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

by Richard Parry

  “First time for everything,” said Adalia. “I think we’ll need a lawyer, a couple of SUVs, and a cabin in the woods. I was going to Airbnb that last one, but my card’s maxed out.”

  “What kind of lawyer?” said Sam.

  “One that hunts and kills without mercy,” said Adalia, looking at the police and soldiers around her. “One that’s … get me a good one, Sam. The best.”

  “I’ve got just the one on speed dial,” he said. “We need them when we sell heroin to children. I can get you a couple cars as well. But a cabin in the woods?”

  “Yes,” said Adalia. “It’s for Melissa. There should be a field of wildflowers around it, and the sun should hit it in the mornings. There’s a line of trees just far enough away to look cool, not frightening. There’s no cell coverage. Can you see it?” She didn’t say anything else.

  After a while, Sam said, “I can see it. Give me thirty minutes.” He clicked off.

  She spun her phone in her hand, then stuffed it into a back pocket. Wiped at her eyes, because the lawyer wouldn’t care about her tears. She smoothed her green hair, then went to find Rex.

  • • •

  “This is the world’s smallest convoy,” said Rex. He was driving, trying his best to make conversation while Adalia did her best to look out the window and ignore everything. It wasn’t working. She would stare out the window, and try to listen to the radio because she couldn’t get the stupid Bluetooth working on her phone so there wasn’t anything else to listen to, and then she’d think about Melissa, who was in the back of the SUV, wrapped in a blanket.

  She sighed. “I … um,” she said.

  He nodded, not looking at her. “Yeah,” he said. “I get that.”

  “It’s just,” she said, then stopped.

  “It is,” he said, hands on the wheel. She watched his hands for a while, relaxed but in control. She turned her face into the sun coming in the window, and sighed again. She felt safe, for a second. But only for a second.

  “She’s dead,” said Adalia, trying the words out. They didn’t taste right, didn’t feel right. Couldn’t be right.

  “She is,” said Rex. He seemed to deflate a little. “I … I’m not good at this. People dying, you know? It’s not … I’m just not good at it,” he finished. His hands were tensing on the wheel, fingers turning white.

  It was Adalia’s turn to nod. She reached out a hand to touch his arm. “Rex?”

  “Because,” he said, “I’m so damn old. I … it should have been me. It’s my turn. I’ve … it’s not fair, and I’m sorry. It should have been me.”

  “Oh,” she said, and let her hand drop. They sat like that for a while, the seams in the freeway thump thumping underneath the wheels of the SUV. After quite a long a while, because the sun was warm and making her feel sleepy, she opened her eyes. “I’d bet Jessica thinks the same thing.”

  “But Jessie—”

  “And Uncle John,” said Adalia. “Because, you know, he and Melissa, they were really good friends. Really good. The kind of good that comes once or twice in a person’s life. They never said it to each other. They should have told each other. But they didn’t, and then Uncle John got taken with me, because Death herself wanted me to make vampires stronger, and Melissa came down to where it’s dark to get us out. And she died.”

  “But—”

  “And the weird thing is,” said Adalia, “None of you are right. You’re not. The only one who’s to blame is me. I … I could have stopped it all, Rex. Don’t you see? I … it’s me. I’m why she died.” And she was crying again, and she hated that too, because it didn’t seem to stop or hurt less at any particular moment.

  Rex’s hand was on her shoulder, awkward and warm and strong all at once, and she cried more, until she stopped crying. She didn’t know how long they’d been driving, and it didn’t matter. The other car, with Jessica driving and Uncle John and Liselle in it, was behind them. Making sure Melissa got to where she needed to be, for ever and ever.

  “So,” said Rex. “So.”

  “Yeah,” said Adalia, wiping her eyes for the hundredth time today. “Yeah.”

  “It feels like a lousy way to win,” said Rex. “Like, losing’s worse, but … I don’t know.”

  “Losing would have been worse,” said Adalia. “There’d be vampires everywhere, or the world would have ended.”

  “You sure?” said Rex.

  “Pretty sure,” said Adalia.

