Beneath the Night

by Jen Colly

  She drank the remaining wine and set the glass down, her steady gaze falling over the dining hall.

  Navarre’s eyes settled on the half dozen empty chairs at his table. Without seeing the bodies of his friends, without being present at their memorial, he half expected them to walk in and take their seats beside him. At the moment, he could use a little honesty.

  “Cat, how bad was it really?”

  “You shouldn’t ask me that,” she said, but wouldn’t look at him. “Anything I have to say would hurt.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged, looking back out over the dining hall, still avoiding him. “I don’t share your talent for tact. You knew the men who died, some very well. When I came here, I didn’t know a soul. The bodies I walked over meant nothing to me. It wasn’t my loss.”

  “I understand.” Navarre drew in a long breath, let it out slowly, then said, “I need to hear it.”

  “To those who lost loved ones, peers, leadership, it was a debilitating tragedy. But for everyone below level five? It wasn’t bad. A few hours of panic and confusion. The city recovered very quickly in the beginning, until rumors of what had happened trickled down. Fear caused instability, but Savard held it all together.” Cat stopped and faced Navarre. “Listen, I know demons. They hunt, they feed, they go home. Demons don’t plot and plan to take over vampire cities, and why would they even try with such a small contingent? You only had fifteen dead demons at the end of that battle, and no idea how many got away. There couldn’t have been more than forty total that night.”

  “You say forty as if it were a small number,” he said. His voice had gone flat. Forty enemies was a massive number to find inside his city, his home.

  “If Stalker rumors are true and demons have their own city hidden within France, then yes, forty would be a small number for an attack. It seemed more like a tactical operation to me.” Cat snapped her mouth shut, bowed her head slightly, and slowly reached out to lay her small hand on top of his. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” His voice had gone raw. Navarre had tried to set aside thoughts of those he’d lost, focusing instead on moving forward, but at times the loss was impossible to ignore. “We know the demons targeted the right men to make the city fall.”

  “Men who just happened to be your closest friends,” she said quietly.

  “I know their deaths are not my fault, but—”

  Cat stood, her abrupt action derailing his train of thought. Not that he had an urge to finish that particular sentence. Still holding his hand, she gently tugged him toward her, expecting him to stand and follow. “I need you to come with me.”

  Curiosity sufficiently piqued, Navarre was more than happy to leave with her. “Where are we going?”

  “We have to get out of here first. You lead, I’ll follow.” Cat released his hand, hers falling back to her weaponry.

  Navarre moved quickly alongside the wall, hoping his long, purposeful strides would deter any who considered stopping him. Their hurried passing was noticed, but none barred his exit.

  The Guardians opened the doors, and Navarre stepped out into a now quiet foyer. As they left, Cat turned to the Guardians. “Anything?”

  “Nope,” Graydon said, sounding incredibly bored. “The crowd scattered about a half hour ago. Nothing since.”

  “Good. Go home, Graydon. We’re done,” Cat ordered.

  Graydon turned to the other Guardian, a young man Navarre didn’t recognize, and smacked his shoulder. “Told ya this job wouldn’t last long. Come on. First one’s on me.”

  “My dining hall is being guarded when I’m inside now? Has it truly come to this?” Navarre asked in disbelief.

  “You don’t like it? Take it up with Savard. He’ll listen to you, but he won’t change a damn thing. That man wants you alive,” she said, and motioned for him to follow. “This way.”

  Navarre knew his city. Left would lead him back home, right would split into a Y. One side went to the council room and the other to several aristocratic homes. They’d gone straight. Why would she take him to the church?

  “Cat, explain yourself,” he demanded. She shook her head and kept her steady pace.

  The walls down this corridor always seemed alive. Floor to ceiling mosaic tiles glinted in the light as they passed, the murals depicting biblical scenes, each framed by a graceful raised arch. His favorite had always been the Garden of Eden, with its vividly colored flowers and wandering animals. The emerald green of the foliage and the birds flying free in the blue sky seemed to remind him of the peace he endeavored to bring to his city.

