Vampire Thriller (Book 1): The Living Knight

by Jack Conner

  “I took her on the scenic route from Paris.”

  The Dark Lord convulsed with laughter. “I’m glad someone’s having fun these days.”

  Francois made a face. “There’s something ... not quite right ... about her.”

  “What race is she?”

  “A Finnish werewolf.”

  “Finnish, really. I always did like the Finland girls.”

  “Roche ...”

  “I know, I know. Did I ever tell you that you take things too seriously?”

  Francois pretended to count on his fingers.

  “Just enjoy her,” said the Dark Lord. “These may be the last days of my empire and do you see me complaining? No, you do not. Why? Because—”

  “You live in the moment, right.”

  Sarnova grinned. “Have you heard any news not related to the war, something to take my mind off it?”

  “Yes, actually. The odd flock, Ruegger and Danielle—you’ve heard of them, the American vampires, they go around saving humans and killing shades—”

  “Oh, yes. Very amusing. I had them here once. What are they up to now? Don’t tell me they’ve died. They may be a pain in the ass, but they are fun to have around.”

  “No, no. They’re fine. In fact, I heard they just returned from a vacation in the Sahara—during which they took another one of their ‘police actions’.”

  Roche rolled his eyes. “Who did they kill this time?”

  “A vampire named Triboli.”

  Roche shrugged. “Good riddance. Is it true people are calling them the Marshals?”

  “People are foolish. Ruegger and Danielle are getting to be celebrities.” He frowned, genuinely offended. “They go around helping our prey and killing us, Roche. I don’t think it’s as amusing as you do. I’m not saying we should kill them—I’ve been around too long to discount colorful characters—but they are quite anti-establishment, Roche, and, my friend, we are the establishment.”

  “So we are. But they can’t touch us, and we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Subaire, for one, and the rest of her Half.”

  Francois nodded grimly. Ever since half of Roche’s cabinet had sided with the Lady Subaire, she who had declared war on the Dark Lord, things had gone to hell. And if Roche, a man of never-ending enthusiasm, was joking that these were the last days of his reign, Francois knew even more dire events were ahead.

  “I think Ruegger and Danielle have the right idea,” said the Ambassador. “A vacation is just what you need.”

  “Right, and who’d manage the war while I was gone? You? You’d just nuke London and get it over with, probably. Who cares if humans discover our existence when we’re in the middle of a civil war and in the weakest position we could possibly be in? Who cares if they hunt us down like dogs when we’re too busy fighting to state our position, defend ourselves, make our peace ... ? No, my friend, you don’t like humans enough to manage a war taking place in a human city.”

  Francois rolled a shoulder. “All I’m saying is you should take it easy, Roche. It’s not going to help the cause if you get an ulcer.”

  “I’ll get an ulcer from friends as much as from enemies these days. And don’t give me that look, I’m not talking about you. Spies, Francois. This is what I’m worried about.”

  “What are you saying?”

  The lord of the castle swished the girl's blood back and forth in his mouth. “Intelligence has it that they’re here. In my home.” His voice nearly choked with rage as he said this. He glanced quietly around his beloved castle.

  The Ambassador was about to respond, but just then a familiar figure approached and he smiled.

  Victoria Lisaund bowed politely toward the seated figures as she approached; for a moment, she looked uncertain, as if she wasn't sure whether to kiss Sarnova's ring or hand before speaking with him, but when Roche Sarnova gestured to an empty chair, she accepted gratefully.

  "Thank you.”

  "No, thank you for coming to my home, young Victoria. We're most delighted to have you. You're British, correct?"

  "Welsh. I represent the Laegstrom, a small faction fighting within the front lines."

  "I understand you've got a special petition," Sarnova said, casting a glance at Francois. "As well as an intimacy with our shared friend."

  Her cheeks colored, contrasting with the strange look of determination on her face. "Well ... yes. He was very helpful."

  Roche lowered his head to the dying gypsy. Lisaund knitted her brows in consternation. Mauchlery would remember this later and draw conclusions.

  As Roche bit into the gypsy's big toe for the final time, the girl jerked suddenly and fell still. With a start, as he felt the psychic scream of Lisaund via the last dim thoughts of the gypsy, Sarnova jerked up and stared at Victoria, clutching at his throat and slipping from his chair. Lisaund flew over onto the ground with him, the heavy chair toppling to the floor.

  As Francois looked on in horror, the woman changed. Her clothes shredded about her and through the ripped garments he saw dark flesh and her face twisting outward. The snout slashed into the Dark Lord, teeth flashing and blood spraying.

  Assassin!

  Mauchlery leapt into the brawl. Bones fragmented in a chaos of sweat and blood, the ancient carpet sopping with red. In a moment, guards seized Lisaund, apparently some sort of werewolf-vampire hybrid, a strong and hairy demon-thing, and without pause dismembered her. They butchered her swiftly and efficiently, even cleaving in her beautiful skull.

  A clawed foot kicked a few times and was still.

  Sarnova's living remains dragged itself away a few feet and collapsed. His body was ripped open from throat to crotch and little remained of him that was recognizable; but he lived.

  Mauchlery himself had taken his share of the werewolf's fury and was savagely slashed and bitten in places too many to name, but he remained conscious long enough to pull the ruin of his friend into his arms and think, The revolution has begun, before he too collapsed and fell into blackness.