  “Jeremy was an asshole?”

  “Jeremy was wonderful,” said Adalia. “Maks was an asshole. He was a liar. And…” And she rubbed her eyes again.

  “Maks was a man in love,” said Rex. “Men do strange things when they’re in love.”

  “Do not,” said Adalia, “tell me that boys will be boys, or so help me I will turn you into a woman for just one day.”

  “No,” said Rex, still calm, measured, relaxed. “Didn’t mean it like that. Didn’t want to give any excuses or reasons. Just said it’s a thing.”

  “Okay,” said Adalia. “But still.”

  “Sorry,” said Rex.

  “Okay,” said Adalia. “It’s like this. Jeremy was actually an ancient vampire named Dragomir. He was the first one ever. Kaylan and Maynor—”

  “That’s Death and Pestilence?”

  “Yeah, those two. Kaylan and Maynor made the vampires, but they didn’t make them right. I don’t know why. I guess it’s because Horsepersons were made to destroy the world, and trying to create something, even to destroy, was beyond them.”

  “I think,” said Rex, “that unholy monsters can’t take the light of the sun, because God is watching.”

  “If that makes you feel better then go with that,” said Adalia, watching trees outside the window. They were getting outside of the city, away from the people. Closer to their destination. And then they’d have to put Melissa in the cold, cold ground. “What I know is that Jeremy and Maks knew each other.”

  “From where?” said Rex.

  “From when Jeremy hatched a plan to steal a terrible blood virus from Maynor. Or from where he caught Maks and gave him the virus. Doesn’t matter.” Except it did, and she should look. Really look, back at where it started. But if she did that, she’d need to see Maks again, and she didn’t want to cry any more. “I think Pestilence made a kill switch for the vampires, and Maks caught it, but werewolves don’t get sick, so he was just a carrier, like Val, or my mom. Except Maks wanted to die, more than Jeremy, because Maks had killed his whole family, but he wanted revenge more than he wanted to die. And Jeremy, he, he … arranged everything. So Maks could die and get revenge at the same time. So Jeremy would die with him. So I would see Kaylan. Because I would … fix her.”

  “He could have died at any time,” said Rex. “Took them all out just by walking outside. Seems like you didn’t need to be there at all.”

  “Kaylan would have started again,” said Adalia. “Now she’s where the dead go when they die.”

  “Can’t she get out?” said Rex. “I’m nervous about that.”

  “I’m not,” said Adalia, thinking of Just James for just a second, and the Maks for just another second. “I’m not at all. She will never get out.” She realized she was clenching her teeth, the anger burning on top of the pain, and that was good, if only because it made her feel different for a moment. Adalia rubbed her hands on her legs, then licked her lips. “I … he wanted me to fix her.”

  “Hell,” said Rex. “I could have told him that was impossible. You can’t fix stupid.”

  Adalia laughed, and Rex laughed. She gave him a fond smile. She didn’t know how she had so many wonderful people around her. She didn’t deserve them. She deserved to be where the dead went. To look out from the Cliffs of the Damned — which was a weird name for such a peaceful place. It was a sobering thought, and she stopped smiling. “He wanted me to fix her so she wouldn’t start again, Rex. I couldn’t do that, but I can put her somewhere she can’t get out of. Because the people there? They l
ove us, and they love this world, even though they’re all dead. She will be there forever, and forever, and forever.”

  “Sounds bad,” said Rex.

  “It’s not bad enough,” said Adalia.

  • • •

  The cabin wasn’t quite big enough, but it was a long way from Manhattan, and cars, and people, and that made it perfect. Adalia was sitting across from Mary, and there was coffee in front of both of them, two off-white cups that had been used a thousand times before, chips on the rims. It didn’t matter. The table was in the middle of a field full of wildflowers. The sun on her face and her hair was warm. A butterfly wove between them, Adalia watching it as Mary watched her.

  “I didn’t know you were real,” said Adalia.

  “I didn’t know that it mattered,” said Mary. She took a sip. “Hmmm. Good coffee.”

