Nine by Night: A Multi-Author Urban Fantasy Bundle of Kickass Heroines, Adventure, & Magic

by SM Reine

My feeling of unreality worsens. You think I want war?

  Galaith’s eyes remain serious through the shifting mosaic of his face.

  I think you will bring it anyway, he says. I realize it likely would not be intentional, old friend. Believe me, I do. Probably more than anyone, I understand this. I know it tears you up, each and every time. I know you dread coming here.

  His eyes flicker between the moving panes of his face.

  I can help you, Liego. Do not doubt that I can. You can live life outside that singular role. You could be married...really married. Without having to worry that your mate or children will be tortured or killed simply because of who you are...

  My light seizes around a vision of Revik, one I realize Galaith is providing me, but one that is so recent I flinch at how real it appears. I see his neck, the clothes hanging on his long frame, the slight limp in his walk as he crosses the study floor.

  The image morphs.

  I see my mother’s graying, staring eye, lost in a face covered in blood. I see the scar bisecting Cass’s beautiful face...Jon’s bandaged hand.

  My silk-clad arms fold tighter, cutting off air I don’t even need in this place.

  There is a moment where I hear only the distant trickling of water on volcanic stone.

  Galaith refrains from smiling out of politeness.

  Do not worry about your mate, he says. He will not judge you for taking this road. He has seen too many wars to welcome another.

  ...and I am in a dim room.

  A single hanging lamp sways above dirt floors. The room lives underground, smelling of mold and blood. White-washed walls like pale skin bleed dark rivulets of mud leaking from badly patched cracks. It is hot, and insects flicker over sweated flesh near a metal table.

  The dead body of a young Asian man slumps in a chair.

  I don’t see him at first, but I am not surprised when he is there. Revik’s arms lay folded across a broader, more muscular chest. His black hair hangs longer, and he wears a Rolling Stones T-shirt and jeans with motorcycle boots.

  Terian, the same Terian I know from Golden Gate Park, is there too, hunched over the body of the dead Asian boy, trying to saw off one of his ears. Cursing, he tosses aside the knife, which is rusted where not covered in blood.

  “Damn it, Revi’...hand me that razor, will you?”

  The taller seer takes his weight off the wall.

  Picking up a sling blade from a nearby table, he flips it open and hands it to Terian wordlessly. Revik doesn’t move away but continues to watch Terian work, tugging a hand-rolled hiri out of his pocket and lighting it after a few tries with a silver lighter. Exhaling sweet-smelling smoke, his expression doesn’t change as Terian saws determinedly through skin and cartilage to remove the dead man’s ear.

  Terian grumbles at him as he works.

  “...You could have let him live long enough to give me a turn,” he says. “What, did he remind you of someone?”

  Revik shrugs. “The maggot wanted to die.”

  Terian glances up, chuckles. “So this was a humanitarian gesture, then?” He turns his concentration back to the ear. “I hate to tell you, my friend...but most humans who meet you grow to feel that way in time.”

  Terian straightens an instant later, a triumphant look on his face. He shows Revik the mutilated ear. Already the blood coagulates, barely a trickle from the stopped heart.

  Revik’s voice holds a thread of disgust.

  “Why do you keep those?”

  “Are you kidding? The press eats this shit up. ‘Vietnam’s own Jack the Ripper’...or hadn’t you heard?” Reaching into a coat pocket, Terian pulls out a playing card, the Jack of Spades. Flipping it over in his fingers, he sticks it in the dead man’s mouth.

  “That’s you?” Revik shakes his head. “Jesus, Terry.”

  At the grin on Terian’s face, Revik snorts a half-laugh.

  “We need to get you a pet.”

  “Yeah, speaking of that.” Terian cocks an eyebrow at him. “Remember that jaguar you picked up for me in Brazil?”

  Revik grunts another laugh. “I don’t want to know.”

  “Anyway,” Terian says, as he raises the ear to the light. “It’s not only me...Galaith wants me to plant this stuff.”

  “Why?” Revik says.

