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

by Richard Parry

  “Just like that?” Rex swirled the dregs of his coffee.

  “No, not really.” Jeremy frowned. “You’re thirsty. Hungry. Man, you’re so damn hungry. Like you want to eat a hundred Big Macs.”

  “Not really a MacDonald’s kind of guy,” said Rex, “but I get you.”

  “Except,” said Jeremy, as if Rex hadn’t said anything, “you can’t. You can’t eat, or drink. It makes you sick. And you’ve got these teeth, these big fucking teeth in your head, and you wonder what they’re for. And the two guys, they’re gone, they’re gone and there’s no one to tell you anything, and a doctor, a young doctor comes around the corner, and you tear his throat out, and you drink, and oh, oh, it’s sweet, it’s so good, it’s like you can’t stop, and then, and then he’s dead. This doctor, this guy who came to see if you’re okay, he’s dead, and you killed him. And you go up to see Vi, your beautiful Vi, and she sees you, and she screams, and you’re still hungry, man, you’re still hungry, and you don’t understand why…” Jeremy gave a sob, red tracks of blood tears running down his face. “You don’t understand why,” he said, again.

  “Son,” said Rex, “I’m so sorry.”

  “What for?” said Jeremy. “You didn’t do anything. Nobody did anything. Nobody except me.”

  Rex thought about that for a while, letting the silence stretch between them. Old man, you need to say something. You need to make this right. But there wasn’t any putting this right. Not really. Not ever, not unless they won. Not unless they fixed the world. He stood up. “I don’t know much about that,” he said. “Oh, hell. Son, I know about death. I know about losing people I loved, more than I loved myself, more than I loved life. I know about that. But not your kind of pain.” He leaned close to the bars, crouching down on knees that were stiff with age. “I’m not even going to say we’re going to make it right, because that’s a promise I can’t make. Just an old man, past my use-by date.”

  Jeremy looked out at him with those vampire eyes, mirrors in his face. “So why are you here?”

  “Because we want to try. Because we can. Because we want to help.” Rex fished into his pocket, pulled out a big metal key. “I can’t help your Vi. Hell, I don’t even know if I can help you. Only one who can do that is you. But if you want to help, you need to come on out and join us.” He tossed the key to the vampire, then stood up.

  Jeremy held the key, looked at it like it was a piece of hope itself. “You’re letting me go?”

  “Hell, son,” said Rex. “Sure. You can go. But I hope you don’t.” He turned his back on Jeremy, stretched his back. Damn old bones.

  “Hey,” said the vampire. There was a click of a lock, the sound of metal on metal as the cage opened. “Hey.”

  Rex turned around, slowly. Saw the face of this kid who’d been damned, saw the bloody tracks of tears. You’ve finally done it, old man. You’ve let a beast free and he’s going to kill you. “Hey,” he said.

  “I don’t know your name,” said the vampire.

  Rex held out his hand. “Rex,” he said.

  The vampire shook itself, became Jeremy again. Took his hand. “Good to meet you.” He thought for a second. “Rex, like a dog?”

  Rex smiled. “Like a fucking Tyrannosaurus,” he said. “Come on out and meet the team.”

  • • •

  “Who,” said Jessie, “let the vampire out of the cage?” She was sipping a cup of coffee, probably her third or fourth — tricky to tell, because you could pour a couple pots into that girl before she began to twitch. Always calm. Rex, she’d said, your heart really gets going when artillery’s coming down like hot rain. Coffee just tastes good.

  “Uh,” said Rex. “I—”

  “I used my hypnotic powers to convince him to open the cage,” said Jeremy. He was still wiping bloody tears from his face.

  “You what?” said Rex.

  “Kidding,” said Jeremy.

  “You can do that?” said Jessie.

  “I said I was kidding,” said Jeremy. He was still standing in the doorway to the garage, feet right on the border of the gloom. His eyes glinted as he looked out at the room full of people and sunlight. “I didn’t use my hypnotic powers on him. Because, you know, I don’t have hypnotic powers. You guys watch too many bad movies.”

  Danny and Val hadn’t said a word, just watching them across the room. Val stepped forward a pace, stopped himself, then with visible effort said, “I’m going to make some coffee.” He was looking at Jeremy. “Do you drink coffee?”

  “No,” said Jeremy. “Just the good stuff.”

  Val nodded, moving towards the coffee pot like he wanted to twitch right out of his skin. He picked up the pot, swirled it, then looked at Rex. “I’m having trouble with this.”

  “I said I was going back to talk to him,” said Rex.

  “It looks like you did more than talk,” said Val. “He looks like he’s ready to go on a vacation with you.”

  “I find it difficult to travel,” said Jeremy, “because some asshole always opens up the blinds on a plane, and then it’s all fire and screaming.”

  “Can you,” said Danny, “step into the room some more?”

  “There’s a lot of sunlight out there,” said Jeremy. “Unlike hypnotic powers, that one’s not a myth. It’s all bad. Very bad.”

  “For you,” she said.

  “I’d like to think,” said Jeremy, “that it’d be bad for all of us. Since we’re getting along so well.”

  Val sighed. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m … sorry.”

  There was a moment of quiet, then Jeremy said, “Don’t be. Did you mean it?”

  “Mean what?” Val was putting some coffee and cinnamon into the pot.

  “That you wanted to fix this.” Jeremy gestured to himself.

  “Son,” said Rex, “he—”

  “Yeah,” said Val. “Whatever it takes.”

  “Well,” said Rex, “I reckon—”

  “Then you need to know,” said Jeremy, taking a couple of cautious steps into the room, “how it all works.”

  “Super speed?” said Jessie.

  “Yes,” said Jeremy.

  “Cool,” she said.

  “Super strength?” said Rex. He paused. “No. I’m not saying ‘super strength’ like this is some kind of comic book.”

  “What do you want to call it?” said Jessie.

  “I’m warning you here,” said Val, “that she taped me doing a fake haudoken in broad daylight.”

  “I like comic books,” she said. “I used to send them to Gabriel. Keep a copy for myself, and we’d read them together over the SatCom. I’d be more worried about your use of the term, ‘taped.’ You’re more in touch with the kids of today than that, Val.”

  “Who’s Gabriel?” said Jeremy. He stepped around a beam of sunlight streaming in through a window, his pale, pale skin almost shining with it as he got close.

  “I want to know more about the super strength thing first,” said Danny. Rex had almost forgotten she was there, she’d been so still. Like a stone. Like a predator. Like she was waiting for something. Rex looked at her, the way she held her shoulders, the way her eyes were so very focused on Jeremy. Like she’s waiting to kill something.

  “Hey,” said Rex. “Danny? Can you not kill Jeremy? Until after coffee, at least.”

  “We can always get another one,” said Danny. Rex was pretty sure she didn’t mean another coffee.

  Silence held in the room for an awkward ten seconds or more. Rex ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw and sighed. “Not like this one,” he said at last.

  “Ignoring the quality of this particular vampire,” said Jessie, “it’s actually difficult to get them.”

  “We’re funny that way,” said Jeremy. “In other news, this particular vampire more or less let you take him in. I’ll admit, the punch in the face took me by surprise, but there was any amount of time—”

  “You’re just a baby vampire,” said Danny. “You’re not quite … ripe yet.”r />
  Jeremy sighed. “That’s true,” he said.

  “Wait,” said Rex. He thought about it for a minute. Vampires. Living dead, sure. But don’t the dead just … stop? “What, you’ve got to spend a little more time on the tree? Son, and don’t take this the wrong way, but son, I thought you were dead.”

  “Not really,” said Jeremy, looking sad. “Okay, look. Yeah. I’m dead. I was taken about ten years back—”

  “Wait one second,” said Jessie. “Maybe this will go better with more coffee, but our intel said you were a fresh one. Newborn, if you like. Ten years?”

  Jeremy threw himself down on one of the couches, ran a hand through his hair, then looked at his shoes for a minute. “Where’d you get the intel?”

  “I’m going to paraphrase a really complicated investigative process for a second. We followed a trail of Instagram posts from teenagers,” said Val, “to Times Square. Where we assumed you were eating them all. Then we had a source corroborate what we thought, point us at a particular room. And there you were.”

  “Like I said,” said Jessie. “A source.”