  “I made the best coffee in Manhattan,” said Adalia, and tried to stop herself from crying. She looked out at where Uncle John was chopping firewood. No shirt, of course. And there was Liselle, pretending not to look. Focused so intently on the book she held that she couldn’t possibly have been reading it. It helped. Adalia held back the tears.

  “You saved the world,” said Mary. “How does it feel?”

  “Pretty terrible,” said Adalia. “I thought us coming to a cheesy log cabin in the woods would help.”

  “Did it?” said Mary.

  “Not really,” said Adalia, “but the wildflowers are nice.”

  They sat in silence for a while, then Mary leaned forward. “This wasn’t what you thought having a friend would be like, was it?”

  “It’s perfect,” said Adalia. “It’s just…” She trailed off, turning her cup in her hands.

  “It’s just,” agreed Mary. “My lover, he wanted to speak with you.”

  “I don’t want to,” said Adalia.

  “I know,” said Mary. She laughed. “He never was very good with people. Good at making beautiful things though.”

  “Unlike me,” said Adalia. “All I do is make the world uglier. Everyone dies.”

  “You … can break the rules,” said Mary. “He did. For a friend.”

  “He brought himself back from the dead, or so the stories say,” said Adalia. “Other people too. Lazarus. Lazarus of Bethany.”

  “That’s right,” said Mary. “Lazarus was his friend.”

  Adalia cocked her head at Mary. “I thought he was some kind of follower. You know. Like a cult.”

  Mary laughed. “Not all the stories are written down exactly right.”

  “I guess not,” said Adalia. “How do you think they’ll write this one down?” She was watching as Rex walked out of the cabin, helping Jessica, hand around her waist. Or she was helping him. It didn’t matter.

  “It depends how you end it,” said Mary. “You took the trade. That was a good start.”

  Adalia wondered about that. About the trade Liselle had begged her for: her sword, her constant, eternal companion. Take my sword, she’d said, and make me like you. She meant make her mortal so she and Uncle John could grow old together and die. She was already like them in all the other ways that mattered. So Adalia had taken her sword, made it go away, and also taken her name, Famine, and made that go away. Left her as Liselle Vitols. It felt good to have such a stylish aunt.

  “Is it over?” said Adalia. “It feels over.”

  “Then why am I here?” said Mary.

  “Because I need a friend,” said Adalia.

  “You have many friends,” said Mary.

  “Not the one that matters,” said Adalia. “Not Melissa.”

  “Ah,” said Mary. And then nothing else.

  “What happens,” said Adalia, “if she is my Lazarus?”

  “I don’t know,” said Mary.

  “Your lover died,” said Adalia. “He died, because he broke the rules.”

  Mary set down her cup. Put a hand on Adalia’s. “He died because he didn’t ask for help. He died because he thought people were different. He died because someone needed to, and he was beautiful that way.”

  “That’s great news,” said Adalia. “Because I’m not beautiful.”

  “Adalia Kendrick,” said Mary, “would you like to make a trade?”

  “Very much,” said Adalia.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-THREE

  “Fucking Christ,” said Carlisle. “I feel like I’ve been dead for three days.”

  “Five,” said Miles, at her bedside. “You’ve been dead for five days.” He was grinning, but there was something sad there too.

  She caught onto that straight away. Because apart from her neck, which hurt, and the rest of her, which hurt more, there was something … empty inside. “Where’s Adalia?”

  “Yeah,” said Miles. “About that.”

  • • •

  Carlisle looked out over the field of wildflowers, at the small table and its two chairs. The half-empty coffee cups, gone cold. “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

  “She’s gone,” said Miles. He had a hand over hers, held it. Not like they were lovers, because first Liselle was right there and second because she would have punched him in the face. He held it like they were the best of friends, and he had something frightening to say. Both of those were the truth. “She was talking to Mary—”

  “Who the fuck is Mary?” said Carlisle.

  “Mary of Magdala,” said Liselle.

  “Cool,” said Carlisle, thinking bullshit, but what do I know. “She was talking to this Mary girl? And why are we in the woods?”