  I hear only curiosity in his voice. His eyes rest empty, flat...I barely recognize him. Yet, oddly, he carries a kind of easy male confidence that makes him look almost handsome, despite his angular features.

  I tell myself I knew what he was.

  He’d been a Nazi before this.

  But even working for the Germans, feeling lived in his eyes, something with which I could relate, even sympathize. I’d been told by the rest of them––Maygar, Vash, Chandre, even the seers training me back in India––that what Revik had done under the Rooks was exponentially worse than anything he did as a Nazi. Even so, it unnerves me beyond what my mind can articulate, seeing him this way.

  It also occurs to me that I cannot unsee it.

  Terian shrugs as he answers him.

  “Why?” he says. “How should I know why? Why does Galaith want us to do anything? Recruitment? Fear? Shits and giggles?” Wrapping the ear in a clean, white handkerchief, Terian shoves the whole thing in a pocket and claps Revik on the shoulder. “Let's get a drink. I need a fuck before we do the next bunch, and I know you do...”

  The dark, blood-smelling room fades.

  I find myself back in Revik’s London study once it has.

  Galaith sits before me on the worn leather couch, drumming his fingers on a creased arm. The picture of my parents still sits on the marble mantlepiece. One of my sketches stands next to it, a charcoal I did of Revik while he was still following me in San Francisco. More of my drawings spill out of an open drawer in the nearby desk, spread out on the floor in a fan position.

  I see more images of Revik, of my brother, of the Pyramid.

  I recognize all of them.

  I was kind, Galaith says. You must know I could have shown you far worse.

  Yeah, I say dryly. ...Very kind. If you’d shown me anything too over the top, I could have dismissed it as pure insanity. Instead you show me a rational version, knowing I’ll never forget it.

  Galaith chuckles in genuine pleasure, slapping the end of the couch.

  Very good, Alyson! Perhaps you have some intelligence in this life, after all.

  My light clenches, knowing this is a jab, too.

  He knows I am aware of the gap between me and the other seers...and especially between me and Revik. I know how slow I seem to all of them, how stupid because I can do so little with my light. I remember playing chess with Revik in Seattle, him showing me how to drive, how to shoot, how to talk to machines...how to see anything at all with my light.

  As I think about him, his presence grows stronger.

  I also feel what Galaith’s show and tell has done to my light’s ability to find his.

  Reluctance hovers there, doubt. I focus back on Galaith, find him watching me carefully. I fold my arms tighter around my light body.

  I thought Terian was the one who liked these stupid games, I say angrily.

  Galaith makes a dismissive gesture with one hand.

  These are not games, Liego, he says. And you are wrong...I do not judge you for your newness. Nor do I confuse this for lack of intelligence. Nor does your mate.

  I don’t argue with him, but I don’t believe him, either.

  So where is Terian? I say. Out torturing more people in your name?

  Galaith’s countenance darkened, meaning the tenor of the shifting planes of his face. He looks at me, and I feel the warning in his light.

  Terian is dead, he says. An unfortunate necessity...but he was out of control. There will be others like him, Liego. They will do the same and worse to get to you...and I won’t be able to reach them all in time.

  Drumming his fingers, he lets out a long breath, as if to calm himself.

  Do you honestly bel
ieve you owe allegiance to the Seven? he says, his voice accusing. Or to that seven-hundred-year-old seer, Vash? Their myths and superstitions mean nothing to you...do not lie to me or to him by pretending otherwise.

  His voice sharpens. I feel the pull strengthen behind his words.

  If you think Vash will keep you and yours safe, Liego, you should speak to your husband. He could tell you a few things about the Seven’s willingness to sacrifice the loved ones of others for their precious Code and its ‘higher’ goals.

  The eyes inside that endlessly moving face stare up at me.

  Don’t you ever wonder how he was able to work for the Nazis and also be a member of their nonviolent club? he asks. Hasn’t this ever struck you as a bit hypocritical, Liego?

  It has.

  Yes, I say, unnecessarily.

  Galaith smiles, but I feel no humor there. Well, perhaps this will give you more reason to forgive your mate for what I showed you before...

