And then a great wall of blackness came down around Talley like a century’s worth of midnights all at once.
Tuesday, 21 September 1999, 2:04 AM
Intersection, West and Park Streets
Hartford, Connecticut
Lucita watched the brief debate between Talley and Borges and nearly laughed with joy. If this were no trick, she could not have asked for a better chance. Borges was bundled up like an infant and Talley seemed intent on leaving town as quickly as possible. All she had to do was wait for the right moment, and Borges would be hers, easily.
It was a matter of seconds until it would all be over.
Suddenly, Lucita hesitated. A thin scream, barely on the edge of hearing, skittered through the air. Lucita knew that sound; it was one of Vykos’s favorite war ghouls, hunting, and it was nearby. Lucita offered a silent curse on her sire and the persistence of his tools, then unleashed the shadows. She could no longer afford to wait. A globe of blackness rose up from the sewer grates and enveloped Talley. The templar didn’t even have time to shout before he was overwhelmed.
Borges fell to the ground, his prison unraveling in seconds. He stumbled to his feet and looked around. To his credit, he took the entire situation in at a glance. “Me cago en su madre,” he breathed, and took a step back.
Lucita didn’t waste time. She leapt down from her awning perch, pillars of darkness behind her billowing out and reaching out for her prey.
Borges did the sensible thing. He ran. Channeling what little vitae he had left in him, the Archbishop of Miami took to his heels. Wordlessly, Lucita abandoned the shadows and sprinted after him.
Fear lent Borges wings. Lucita was more agile, a better runner and better fed than he, but sheer terror gave speed to his flight. He ducked into an alley, out the other side, up a block past some construction and then left. All the while, Lucita followed as surely and as swiftly as a lioness running down her prey. Block by block, she closed the gap, until she was a bare pace behind Borges.
The man looked behind him, nearly stumbled, and put on a final burst of speed. Lucita swiped for him, missed, and then reached out for a small tendril of shadow. One came to her, and she sent it to tangle Borges’s feet as he ran.
The man stumbled and fell, skidding fifteen feet down the sidewalk as he did so. He tried to climb to his feet, but Lucita was upon him in an instant.
“My apologies, Archbishop,” she said. “If it helps ease the pain, you will no doubt be remembered posthumously for having won a great victory.” She drew back her hand for the killing blow, and felt something clamp on her wrist. Startled, Lucita turned and saw a band of shadow wrapped around her forearm, tugging her backward toward…
…Talley.
“Your fat father said that you weren’t to be harmed, Lucita. I’m going to have to apologize to him after I kill you then, aren’t I?” He jerked the tendril back, and Lucita was yanked willy-nilly from her position atop the recumbent archbishop to land on her back in the street. A fresh bloodstain spread on the templar’s shoulder, but he ignored it.
Borges half staggered, half crawled away. “Run, Borges,” said Talley. “Run very far and very fast, and pray you never see me again.” He made another motion, and the band of darkness on Lucita’s wrist tightened with bone-crushing strength.
Lucita did her best to ignore it. With her other hand, she reached down to her right ankle, where she kept a spare throwing knife at all times. Crying out with pain, she launched the shiv at Talley. The throw was off-line, but Talley took a split second to judge the knife’s trajectory. During that split second, he wasn’t paying attention to Lucita herself, and that was all the time she needed.
A shadow of her own tore Talley’s to shreds, and she rolled left even as Talley unleashed another on her. Her hand caught a piece of debris and she flung it at him. The shadow tendril knocked it out of the air, but it bought her another precious second, as he came to her feet and prepared to counterattack.
A half-dozen shadows reached out from sewer grates and beneath cars to wrap themselves around the templar. He snarled and dissolved into a pool of darkness himself to escape, but even as he did, Lucita turned and ran after Borges.
Luck was with her. He’d managed to stumble off, but not to get far. One of his ankles was shattered from the shadowtrap that had brought him down; it would be a poor end for one of his station. He saw Lucita coming and hobbled faster, fear plain on his face. Shadows half-formed around him and faded to nothingness. Fear and pain rendered him unable to control them.