  “Adalia was going to bury you out here,” said Miles. “Because she said you’d served enough. Because you deserved somewhere peaceful to rest.”

  “Seems fair,” said Carlisle. “But I’m not dead.”

  “Not anymore,” said Miles, and then he started laughing. Laughing, and crying. And then just crying, and he was holding her. Carlisle felt herself stiffen, then relaxed, and put a hand on his back.

  “Jesus, Miles,” she said. “It’s okay.”

  “Is it?” he said. He pulled back. “Is it?”

  Carlisle looked around the field. Took in Rex like a fucking Tyrannosaurus, and Pearce, and Liselle, who was just like them now. Broken and perfect at the same time. And Miles, the big dumb strong fool crying at her side. Felt around inside her for where she’d always known Adalia was. But wasn’t, anymore.

  Carlisle started to walk. Left the porch of the log cabin, feet getting stained wet with dew as she walked among the wildflowers. She came to stand at the table where Adalia had been, and knew it to be true — Adalia was gone. Lifted Adalia’s cup and picked up the scrap of paper that was hidden under it.

  Melissa. I’m sorry if I made it worse not better. It’s all I seem to be able to do. I couldn’t bear a world without you. —A

  Carlisle sat down on the grass for a while, not realizing she’d just dropped. Felt a head full of questions, questions that probably didn’t need answering. Not really. She read the scrap of paper again, then said to no one in particular, “But what if I can’t bear a world without you?”

  No one answered her.

  After a while, she needed to get up. Not because she wanted to stretch her limbs, but because her ass was getting wet from the ground. Who moved a table into the middle of a field to have coffee, anyway? She took in Miles, still on the porch, but with Liselle beside him. Rex would be around somewhere, maybe he and Pearce headed up into the hills with that big gun of hers. Still her family, but smaller now.

  She caught a glimpse of something at the tree line, huge shapes, yellow eyes, and stumbled back. She almost tripped — damn all the parts of her that hurt — but caught the edge of the table. When she looked back at the tree line, there wasn’t anything there. There probably hadn’t been anything there. Those two were gone. Weren’t they? And if they weren’t gone, they wouldn’t be here, now that Adalia—

  Carlisle looked down at her hands, and found them to be shaking. Come on, Melissa. You can face it. There are har
der truths than a beautiful person going to a more beautiful place.

  They wouldn’t be here now that Adalia was gone. Would they? No. They’d be off, together. They’d saved the world enough times. Hell, they’d saved a broken down old cop, a retired firefighter, a reprobate who played video games, the CEO of a powerful corporation. They’d even saved Famine, turned her into a real person. Although — and here, Carlisle rubbed her face — Liselle had always felt like a real person anyway. Some big problems, just like the rest of them.

  No, they wouldn’t be here now. They’d be—

  Running free.

  • • •

  Your time with the Night’s Champion is at a close. I hoped you loved it.

  If you want a new adventure, why not try Tyche’s Flight? It’s the first book in the Tyche’s Journey trilogy. You’ll meet new friends in Grace, Nate, and the crew of the free trader Tyche. It’s a space adventure with swords and blasters, lost colony worlds, fallen empires, and an unstoppable alien foe. Like the Night’s Champion, our heroes try and save the day through action scenes and clever dialogue. An excerpt is included at the end of this book.

  [Check it out on Amazon]

  Or just page through to the excerpt!

  GET YOUR FREE STARTER LIBRARY

  You want to know one of the best things about being a writer? You.

  Having real conversations with readers is one of the best things that this gig has brought me. I’ve exchanged emails with readers on a bunch of stuff. One whose son is in video games (awesome). There was another who wants to stalk me (awesome?). A fair few drop me a line on which characters they loved the most (definitely awesome). You get the point. Back when I was working for The Man™ it was pretty hard to build meaningful relationships with people I was working with. Shifting to writing has changed all that. My mailing list has brought me a far deeper connection with fans and friends than I’d ever hoped dream.

  I use the list to send out the types of things you might expect — new releases, covers, how I work, other promos and freebies I think might be of interest to you. If you sign up to my list, you’ll also get two short bites of fiction: