right.” Adalia nodded around the edges of her hair.

  “So when we’re honest, well, you could tell me the moon was made of cream cheese and I’d just want to know whether it was a Philly spread or not.”

  “What about Uncle John?” said Adalia.

  “What about that Mickey Mouse clown?”

  “Should I lie to him?”

  Carlisle breathed out a sigh. “I’m not really good at this, kid. Here’s the thing. You shouldn’t lie to anyone. But I get that sometimes you feel you got to. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “But not between us.”

  “Right,” said Adalia, feeling a little confused.

  “The thing about Miles,” said Carlisle, “is that he’s a rock ape. He’s a caricature of a man. He plays,” and she swallowed, “video games.”

  “I play video games,” said Adalia.

  “You’re a fourteen year old girl,” said Carlisle. “It’s expected. Miles is a forty year old man.”

  “Uncle John’s forty?”

  “None of us stay young forever,” said Carlisle. “Thing is … thing is, I’m pretty sure he’d know you were lying to him.”

  Adalia thought about that for a bit, then let her thoughts wander a little. The trees were thinning around them, snow appearing in more even patches on the ground. “You don’t like Uncle John very much do you?”

  Carlisle slammed the brakes on the Yukon, and Adalia’s head jerked forward, her body held back by the seatbelt. Carlisle sat still in the car for a moment, then said, as if choosing her words with infinite care, “What makes you ask that?”

  “Because,” said Adalia. “Because of how you talk about him.”

  “Right,” said Carlisle. “While we’re baring souls here, I trust him. It’s just … shit’s complicated.”

  “Why do you trust him?” Adalia thought about Uncle John, how he’d decided to stay with Valentine in Chicago. About how he’d tousled her hair before she’d hopped in the truck with her Mom. Take it easy, kid. I know it’s, well, it’s a low bar, but try not to do shit I wouldn’t do. She’d laughed at the time.

  “Because he’s on the team,” said Carlisle. “Because he’d die for me.” She turned to look at Adalia. “Because he’d die for you.”

  Adalia turned away. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t want people dying for me.”

  “Yeah, well,” said Carlisle, “I’m not a big fan of dying either. You asked.”

  “There,” said Adalia, pointing. There was a crumpled form lying in the snow off the track, red curls against the snow. “She’s there. She’s okay.”

  “Kid,” said Carlisle. “Kid, wait here.”

  “She’s not … she’s her, Melissa. She’s back.” Adalia wanted to run from the car, just about the same time as she felt Carlisle’s hand on her arm. She turned to look at the other woman.

  “Kid,” said Carlisle, then she paused. “Adalia? Can you leave it to me? This time. Just this once.”

  “Okay,” said Adalia, but she felt the flush of happiness hit her. It was going to be okay. It was going to be okay.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  Jessica straightened her cap on her head, checked her sidearm, then stepped out of the Humvee. She strode with a purpose, and that purpose was saving lives. God damn civilians. It’s like they don’t know when to call in for support.

  Her aide, Gibson, picked up next to her. He was talented — knew when he was needed, knew when to shut up, both qualities she found worth their weight in gold. The man’s pace looked hurried next to hers. It was something he’d need to work on if he wanted a command of his own one day. “Ma’am?”

  “What is it, Gibson?”

  “Ma’am, we’ve got intelligence that says—”

  “Save it,” she said. “I want eyes on first.”

  “Ma’am,” said Gibson, still trying to keep up. He carried a tablet under his arm, the device held ready for when she wanted to see what he had. Thing was, she didn’t really want to see what was on the tablet. In her experience, intelligence was a thing like insurance. It sucked to not have any when you needed it, but it was useless the other ninety-nine percent of the time.

  She stalked to the front of the column, soldiers straightening as she passed. It was the kind of respect that she expected, her command being run with a precision that earned her the moniker Perfect Pearce among the men and women who served her.

  Really, this was easy. She was far from perfect, and it was that memory — the knowledge of how she’d failed when it mattered most — that pushed her on. If she’d been perfect, Gabriel would still be alive.

