“Won’t be,” said Jeremy. “You don’t kidnap the secret power of the Universe and then play with them like you’re an extra in Saw.”
“Never liked those movies,” said Ginger.
“Me neither,” said Jeremy. “Thing is, we need to go to the sanctum. To your other point, there’s cameras and alarms all over this place. We’ll be balls-deep in vampire scum if we don’t keep moving.”
“That’s not … that’s not a great analogy,” said Lindle.
The first vampire burst out of the tunnel—
Dormitory. I didn’t know they slept.
—to her left, a cloud of locusts that settled on Bryn. The man was swatting and sweeping his arms, then the vampire formed out of the cloud of insects and Bryn was just … gone. A spray of blood, and there was a vampire licking its fangs and smiling, two wet sides of Bryn, one for each hand.
“Motherfuckers!” screamed Lindle, pulling the trigger on her machine gun. The sound was deafening in the small room. The vampire dodged to the side with ease, moving faster—
They are so fast. Be careful.
—than should have been possible. Another one surged into the room in a cloud of locusts, and Mallory caught at least half of the cloud in a blast from his flamethrower. He also caught Lindle in the blast and she screamed, high and keening, as she turned into a pillar of burning fat and meat.
Help her. We’ve got to help her.
She snarled, grabbed Lindle, and snapped her neck with a twist. The keening stopped. She lunged at a shape, snared a vampire as it was forming, and bit down into it, rending it. Their vampire Jeremy was moving around the room with unholy speed, snapping a punch here, a kick there, just enough to push an enemy into the line of fire, to be caught and twisted by explosive rounds or the rush of fire from a flamethrower.
We will die in this room.
A vampire was on her left arm, another on her right, and they were pulling her apart. She flexed, but they were so strong. Another leapt on her back, reared up, and punched a hand through her back. She felt the pain of it as the creature clawed at her insides.
We will die and never see our Adalia again.
The vampires on her arms were pulling harder, and she felt like she might come apart.
They will hurt her worse than this.
She roared, denying it, denying death. Challenging death. Here, under rock and stone below the city, where no sun shone above, no moon hung in the sky, and no stars, she roared out her rage. It gave her the strength she needed, and she snatched the vampires on each arm, smashing them together in front of her into a pulp. She reached a clawed hand behind her, grabbed the vampire that clung there, that clung to the inside of her, and wrenched it off. Something inside her came out, and she coughed blood from her muzzle. But she didn’t die. And if she didn’t die—
She will die alone, our baby will die alone.
—she would kill them all. All of them, every one. A quick tearing motion and the vampire she held was in two pieces. She swiped at another, and it burst into a cloud of locusts.
It will move to the other side. See? See how they move? They vanish only to reappear on our blind side.
Reversing her motion, trusting to the tiny voice inside her, she swung at what should have been empty air. But the vampire’s locust cloud reformed, and her claws slashed through it, three separate bloody chunks of the thing falling to the ground.
She ducked, and danced, and fought, all to the hammer of gunfire, the rush of fire, the smell of blood, the tangy sweet taste of it. Through it all, she hurt. Hurt inside, in a way that she had never hurt before. Some brought fire. Some brought silver. Some brought fangs. But she kept going. Over and over again.
Until it was done.
• • •
“Hey. She’s coming round.”
Danny blinked, vision blurry, and coughed. She tried to get up, but something in her chest hurt, wasn’t working right, and she tasted blood. Her blood. She was covered in gore, marks and cuts all over her. She wasn’t healing. She wasn’t healing.
“It’s cool,” said the voice, and she focused. Sawyer Diego. “You, uh, saved us.” He looked small in the dim light. Sawyer looked behind him, and then said, “Well, some of us. There’s just Ginger and me. And you.”
Danny made herself focus. Get up. She made it to an elbow, then to a crouch. “Jeremy,” she said.
“Gone,” said Sawyer Diego. “There’s about a hundred bodies in here. I haven’t checked ‘em all yet. But … yeah, he’s gone.”