  An image appears out of the dark.

  I see Vash and Revik sitting on a sandy floor, inside what looks like a high-ceilinged cave. They are talking seriously, hunched together over food and drink, with papers strewn about them on the sand. I cannot hear their words, but Revik wears a German infantry uniform, a swastika band around his arm. A third seer is with them, a middle-aged male with sharp, gray eyes, chestnut hair and chiseled features. He is handsome, almost startlingly so. Handsome enough to be a movie star, if one a few years past his prime.

  It was all planned, you see, Galaith says. Vash and the Adhipan deliberately planted Dehgoies in Germany. He encouraged him to work for the Nazis...to fight for them, even if it meant watching his own people be put to death.

  He smiles, and the mirage disappears, to be replaced by the image of a gothic church.

  I feel my light tense as Revik appears in the doorway of that church. He is wearing a tuxedo, smiling, holding the hand of Elise, who wears a wedding dress so stunning she looks like a living doll. Her hair is sleek and filled with what look like tiny diamonds.

  They both look so happy it is difficult to look at their faces for long.

  Revik raises a hand, waving at a crowd throwing flower petals.

  He was placed there to be recruited by me, Galaith continues. To infiltrate my burgeoning network. But then the Seven stood by while his wife was killed...

  The image of Revik and Elise fades, leaving Galaith and I in the dark.

  As a result, your husband rethought his allegiances, and who would blame him? The Seven could have intervened. They did not...believing interference to be “immoral.” Dehgoies realized that no matter what the method, it is better to try and make things better, to not stand idly by while atrocities are committed...

  I am fighting my own emotions, staring at Galaith’s morphing face.

  He shrugs with one hand, and I feel sadness on him.

  Something happened to make him want to return to them, he says. I do not know what. I even considered sabotage by the Seven themselves. What I do know is this: by then, I thought of Dehgoies as a son. I was devastated when he left me.

  The image of Revik in that tux won’t leave me. He looked so...happy. I’ve never seen him happy like that, not in person. Not even in the Barrier.

  Galaith pats my light arm. He shakes his head in sympathy, clicking his tongue.

  Vash and I made a pact. After we separated your mate from that part of his life, we each agreed to leave his mind alone. His voice sharpens. You broke that promise, Liego. I don’t know how you did it, but you managed to give him back some portion of what he lost...

  His voice turns grim, openly accusing.

  I sincerely hope you have not hurt more than helped him in this, Liego...

  Looking up, I glimpse the dark clouds of the Barrier.

  I ask for a nudge in one direction or the other, something to tell me what to do, what will do the least harm. I know this is childish too...but I feel lost in all of this, all of these things I only partly understand.

  Revik was right. Anything I thought I was doing was likely just me being manipulated, me falling for the same machinations as everyone else. I would never be smart enough to beat these people. I’d been kidding myself. Or distracting myself, maybe.

  But I still cannot bring myself to give in. Even if I should, I can’t. I know that I’ve been wrong about almost all of it so far...but it doesn’t make any difference.

  I cannot give in. I cannot.

  I realize this, and it is almost a relief.

  ...and then I am somewhere else.

  It is not where I would have hoped.

  No great flash of insight or understanding greets me. Instead, it is ordinary, mundane memory. I stand before a leaking espresso machine. Wet coffee grounds cover the front of my waitressing uniform as Revik watches me from a corner booth. He looks tired, and I know him now, so I see it in him. Still, he is watching me, and I see other things there, too.

  He watches me minutely, I realize.

  I make him nervous, fascinate him, but he feels he knows me, too. He wishes he could approach me. He wishes he could just tell me who he is. I still manage to embarrass him. Hearing me and Cass speak to one another, he feels foolish for having bought the shirt he saw me admiring in that shop, and something in this touches me deeper than I can express.

  Over me, the television blares.

  Suddenly, I know what I am supposed to see.

  ...and then the image vanishes.

  A stone holding cell morphs around me in its place.