  The double gothic arched doors ahead were open as always, the invitation constant. When Cat entered, she stepped to the side, and he did the same. Sound gathered here beneath the balcony of the church, the vaulted ceiling accentuating the echo, so instead of speaking, he waited for Cat to explain.

  She pointed to the pews. Her five children sat separately, eyes forward, focused on the candles lit before them. Eleven flames danced in votives. This was a night of remembrance. The children had lost a mother and father, and had lit a candle for each life lost. The eleventh candle, the odd light dancing by itself, had no doubt been lit in remembrance of Jovan’s sister, Ivette. “Two candles are missing from that night. The doctor and his wife,” Cat whispered, then placed her palm on his back, urged him forward. “You need to sit with them.”

  She’d brought him here to grieve, to reflect on what had happened, and to remember the good things in life. Cat was right, he needed to do this, but he didn’t want to disturb the children.

  Slowly he walked up the center aisle. Soren and Faith sat in the very back, beside the first pillar supporting the upper balcony. He hadn’t seen them initially.

  Jovan sat alone in the middle of the church, and he glanced up as Navarre walked by, but quickly looked back down at his knees. Rollin sat to the left, head down, broad shoulders slumped, and hands folded. Dulcina had planted herself near the aisle just three rows from the front. She glanced over and sent him a solemn nod.

  Oriana and Maeryn sat in the front row on the right, in the same pew, but on separate ends. They both turned to watch his approach, openly curious.

  Navarre lit two candles, then backtracked and sat behind the young girls. Maeryn peeked back at him shyly. Sympathy settled over her young features. One so young should not be such an expert at recognizing grief.

  Oriana fidgeted in her seat, and when he caught her looking back at him, she quickly faced forward. Twice more she looked back at him, then stood and raced from her pew to his, not stopping until she’d dropped into the seat inches from him.

  She tipped her face up, those bright round eyes seeing through him, and whispered, “I don’t light candles for the doctor and his wife because they weren’t my people. But I think about them.”

  Navarre cleared his throat, then whispered, “That’s very good of you.”

  Oriana nodded, apparently in agreement, then settled quietly with her hands folded in her lap.

  Long minutes passed in silence, and yes, Navarre thought of the friends he’d lost. He missed the conversations and camaraderie, their very presence. More than that, he regretted that they hadn’t seen their children grow. He recognized in them features and mannerisms resembling their parents, and though he felt a tinge of sorrow, he somehow felt as if they lived on.

  Oriana fidgeted at his side, acting as if something else was on her mind. She scooted closer, took his hand in both of hers, and patted his knuckles. A sad little smile crossed her features. “It’ll be all right.”

  He nodded slowly, looking down at this surprisingly well-adjusted orphan. Cat had done this. She’d made them as whole as was possible. “I suppose, in some ways, it already is.”

  The sense of peace that washed over him took him by surprise. Navarre believed in fate, and had on occasion seen it work, but never had he witnessed it to such an extent. These five had grown together, become part of a family t
hey wouldn’t have known otherwise.

  Maeryn turned, her chin resting on her shoulder as she looked back, but she didn’t look at him. Her wide eyes shimmered in the dim light, watery and sad. Behind him he heard someone stand and walk toward them. Jovan shuffled his feet as he came to Maeryn. The girl’s bottom lip quivered as she looked up at him. Jovan grabbed her hand, pulled her to her feet, and wrapped his arm around her. Slowly he walked her to the back where Cat waited.

  “Well, get up. We’re done.” Oriana patted his hand one last time, then pulled him up. “Maeryn can only take remembering for so long before it hurts too much. Come on. Soren and Faith left. You get to walk us home.”

  Oriana towed him up the aisle to where Cat stood watching over them all. When Dulcina hurried past them, Oriana released his hand to bounce eagerly alongside the older girl.

  Arms crossed, Cat waited for him to reach her side before softly asking, “Better?”