She could see the pain in his face. Not for Jeremy, but for the names he wasn’t saying. “I’m … sorry.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Hold the line, right?” He handed her some clothes, a pile of what would have been blood stained rags in other circumstances.
She accepted them with a nod, started pulling them on. Cold, and wet, and sticky. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “We’ll hold the line. But when we’re done, we’ll remember them. Bryn. Mallory. Lindle. And Finch.” She had to catch herself against the wall, a wave of blackness sweeping over her. She wasn’t healing.
She was dying.
“You know their names?” he said. He seemed surprised. “Most people don’t … invest, you know?”
We will remember those who fight for us.
She sagged a little, with relief or pain she wasn’t sure. You’re still there. “I’m not most people,” she said.
“True,” he said, “true.”
Ginger walked over, some of his saunter gone, but anger replaced it, making him stiff. He hefted a machine gun, held it to her. “Here.”
She took it from him, stumbling a little with the unexpected weight. “Thanks.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “You going to be okay to hold that? You seem … a little knocked around.”
“All your people died,” she said. Danny didn’t want to answer his question, because of what the answer meant.
“They did, except for Sawyer Diego,” said Ginger.
“Told you I’d be the one to make it out alive,” said Sawyer Diego.
“I don’t think any of us are making it out alive,” said Ginger. “But we’ll die the right way. Which means you got to hold that gun, fire it at the bad guys, and keep firing it until it’s empty, you hear me?”
So tired.
She looked at the gun. Felt the pain in her chest, how much everything hurt, like it hadn’t in a long time, if ever. Like she was going to just … stop … if she fell down again. It’s okay. Sleep now. I’ll carry us for a little while. “I hear you,” she said. Her Valentine was down there, and would bring her Adalia with him when he came. She turned the barrel towards the tunnel Jeremy had said led to the Sanctum. “Let them come.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-SIX
He pushed the vampire’s body into the water, watching it sink. Odd — most bodies didn’t sink that fast, not that soon. Didn’t much matter, it was dead enough for now, but a weird fact he might have time to think about later. If there was a later.
There will be time enough, tiny human.
Val smiled in the dark. Still there.
Still here.
Carlisle walked up behind him. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he said.
“You good?”
“Never better,” he said. He gave her a glance, smoke smudges on her face, some of her hair singed. Still standing strong, both guns held like she meant to use them again before the day was done. “You?”
“I’m almost middle aged,” she said. Her mouth quirked.
“That’s a killer,” he agreed. “You got enough left to open that door?” He nodded at the big door in front of them, a massive wheel set in the face of it.
Hated, burning metal.
“Silver?” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “It makes me feel funny in my tummy.”
“Copy that,” she said. She turned over her shoulder. “Rex.”
“Hey,” said Rex, approaching them. He still had a shotgu
n and a grenade launcher, but the grenade launcher wasn’t pointed anywhere but down.
“Door,” she said.
“It is,” he said.
“I mean, you should open it,” she said.
“Why me?” said Rex.
“Because you’re so big and strong,” she said. “Also, because you almost killed us all. And also, because if there’s anything going to come out of there and eat our faces, I want first shot. It’s only fair.”
Rex considered that for a second. “Okay,” he said. He looked at the Glock she held. “Don’t shoot me.”
“I’ll try not to,” said Carlisle, “but I make no promises.”
“Rear is clear,” said Jessie, sauntering up. “I feel like an asshole, carrying both these guns.” She hefted the machine gun. “This one seems to be all you need for this kind of evening.”
“Cheer up,” said Carlisle. “I’ve been on worse dates.”
“Me too,” said Jessica.
Rex was at the door, hand on the wheel. Val watched as he gripped it, then placed a hand on Rex’s shoulder. “One second.”
Rex sighed. “What is it?”
“Let me go in first. After, you know, you open it.” Val shrugged. “I’ll probably survive the longest.”