  “What source?” said Jeremy.

  “A confidential one,” she said. “Called himself ‘BloodFriend92.’ We’ve spent a lot of time in conspiracy chat rooms weeding out nut jobs from genuine leads.”

  “Okay,” said Jeremy. “The terminology, right, it doesn’t hang together in quite the same way as you’d expect. My, I guess you’d say kind, my kind, we live … we’re around for thousands of years. Thousands. You play video games?”

  “Of course,” said Jessie.

  “No,” said Danny.

  “Sure,” said Val. “Bit of a Civ guy, myself.”

  “Great,” said Jeremy. He looked at Rex. “What about you?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re asking, son.” Rex felt like he was about to get caught in another conversation where the generation gap hurt.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter,” said Jeremy. “In video games, you level up, right?”

  “Is this an analogy?” Rex frowned. “I think I need that coffee as well.”

  “Jesus,” said Val. “Look, it’s ready.” He started pouring into cups. He looked at Jeremy. “You sure you don’t drink coffee?”

  “I used to,” said Jeremy. “Loved it. Doesn’t agree with me now.”

  “Is this part of the video game thing?” said Rex.

  “No,” said Jeremy. “I can’t stretch the analogy that far.”

  “Great,” said Rex, taking a cup from Val. The smell of coffee and cinnamon was divine. Say what you would about the kid, but he made a mean brew. “Leveling up.”

  “What? Right.” Jeremy frowned. “So, you usually do stuff, conquer kingdoms or kill bad guys, level up, and can do more general badassery.”

  “Like a promotion,” said Rex.

  “Okay, so the reason I didn’t use jobs as analogy is because, most jobs, you don’t kill people to get promoted.” Jeremy frowned, looked sideways at Jessie, then said, “Uh.”

  “Yeah, we haven’t been properly introduced,” said Jessie. “I’m Jessica Pearce.” She paused, gave Rex a smile. “My friends call me Jessie.”

  “Military?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Cool,” said Jeremy. “With a few minor exceptions, most jobs don’t give you promotions for killing people. And, Jessica? I hope to earn the right to call you Jessie.”

  “It’s just we’ve all had jobs,” said Rex, the bit between his teeth now. “The analogy might have worked better.”

  “For the love of…” Jeremy sighed. “Okay. It’s a job. You’ve got a job, and you do great at it, and you get a promotion.”

  “With you so far,” said Rex.

  “And in some jobs, you need to do certain things to get a promotion. Pass an exam. Do a little overtime.” Jeremy frowned. “You need to not do anything wrong.”

  “What could a vampire do,” said Danny, her coffee untouched, “that is considered wrong by other vampires?”

  “Meat of the issue, I’ll agree,” said Jeremy. “It’s not so much what they consider wrong, although that’s part of it. It’s what’s wrong about it. Right, so you spend a lot of time going around killing people to survive. I guess you have some experience with that.”

  “Not like—” said Danny.

  “Sure,” said Val. Rex watched a look pass between them, saw the softening of Danny’s face.

  “And once you’ve got the knack of it, because let me tell you, sucking on someone’s neck like it’s a straw is not a natural thing, not something we learned at my dinner table when I was a kid, you’ve got to do other things. Each person you kill, it makes you stronger. A little at a time. Hardly enough to notice, but some of those other guys who are a thousand years old? They’re pretty buff.” Jeremy paused. “You need to make another.”

  “Vampire?” said Danny.

  Rex held up a hand. “Son, let me get this right. Making another one of you is an exam, and if you don’t—”

  “Or won’t,” said Jeremy.

  “—then you don’t get a promotion?” Rex mulled it over. “I guess I got to ask, son. What’s at the end of the promotion?”

  “Next level, right?” Jeremy looked around. “You ever wonder why it’s so hard to catch a vampire?”

  “Apart from the super strength and speed?” Rex looked at Jeremy with what he thought was a hard look. “No.”

  “Bats,” said Jeremy.

  “What?” said Rex.

  “It’s not actual bats,” said Jeremy.

  “Bats that aren’t bats,” said Rex. “Son, you need to start making sense.”