  “How did you know I needed that?” Navarre asked, surprised to find his voice raw.

  She shrugged. “Because they do.”

  Rollin made it a point to stick close to Cat, and Navarre understood the young man’s protectiveness now. The three left the sanctuary and walked together down the hall, Cat in the center. Jovan was ahead of them, weaving left and right down the hallway, causing Maeryn to narrowly miss crashing into a table along the wall. He pulled her to safety just in time, then steered her directly toward the mosaic wall, only to save her again. Maeryn giggled.

  Navarre smiled. “That’s the first I’ve heard her laugh.”

  “She only laughs for Jovan,” Cat whispered to him, careful to keep her voice from carrying down the hall.

  “Surely that can’t be true,” Navarre said.

  “I’ve tried,” Rollin admitted, watching the pair with a touch of sadness. “It’s not what he’s doing that makes her happy, it’s him.”

  Navarre considered this, then looked down at Cat. “I believe the people you need most in life find you at precisely the right time to save you.”

  “You’d better be talking about you, because I don’t need to be saved,” Cat said.

  Rollin stared at Cat, then Navarre, and must have thought better about inputting his own opinion because he picked up his pace to join his sisters.

  “Is he all right?” Navarre asked.

  “He’s fine,” Cat said, maintaining an unhurried pace. “I talked to him. He knows it’s not your fault about the bad dreams, and that since you weren’t exactly lucid, you wouldn’t have much say in who was dropped in front of you. He forgives you, but it will take time. He’s just leery of anything new entering our lives.”

  “He’s very perceptive for such a young man.”

  “Rollin’s been an adult since the night I met him.” She paused as they rounded the corner, scanning the corridor for threats. When she seemed satisfied, she continued, “I worry about him.”

  “He seems levelheaded, and caring. I find too many men are without those qualities. Why worry?”

  “Rollin is a protector. End of story.” She fell deep into thought, and Navarre wondered if she would ever elaborate. It wasn’t until they’d passed the large pond just before the royal corridor and all five children funneled into their home ahead, that she finally spoke. “He wants to be a Guardian, but he’s not ready.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Rollin has skills your Guardians don’t, because he’s worked with me. So in that aspect, he’s ready, but he cares too deeply for life. Any life.”

  “I see. You don’t think he would kill if it came to that.” Navarre stopped at his door. “You worry for his safety, and that is a natural fear for a mother.”

  “I’m not his mother.”

  “Cat, you care for the well-being of each child. You are their guide, their protector. By definition, you are their mother.” Navarre could see she wasn’t ready to accept his assessment, so he moved on to their original topic, Rollin. “In my experience, some men, through the trials of life, have become mature out of necessity. Others are born that way.”

  Her delicate eyebrows drew together as she gazed up at him thoughtfully. “Which are you?”

  “You can’t tell by looking, which leads to the real question: Does it matter?”

  “Not when the end result is the same.”

  Navarre nodded. “He’ll find his way when the time is right. Give him time to learn his strengths and weaknesses for himself. It’s the only way he’ll accept them.”

  “Speaking from personal experience?”

  Navarre smiled. She was, in her own way, attempting to get to know him. “Cat, are you trying to figure me out?”

  “I am,” she said, and then with a resolute nod, she walked toward her home.

  “Any luck?” he called after her.

  “Like I’d tell you,” she said, a smile lifting the corner of her lips as she slipped inside her home, leaving him at his door. Alone.

  Navarre entered his home, locking the door behind him. He kept the lights off, preferring the dim light this close to lying down. It helped to wind down his thoughts. After the overwhelming response to his return, and the time spent remembering those he’d lost, he longed to stare into a fire and clear his mind.

  He lit the tinder, then dropped it into the fireplace. Once he’d built a small fire, he turned off all the lights in his home and sat close to the hearth. The light danced around the room, playing off the books in his library. Kicking his shoes off, he extended his legs, letting the fire warm him. He’d done this bedtime ritual since his parents had passed. This place seemed as good as any to remember the happy times. The low flames crackled, begging for more fuel, but he only stared into them.