“Son,” said Rex, “you misunderstand. I’m not opening this door and going through. I’m just opening it. After that, I’m off the clock.”
Val gave him a grin. He clapped the man on the shoulder. “Thank you.”
“For what?” said Rex.
“Everything,” said Val.
“Sure,” said Rex. He put his hands back on the wheel, giving it a turn. The metal groaned, something mechanical inside the door clanking as he turned the wheel. After a few rotations it looked like it freed up, spinning. Rex stood back, then held out a hand in an after you gesture. “Your nightmare awaits.”
We are their nightmare.
“Something like that,” said Val, putting his hand on the safe—
Not silver. Not hated.
—metal of the door and pushing it open.
• • •
It was a short trip, not because the walk was easy — it was — but because there was a lack of guards. No vampires. No humans. No super-powered aliens, robots, or overlords from another dimension, all of which would fail to surprise Val at this point. What was a surprise was Volk, who was waiting at the top of some stairs with a giant sword resting against the wall next to him. Val could hear him before he smelled him, and smelled him before he saw him. You never forgot the scent of your maker.
Pack father.
“Kinda sorta,” said Val, looking up the stairs at Volk. “I’m not real comfortable with this whole situation.”
“Talking to yourself again?” said Carlisle.
“No. It’s … fine, yes, that’s what I’m doing,” said Val.
“You want me to shoot that asshole?” she said. “I brought silver rounds.”
“Nyet,” said Volk. “You did not. If you had, I could smell them. And I do not smell them.”
Carlisle gave Val a sour look. “Hard to put one past you fuckers, isn’t it?”
Val spread his hands in a what-can-you-do gesture. “Just being generally annoying comes with the job description.”
“Da,” agreed Volk, making no move. Which was a promising sign as far as Val was concerned. The sword he had was familiar, like his should know it from somewhere—
The air was hot, the crowd yelling for blood. Not for his blood, but the blood of a man who made beautiful things. That man was tied — no, not tied, nailed — to a cross, blood streaming from his wrists. Maksimillian crouched some distance away. Curiosity had drawn him here, and curiosity kept him here. The wind had whispered to him, telling a story of a man who could work miracles.
This man was in no position to work miracles. He was dying, and if he didn’t die fast enough the crowd would tear him apart.
Between the crowd and the man on the cross were four people. The crowd brayed and surged, but the four people didn’t move. One held a black blade high, the other three holding similar swords but of different colors. They were cloaked and hooded, but some trick of the weather stirred that hot air for a second, just enough to tug the hood of the one holding the black blade. Maksimillian took in the perfect features, the cruel lips—
Liselle. Val knew that face, just not the way she wore it. The Liselle Val knew wasn’t anything like this one, all anger and justice and vengeance.
—holding a sneer. She turned back to the other three, her voice hard, and loud, carrying across the crowd and their hate and fear. “בואי, אחים. בואי, אחותי. אנחנו נכה אותם מעדן. זה הזמן.” The language wasn’t unfamiliar, the meaning clear. Come, brothers. Come, sister. We will strike them from Eden. It is time.
The other three raised their blades. Red for War. A pale sword, translucent, for Death. And purest white for Pestilence. They readied their charge. The man on the cross raised his head. “אתה יכול להיות הרבה יותר מזה.” You could be so much more than this. He said other things, about choice, and about saving being harder than destroying, and how it was here that could be the end of all things or the beginning of everything. Maksimillian wasn’t listening to his words, but the effect was clear.
Curiosity had brought him. But astonishment kept him here. These were the Riders, and this dying man was using words, words without any special power, to stop them ending the world. To stop those terrible swords from falling. Because when all four blades were bared to the sun, the world must end.
“Huh,” said Val. “That’s Stroke, isn’t it?”
“Da,” said Volk. “I have seen it before. This you know.”
“I know it,” said Val. “I … remember it. What I’m a bit puzzled about is how you’re able to lift it.”