  “It’s a level-up, or, keeping with the boring job analogy—”

  “I never should have let you out,” said Rex. “I’m regretting letting you out.”

  “—a significant promotion, with more responsibilities.” Jeremy looked around. “You have to earn the right to change.”

  “Into bats,” said Jessie.

  “It’s not bats,” said Jeremy. “I just figured you knew about the vampire/bat thing.”

  “Seen some movies,” said Jessie. “If you don’t turn into a cloud of bats, what is it? Mist?”

  “No,” said Jeremy. “Locusts.”

  “I can see why you didn’t lead with that,” said Rex. “So you change into a swarm of locusts?”

  “Not me,” said Jeremy, “because I haven’t turned anyone. But sure, pretty much ninety-nine point nine percent of all vampires can do it. And yeah, you got to earn the right.”

  “That,” said Val, “could be a problem.”

  “You think?” said Jeremy. He leaned back on the couch.

  “And they get stronger the more they kill,” said Danny.

  “Yeah,” said Jeremy. “Doesn’t count if it’s not a death, so those bags of blood you got out the back wouldn’t do it. It’s why we’re not big into blood banks, as a general rule. Also, it’s like eating water crackers without any cheese or wine.”

  “How the hell,” said Jessie, “are we going to fight a bunch of people who can turn into swarms of locusts?”

  “I’ve got some thoughts on that,” said Rex. “Jeremy, do you like to fight?”

  “Not really,” said Jeremy.

  “Too bad,” said Rex.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN

  By the time Carlisle opened the front door, she wanted to strangle someone. Or hit them really hard. It didn’t really matter to her who that person was, but it felt like it should have been Miles. Miles, who was carrying Adalia like some kind of drunk prom queen. At least Vitols had let him put his clothes back on before she’d thrown them out.

  Carlisle didn’t blame her. She wanted to throw Miles out of any room she was in within about five minutes as a general rule, couldn’t imagine the impulse reducing after a roll in the hay with him. That thought alone made her shudder.

  It’d taken hours to get back across the city. The three of them made a conspicuous trio. An unconscious woman with
green hair carried by a man who looked lost and confused, accompanied by another woman who looked like she wanted to kill anyone who looked at them sideways. There weren’t any cabs, of course, not ones that wanted to take a passenger who looked black-out drunk and thus might throw up in the back of their car. Uber was a risky proposition because it left a digital thumbprint, and digital thumbprints were dumb when fleeing from a possible crime scene, and/or going back to your top-secret lair. To make matters worse, Miles had wanted to buy beer on the way back. Beer. Because that was the most important thing right now, of course. Manhattan wasn’t the size of Kansas, but it was big enough and far enough away from the Bronx that she’d worked up a blister and a hot rage by the time they finally got a ride.

  It was the hot rage that had burned their first chance at a ride. A woman in a minivan had pulled over, asked if they’d needed a ride, and Carlisle had said — her mouth engaging about ten seconds before her brain — something like Do you think? No, we’re just out for a walk. And the woman had pulled away, the minivan speeding away in the morning’s light.

  Miles hadn’t said anything, which was probably for the best.

  Some hero passer-by had stopped, this time a guy in a truck, some kind of removal company, and given them a ride most of the way. He’d been nice enough, and the ride was bearable because Miles had continued to not say anything.

  Now they were back at the base — it’s not a base, Carlisle, it’s a warehouse — and she was trying to get her thoughts together before they went in, but her brain still hadn’t got a hold of her yet and she’d just opened the front door. She took in the scene — Barnes standing to the side of the room, arms crossed. The sparring mats were down on the floor, furniture pushed to the side, and Rex was trying to referee some kind of match between Danny and a man she didn’t know.

  That had best not be the fucking vampire. They had best not have let the vampire out of the fucking cage.

  Everard was looking hot and sweaty but also happy, which was a thing she noticed happened to him more these days, especially when he fought. Carlisle figured he was making peace with God or the thing inside him or both, and that was fine, but she didn’t need him to be so happy right now that she had a blister. He was about to say something, but she held up a hand. “I need coffee, Everard, and I need some quiet time. I need some breakfast. And I need to know who that motherfucker is,” she said, pointing at the man she was sure was a vampire.