  “Gibson,” she said, coming to a halt.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Gibson,” said Jessica, “I need binoculars.”

  “Ma’am,” said Gibson, magicking them from somewhere about his person. She wasn’t sure how he managed that, but given time she’d work it out.

  “Thank you,” she said. She held the binoculars up to her eyes, looking out over the expressway and at the edges of the city of Chicago. She worked the glasses left to right, scanning the scene before her. “Gibson?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m going to guess our intelligence says that the city has been taken over by terrorists.”

  “Ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”

  “They’d be wrong,” she said. She picked out a building at the edge, the structure in flames. Another behind it had already burned low, the frame of it standing uneven against the sky like an old candle wick. “Terrorists may be involved, but one thing’s for sure. No one’s in charge.” She scanned the skyline over the city. “No air traffic. Not even a news chopper.” She brought the glasses lower, towards the streets. “Still some activity there. Is that…” She swallowed, lowering the binoculars. It hadn’t even been this bad in Afghanistan. Sure, they strapped bombs to their kids and sent them into blockades, but there was a daily limit to that kind of thing. She looked at Gibson. “I’m going to need a perimeter set up. I’m going to need birds in the air. What I’m going to need,” she said, “is an explanation of why they’re eating each other.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  Rex watched out the window of the car as Sky rolled them at a slow speed through the streets. Where are all the people? You’d expect more people. Or more bodies. Or something.

  Right on cue, Just James cleared his throat. “Where are all the people?”

  “You got me,” said Sky. Her hands were steady on the wheel, the car traveling nice and easy despite the debris littering the streets.

  It’s not like there were no people. Rex saw the bodies, plenty of them. They were all the same, as if they’d been tossed to the ground right in the middle of something. That something was probably running for your life. Or trying to kill someone. There didn’t seem to be much middle ground.

  “How far?” asked Rex, for about the hundredth time.

  “We got another few blocks yet,” said Sky, like she had the other hundred times.

  “We need,” said Rex, “to talk about your definitions.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “’A few’ seems a bit random,” he said.

  “It’s not like I know which streets are blocked,” she said.

  “She’s got a point,” said Just James.

  “Whose side are you on?” said Rex, but he let a smile hit his face anyway. The kid was doing great, all things considered. Seen his stepfather g
o batshit crazy and get tased. Saw a bunch of dead people. Seemed okay with all of it, more or less. Some people were just built that way.

  “What’s that?” said Just James, pointing out the front of the window.

  “Looks like a plane,” said Rex.

  “Looks like,” agreed Sky. “Why’s it flying low over the city?” Almost before she’d finished talking, the jet blasted over the top of them, sound rattling hard against the windows of the car. A short moment later, two more jets followed after, the hard roar of turbines leaving Rex’s ears ringing.

  “I think,” said Rex, “that we should get off the road.”

  “There’s crazy people who eat each other outside,” said Sky. “I like the car. The car is good.”

  “The car is good,” agreed Just James.

  “The car is a slow moving target,” said Rex. He pointed to the detritus on the streets around them, his arm highlighting a piano on the road. A piano. On the road. “You need to keep driving around crap like that. I mean, how’d a piano get here? On foot we’d be smaller, faster moving targets.”

  “You say target like something’s going to happen,” said Sky.

  “Those birds we just saw,” said Rex, “are military. They are recon planes. They take a bunch of photos, mark targets, give intel. Back at master control, someone is reviewing footage on a TV screen right now. They’re looking at that, seeing the city full of crazy people. They are going to try and do something about that, and the military have just one solve for most things.”

  “But the car,” said Sky.

  “If you were sitting safe in a bunker looking at footage of a car driving through the city safe as houses, would you think ‘refugee’ or would you think ‘terrorist?’” Rex rubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I’m not saying that the military is going to bomb the car.”

  “They’re going to bomb the car?” Sky’s voice had a hysterical edge.

  “No—”

  “I don’t want to be in the car when they bomb it,” said Just James.