Lucita didn’t try to catch him. Instead, she summoned darkness, paying no heed to the growing hunger that gnawed at her. A pair of tendrils arrowed after the wounded archbishop, only to be batted aside by others that had to be controlled by Talley. Not even pausing to watch, Lucita sprinted forward after Borges. Something wrapped itself around her ankle and she fell, hard. Bloodied, she managed to flip herself over and see that a staggering Talley had managed to snag her with a lone strand of darkness.
Lucita’s face flushed with anger. Talley was clearly spent; he had nothing left. She was tiring, but she still had enough to deal with him and then pursue Borges. If nothing else, she could probably take the archbishop apart with her bare hands. Closing her eyes, she stopped resisting. The tendril dragged her, foot by foot, closer to Talley, wrapping up more and more of her leg as it did so. Talley was deadly, she knew. Even Fatima had spoken of him with respect, and Fatima had little respect for any Franj. Lucita knew his skill, knew his determination. But now he was angry as well. He might be weary, empty of blood and wounded. But he was still the Hound.
Lucita clenched her fist. A shadow slithered out from under a car and came to her. She fed it strength, then told it to smite Talley. In its own way, it understood and went to obey. Black as night and as terrible, it reared back to strike.
A full-throated roar erupted from behind Talley. He resisted the temptation to look, instead dodging the shadow tendril as it arrowed toward his heart. Lucita cursed as he flattened himself on the pavement and the shadow passed overhead. There was another scream, then, and one of Vykos’s remaining war ghouls crashed to the ground a yard from where Talley lay. Its face was smashed into an unrecognizable ruin by the force of the shadow’s impact but still, somehow, it moved. Another war ghoul thundered past, bellowing defiance at Lucita as it did so.
“Stop her!” Vykos shrieked at her gruesome pet from somewhere in the distance.
Talley sprang to his feet, looking around for the Tzimisce archbishop, but to no avail. Up ahead, the ghoul hurled its misshapen bulk on Lucita even as Borges scrambled away. There was a sickening crunch, and for a moment Talley thought that the monstrosity had achieved the impossible. Then Lucita’s fist emerged from the creature’s back with a wet sound, and the ghoul whimpered in agony.
Talley could pay no more attention to anything but his mission. He leapt for Lucita, but moved a fraction of a second too late as she shoved the limp bulk of the ghoul at him. Its weight toppled over onto him, and he was forced to take a precious instant to hurl it aside. In that moment, Lucita turned and pounced onto Borges, who raised a feeble hand to defend himself. With animalistic savagery, Lucita tore at him, eschewing anything more complicated than her talons and fangs as she shredded the archbishop’s arm, chest and throat. A thin, high-pitched wail emerged, impossibly, from him as he frantically tried to push Lucita away. Then there was terrible silence.
Talley dropped his shoulder and plowed into Lucita’s back with bone-crushing force, a moment too late. She went over and sprawled on the asphalt, but Borges’s features were already rotting away. The Archbishop of Miami was finally, irrevocably dead.
Lucita scrambled to her feet, but not before Talley was on her again. He caught her face in his left hand and tore across, leaving a trail of bloody furrows before she wrenched out of his grip. Talley howled rage and frustration then, a sound to chill the blood as she came to her feet. He lashed out with a fist, which she parried, but the man’s
second blow caught her in the knee and nearly buckled it. Talley smiled wolfishly and circled to the left, looking to exploit the weak knee. Hobbling, Lucita turned to face him.
With a grim countenance, Lucita assessed the situation even as Talley feinted a kick at her injured leg. She dodged, painfully, and then had to duck a vicious swing that would have taken her head off had it connected. Borges was dead. She was far weaker than she wanted to be; too many shadows had been required to kill Borges and distract Talley. And the Hound was about to earn his reputation all over again. It was time to go.