“That,” said Volk, “is easy and hard. It is hard to kill your Pack, da? But once you have, the anger it gives you will move mountains.”
“Good talk,” said Val, after a moment. Still crazy — check. “What are you going to do with it?”
“I will kill Death,” said Volk.
“That … seems an oxymoron.”
“What is this ‘oxymoron?’” said Volk. “This Angliyskiy is difficult to fathom. Even after so much practice.”
“It means you’re a moron,” said Carlisle. She looked at Val. “What are we doing here?”
Val looked past her, back at Rex, and Jessica, and then back to Volk. “Like the man says. We’re going to kill Death.”
Carlisle studied him for a cool second. “This motherfucker,” she said, “tried to kill you at least twice I know of.”
“Third time’s the charm,” said Val. “I’m not really cool with it either, but I see nothing but poor options. First, we can try to kill him, which would be difficult at the best of times, and harder since he’s got Stroke.”
“Stroke’s that sword?” Carlisle looked doubtful.
“The same,” said Val. “It’s the sword carried by Pestilence, one of the four Horsepersons of the Apocalypse.”
“Where’s Pestilence?” she said. “Isn’t he going to come looking for his sword?”
“Da,” said Volk. “I hope for this! Killing Maynor Coen once was not enough for Maksimillian Kotlyarov.”
“The second option,” said Val, before they burned more time they didn’t have, “is that we go with him, and ride this crazy bronco all the way. And because a business case always needs three options, our third option would be to turn around and go home.”
“I’m not going home,” said Rex. “Son? I’m not going home.”
“Me neither,” said Jessica. She was looking up at Volk, measuring.
“No,” said Carlisle. “I don’t have a fourth option.”
“Then we will kill Death,” said Volk, “together.”
Pack.
• • •
“I think you should go first,” said Val, “because you have the sword of Pest
ilence. That’s kind of an ace in the hole, right?”
Volk looked at him sideways. “Nyet.”
“No?”
“Nyet,” set Volk. “Is not good tactics for enemy to see sword first. Better for them to see unarmed man.”
“I’m hardly unarmed,” said Val. “That’s like saying a saber-toothed tiger is unarmed.”
“They’re extinct,” said Rex.
“Not helping,” said Carlisle.
They were all bunched up outside a door, this a plain wooden one. They were talking in hushed whispers. Which made Val feel like he was ten years old again, sneaking around outside school, which he’d failed at, and got grounded (who grounds a ten year old? And what does that even mean?). It had left him with a deep discomfort of hushed whispers. What gave him deeper discomfort right this particular second was the smell. Silver, and—
Hated. Burning.
—lots of it. Behind this door was the Fort Knox equivalent of all the silver. Going in there wouldn’t be happy times. The vampires knew their strengths; here they were underground away from the burning sun, and they had the metal that could kill werewolves. As if being a vampire weren’t enough, because they could suck all the blood out of a werewolf and kill that way. Val did not want to go through that door.
Then he heard John’s voice. John, saying something like go fuck yourself.
Val straightened, took a quick step, and kicked the door clear off its hinges. The wood splintered, the frame falling loose, the door itself tumbling into the room beyond, shedding wood chips as it tumbled end over end. It collected a surprised person — vampire? — on the way, who fell over. He stepped into the room before the door had stopped moving, grabbing the first person he encountered — definitely vampire — and smashing them against the ground.
“Da,” said Volk, in the moment of silence that followed. “Is how to do it. See? Is good entrance.”
The room was large, and had an unexpected cast of players. There was John, bent backward over a table, another man’s — vampire’s? — hand at his throat. This wasn’t that unusual, Val had wanted to choke John a few times in his life. What was unusual was that Death was here. It wasn’t every day that you saw Death. There were about ten other people — vampires, definitely vampires — in the room. Adalia was off to one side, looking angry and frightened at the same time. There were a couple of vampires looking at her. It was difficult to tell if they were threatening her or standing guard or making a prayer circle.
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