  Dark and dirty, it feels more mundane to me now, too, as if I am there in a less emotional reality, one that lives outside of Revik’s subjective mind. Two men enter that dim, dank-smelling space, pausing at the door to stare at the prisoner chained inside. One of them has no face. Revik raises shackled hands, blinking against the shock of light. As I watch, the blurred lines of the faceless man begin to clarify.

  Features appear behind a sheen of liquid light. I see the outline of a handsome face, not completely young, but a young middle-age.

  He studies the man on the bench, smiles.

  “Rolf Schenck?”

  ...and then the four of us stand on a hill above lines of SS, where the third of three gasoline tanks already burns. When it explodes, the shock rips holes in the turf, throwing wood and iron as shrapnel, tearing into the bodies of the standing men.

  Terian hits Revik playfully on the chest, then starts down the hill at a run.

  “What are you?” Revik asks Galaith.

  “Perhaps you should ask yourself that question, Rolf...”

  I know who you are, I breathe, softer.

  ...and again, I fight with an espresso maker. A television blares over the bar, where the President of the United States smiles at a press conference. Young, charismatic, the whole world looks up to him. Cass walks up to me in her waitressing uniform, and she looks incredibly young to me now, an overgrown child compared to the woman I was jealous of in London.

  “Jon's here,” she says. “So is your buddy.”

  ...and I stand in Revik’s study, pointing a gun at Revik.

  My eyes glow a pale green, faintly visible in the sunlight from the windows.

  “Allie.” Tension vibrates his words. “I would tell you, I swear I would—”

  Revik! I step closer to him, inserting myself between him and the version of me holding the gun. I remember that moment in Germany, where the younger Revik seemed to look at me, too. I had thought he was dead then, but he wasn’t.

  He’s not dead now, either.

  Revik, I’m here! I wave my arms idiotically. REVIK! Look at me!

  “...Even if I did,” he says to the other me. “I don’t remember—”

  REVIK! I scream, desperate. I slam into him with my light. LOOK AT ME!

  He turns, staring at me. The echo fades.

  For an endless pause, he just stands there, looking at me through clear eyes, staring at me from a few meters away. His eyes shift between the past me and
the present...

  For the moment, Galaith is gone.

  It is only us.

  Revik...I’m here! I run forward, grasping hold of him with my light. When he tries to look at the past me again, the one holding the gun, I shake his arm. No! This already happened! Where are you now? Can you show me?

  The London apartment melts. I feel him slowly come back awake...

  Positive flashes to negative.

  He hangs in a dark space, immobilized by silver strands. They feed on him. Eyes roll back in pleasure as they draw on his light, a near sensual repose. In terror, he cries out...

  ...and in the study, Revik staggers.

  I hold his arm tighter, supporting him with my light. He looks back at the version of me frozen in time, the determination on my face as I grip the Lugar in my hand. Cass, Jon, Eddard and Maygar all stand frozen in various poses as they react to a scene that can no longer be played out, that is already over. Then Revik looks at me, and his eyes change.

  This time, he sees me. He really sees me.

  Allie? Where are we?

  Revik. You’re really here... Looking at him, my happiness fades. I feel the weakening of his light, the hunger of the beings behind him. He is dying. I clutch his arm tighter. Revik, listen to me. Can you get out, if I distract them?

  Allie, he says. No. No, I won’t leave you...

  I kiss his face. You won’t have to. The succession order...do you remember how it works? How the pieces fit together?

  Confusion darkens his features. I don’t have it, Allie.

  I have it, I tell him. You gave it to me, remember? On the ship? But all I have are the numbers. I need you to make sense of it. Can you remember enough to do that?

  His eyes shine with a faint light. But something is there, some glimmer of recognition. I can only hope it is enough.

  Yes, he says. ...I think so.

  I kiss him again; I can’t help it. As I do, I hear it, the whispering of the numbers, the sound I haven’t stopped hearing for months.

  I look up at Revik. Seeing the distance in his eyes, I shake his arm, gripping him tighter. Revik, listen to me. You were working for Vash. You were a Nazi for Vash. Do you remember? You let them recruit you. You’ve carried the succession order ever since...for Vash. For all of us.