With strength born of desperation, she launched a spinning kick at Talley. He dodged it, but she used the seconds to force healing blood to her knee. Talley lashed out with another combination of blows, but she weaved out of the way of each and then turned her last dodge into a full-fledged sprint. Talley gave a bellow of inchoate rage and started after her. If she remembered the city properly, the river was not far away. She just had another row of buildings to pass, then the highway to cross, and she’d be safe. Behind her, the templar came charging after, his weakness masked by bloodlust and anger.
Lucita made for an alley between two warehouses. Talley bellowed and reached for a shadow to stretch across her path, but his strength was fading, and the barrier disintegrated as she reached it. As she ran, Lucita threw trash cans, boxes, anything she could find behind her to slow Talley down. He waded through the obstacles as if they were nothing.
Beyond the alley was the highway, elevated on this side. Southbound traffic was light, hut northbound was still snarled from the earlier accidents. Lucita whispered a prayer of thanks, climbed the embankment, and leapt over the guard rail. She dodged a black Bonneville that was half on the right shoulder, stumbled and sprinted onward. Calling on almost the last bit of blood she had in her, she moved out and across the first four lanes of traffic. Behind her, Talley reached the roadside and continued forward, machine-like in his persistence. Traffic veered around him, horns honking. One car clipped him with a bumper. He spun, but kept moving relentlessly.
Monçada’s childe didn’t look back. Instead, she leapt onto a car trunk and picked her way across the stalled traffic as fast as she could. Within seconds she was across the road and into the tall grass by the riverside. Talley, exhausted or no, was hot on her heels.
Lucita risked a last glance at her pursuer. The Hound’s visage, clearly visible just a few steps behind her, was the essence of implacable hatred. There was only one way out.
She blew Talley a kiss, then, and dove into the muddy waters of the Connecticut River. Almost instantly, even the ripples of her passage had vanished. She was gone.
Arriving bare seconds too late, Talley stared after her. He could pursue, but trying to find her in the sludge that passed for river water would be nigh-impossible. Besides, he reflected bitterly, he had what he had really come for. Monçada had been right; Borges had been, in the end, expendable so long as the truth of his death was known. And Vykos? Vykos had shown remarkably good timing this evening, knowing just when to disappear and then when to show up. It was a fascinating coincidence, or it would have been, if coincidence was in fact what it was. Somehow, he didn’t think so.
Talley suspected that he knew enough to end this miserable assignment. Disgusted, he sagged down onto the riverbank and waited for company. It didn’t take long to arrive.
Vykos looked suitably concerned when she joined him. The Hound turned and stared at the Tzimisce with weary hatred. “So what exactly were you thinking back there?”
Vykos stared back. “I was thinking to change the odds for you, Templar. I assumed that you would not object to assistance.”
“I object to nearly being trampled without warning, and I object to hindrances being foisted upon me. Come now, you’ve been in the field long enough to know better than what you showed tonight. You’ve gotten clumsy.” Talley’s tone was bleak, though deceptively mild.
“There was no time to do otherwise, Talley. Don’t forget your place and presume to lecture me.” There was an edge to Vykos’s voice. Talley ignored it.
“I forget nothing, Archbishop. Nothing at all.” Both were silent for a moment. In the city proper, sirens whined and fires shot up into the soot-filled air. Borges’s men were building him quite a funeral pyre, even if they didn’t yet know he was destroyed. “She got away?” asked Vykos softly.
Talley nodded. “She got away, as if that surprises you. Into the river and no doubt down to the sea. I won’t be surprised if she swims all the way to Florida and goes to steal Borges’s cigars.”
There was another pause. “We have won the city,” said Vykos at last.
“You won the city. I wish you joy of it. I now get to return to our patron and explain to him everything that happened here.” He smiled, then, and not pleasantly. “Everything. Including how Lucita knew precisely where to be in order to find her prey.” Vykos smiled back, as empty and plastic as a Halloween mask. “I’m sure the cardinal will be understanding, considering the impossible nature of what you were asked to do.”