  The flames suddenly flickered as if wind moved them, but he felt no breeze. Tucked into his chair, Navarre remained still, his eyes scanning the dim room. Something inside his home had changed. The air itself seemed to whisper.

  He was not alone.

  Navarre stood slowly. Movement in the corner near the fireplace caught his eye, but he couldn’t specifically say he’d seen anything. It was as if the shadows themselves moved and breathed. Something was in here, but it wasn’t exactly a man, and not entirely Spirit.

  “You have my attention,” Navarre said to the corner. “Show yourself.”

  “The great lord of Balinese,” the shadow rumbled with a deep, thick Scottish burr.

  He eyed the shadowy space, still unable to make out the hidden man. “Must you sneak into my city, my home?”

  “I was no’ in the mood to enter by what you lot consider normal protocol.”

  “It’s not as if your entrance would have been barred.” Navarre held out his arm in open invitation to the seat opposite his. “After all, you are the Stalker Lord, are you not?”

  “I’m a myth,” he insisted, finally separating from the dark corner and fully releasing his Spirit form, the shadows shifting into an impressively large man. Though the man was heavily muscled and appeared battle-hardened, it was rumored that the Stalker Lord rarely engaged in confrontation, demon or otherwise. Now he sat awkwardly, his brawny build too large for the cushioned chair. “You’ve become somewha’ of a legend yourself. Rumor has it you’ve come back from the dead.”

  “Near death, but yes, that’s the story.”

  The black hair falling over the Stalker Lord’s forehead did nothing to soften his hardened features. Frown lines bracketed his mouth, and a deep worry crease seemed permanently etched into his forehead.

  His discerning gaze quickly took in Navarre. “You look well, lad.”

  Navarre crossed his arms over his chest. “Must you call me ‘lad,’ when we are both lords of our own domain?”

  “I’ve known you from the day you first opened your wee eyes and saw what was to one day be your city. You had the same look your father had the day he was born. So, aye. I must call you lad.” A hint of fondness rang in his voice, but also an authority that put
an end to any more attempts at changing his ways.

  Navarre laughed softly. Cormac Fadden’s mythical status as the great Stalker Lord remained so because no one believed a vampire could live so long without his mate, but he did exist, a respected man only ever seen in person by the lord or lady of a city. And his personal assassin. “I’m honored by your visit.”

  Slowly Cormac nodded. “As grand as it is to see you alive and kickin’, you are no’ the reason I’m in your city. I came for Mikael Burr.”

  The name was only vaguely familiar. “What has he done?”

  “When Mikael feeds, he leaves your city and comes to my Paris,” Cormac said. Were the matter being discussed not of a serious nature, Navarre would have found it amusing that a born Scotsman called all of Paris his city. “Mikael drinks to excess, leaving the humans he’s fed from nearly drained and clinging to life. The last one died. That life must have justice.”

  The Stalker Lord didn’t tolerate murder, and neither did Navarre. Technically, in this particular situation, Navarre had no say in this matter. The death of the human had occurred above in Cormac’s territory and the execution rights belonged to him. As lord of all vampires living above ground, the force that kept demons in check, a protector of humankind, and the man who made certain the secret existence of vampires and demons was never discovered, the Stalker Lord was responsible for a world of lives.

  Every lord bowed to the Stalker Lord’s judgment. This discussion regarding Mikael was merely a formality. “Deal with Mikael.”

  “It’s as good as done.” Cormac put his hands on the arms of the chair, ready to push himself up and be on his way.

  Before Cormac could lift himself from the chair, Navarre quickly asked, “Did you know about the attack seven years ago? Before it happened?”

  Cormac sat back down and shook his head slowly. “Nothing in my power could have changed the fact that someone let the fox into the henhouse. Life comes and goes, Navarre. It’s no’ for us to say what should’ve happened, who should have lived.”