The templar hoisted himself to his feet and stared deliberately at the Tzimisce, still seated. “I am leaving, Archbishop,” he finally said. “And I’m sure you’re right. I have no doubt that the cardinal will understand.” With infinite care and dignity, he turned and made his way back toward the city.
In the distance, the sound of a car exploding split the night—and it was almost loud enough to drown out Vykos’s single, soft peal of laughter.
Tuesday, 21 September 1999, 3:56 AM
Intersection of Routes 99 and I-91
Rocky Hill, Connecticut
Lucita fished herself out of the river two miles downstream. She’d planned on such as a potential escape route earlier for a worst-case scenario, and was profoundly thankful she’d done so. She stripped herself of her wet clothes and threw them back in the river. They floated for a moment, then sank and presumably began their journey to Long Island Sound. Nothing she abandoned had been with her long enough to be useful to an enemy who might use thaumaturgical arts against her; she had made sure of that.
Briskly, she walked to where she’d cached a new set of clothes, as well as everything else she needed. The black bag was where she’d left it, duct-taped to a high bole of one of the many trees planted alongside the river. Agile as a cat, she climbed the trunk and rescued her wares. She dropped the bag to the ground and jumped down lightly after it. Quickly she unzipped it and pulled out a fresh change of clothes. Shrugging into them, she didn’t notice the cold from the breeze off the river. Truth be told, changing was unnecessary, but wet clothes were uncomfortable and Lucita detested discomfort. Besides, water would do unpleasant things to the leather seats of her car.
Fully dressed, she reached into the bag again. With minimal fuss she pulled forth keys, a wallet, a handful of knives, and various other sundries she’d stowed the night before against just such an eventuality. Everything had gone, and was continuing to go, according to plan.
The bag emptied, she looped the carrying strap over her shoulder and headed for the road. She’d parked the BMW a few blocks off 91, which still ran parallel to the river at this point. Traffic was lighter and easier to dodge here, so she strolled across the highway, up the ramp and to a soft-serve ice-cream place set well back from the road and moated by more parking than it would ever need. It was here that Lucita had stashed her car. She’d had a rental ready to move in Hartford as well, but something had told her that she’d be wanting the fast car here. As the night’s exertions began manifesting as aches and pains, she found herself glad she’d listened to her hunch; she would have hated to abandon the BMW in Hartford.
As she approached the convertible, Lucita noticed something tucked under the windshield wiper. It was bright orange, and at first she thought it was a parking ticket. Another few steps brought the object into sharper focus, and the laughter she’d been suppressing suddenly died in her throat.
It was not a ticket. It was not a piece
of paper at all. It was an orange scarf, neatly knotted around the windshield wiper blade as a reminder.
Fatima had been here. Lucita had thought of the other woman earlier; now it didn’t seem like such a coincidence. Lucita stood, motionless. How long had Fatima been watching her? How much had she seen?
Had she been there tonight? And if so, was she waiting for Lucita now?
One of the parking lot lights chose that exact moment to flicker and die, and that made up Lucita’s mind. She reached down for a knife she’d taken from her cache, pulled it out, and walked over to the car. Without a sound she sawed the scarf off the wiper blade and let it fall to the ground. She then gave the vehicle a quick inspection for bombs and traps, not really fearing any—Fatima would never kill her that artlessly—and, her curiosity satisfied, she opened the door and got in. The motor purred quickly to life and, with almost unseemly haste, Lucita peeled out of the parking lot. 91 southbound beckoned a few blocks away; behind her, Hartford sent thin straggles of smoke into the darkened sky.
Mr. Schreck is going to get a phone call very soon, Lucita decided. So was her mysterious other client. She was going to take their money and everything else they’d offered, tell both of them that they could go to hell, and leave this miserable country.
Perhaps it is time to take confession again, whispered something that might once have been Lucita’s conscience. Time to go see your sire.
Lucita frowned and tapped the accelerator, even as the notion resonated. The car leaped forward eagerly, as eagerly as Talley had leapt for her not so long ago. But all of that was over. She was done.
Clan Novel Lasombra: Book 6 of The Clan Novel Saga Page 21