  Chapter 5

  Ludwig and Maleasoel waited at a circular glass-topped table on his enclosed veranda. He had a goblet of red wine to his lips and a hunk of beef Wellington on his plate. Bloody, of course. Maleasoel, the dark angel, with black hair, subtle fangs, and graceful wings tucked behind her, looked disconcerted, possibly at something Ludwig had just said, as Ruegger and Danielle entered the room.

  Beaming, Ludwig gestured toward facing chairs, which some helpful attendants held for them. A well-dressed young shade approached and placed generous portions of beef Wellington in front of the vampires, and Danielle had to smile at his unconscious hypocrisy; for a man devoted to stamping out class consciousness, Ludwig certainly employed enough servants and ate enough fine food.

  "Sorry we didn't wait for you to start," said Ludwig.

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” Ruegger said, and dug in.

  "Fabulous, isn't it?"

  "Sure is,” Danielle said. Then, to Maleasoel: "Thanks for following us today."

  "Ludwig's idea. I was supposed to keep an eye on you and let him know when I saw the Balaklava."

  Ruegger didn’t waste time. "What the hell happened this morning?"

  Smooth, Danielle thought.

  Ludwig pursed his lips and glanced at his wife. "It was a trap. Allow me to explain.”

  “Please do,” said Danielle.

  After a few false starts, he began: “The dissidents are trying to blackmail me into staying here at the compound as Liberty's leader, but I'm tired of this excuse for megalomania and want to tear it down. Unfortunately, that's not really much of an alternative, because the dissident faction is large and would prevent me from doing so. They want me to stay on because they know that if I stepped down at least half the population would leave with me. So the dissidents want me to remain, but they want me to advance my original plan, to start taking over the world. They feel Barrow would be the first logical target, just to hone their skills. I said no. Under the leadership of a man named Ca
ptain Raulf D’Aguila, the dissidents killed a close friend of mine. Gleason.”

  “You can’t prove it was Raulf,” Maleasoel said.

  Ludwig and his wife exchanged a glance. Malie’s cheeks flushed and she stared down at the table as if to look up from it would make her sick.

  “Why’d they kill Gleason?” Danielle said.

  After a ragged breath, Ludwig said, “To prove they were serious. Then, when I still made no advancements, they attacked Malie and blew up a building—killing several loyalists, I might add. Next we got wind that they’d hired the Balaklava—so we set a trap for them this morning. I'm very sorry that I had to use you as bait, my friends, but you understand that if I followed the orders of the dissidents I would—God!—be forced to enslave humanity! Unfortunately the Balaklava escaped." He raised his goblet and toasted, "To my courageous friends, and to better times."

  They drank. Danielle drained her glass and poured herself some more, then turned to Ludwig. "So you're saying that the death-squad that attacked us in the desert was hired by the dissidents in order to put pressure on you.”

  "Maybe. I don’t know much about the assassins in the desert, to be honest. I just knew there was a contract out on you, and I assumed it originated here."

  "Why wouldn't the dissidents simply wait until we arrived? Killing us here would've been more affecting to you. And once we were here why would they bother to confuse the issue by hiring the Balaklava?"

  Ludwig tugged on his lips. "I suppose that by hiring Junger and Jagoda they were trying to make the point that they were connected with powerful elements—yet another way of threatening me. As for why they sent someone to kill you in the desert—well, I have reason to believe that the dissidents themselves are divided into at least two factions: the more conservative and the more extreme. I suppose the more extreme wanted you killed in a hurry so as to make their point before the winter solstice, by which time north Alaska's three-month night is officially halfway over. They wanted me to seize Barrow while we still had time to expand our operations. If we could take the town and keep it secret, we could refine our techniques.”

  “Use the people of Barrow as guinea pigs,” Danielle said. “Fucking great, Lud. I’m so glad I know you.”

  “When the days get longer—and most of us must hide during that time—the task of organizing a force that could take over the world would be more difficult. That’s why we founded Liberty where we did, so that we would have this extended darkness. In the summers, as you probably know, we go to Antarctica.” He took a breath. “So now would you both please forgive me for being a self-centered jackass and putting you in peril?"

  “Not by a long shot,” Danielle said.

  His nodded sadly. “What else can I tell you?”

  “The Castle. Roche Sarnova. We have reason to believe the Dark Lord is mixed up in this.”

  “Why would Blackie care?”

  “Because Liberty’s gotten strong.”

  “He’d want it crushed,” Ruegger agreed. “It’s the only army that poses a threat to him. Except for the one that’s warring with him, of course. Which would make it even more important to stamp out Liberty; he’s got enough troubles without worrying about you.”

  “Really, I know nothing about it,” Ludwig said.

  Even Danielle could tell that he was lying. “So what of this mysterious visitor we’ve heard about?”

  "What visitor?" Ludwig said it a little too quickly. Seeming to realize his error, he immediately added, "I receive visitors all the time—some wish me to keep their identities secret. It's no big deal, just a symptom of being a movement's leader, I guess.”

  “And the Scouring?” Ruegger pushed. “The War?”

  “I know nothing about either.”

  Danielle could sense Ruegger’s blood rise, could feel that old dark streak blossom within him. He would want to lash out and beat Ludwig to a bloody pulp until he spilled the truth. But Ludwig was Ruegger’s oldest, dearest friend, and with visible effort he held himself back.

  “So,” Ludwig said brightly, “how about a game of pool after dinner?"

  "You still owe me five hundred bucks from last time," Danielle said. She shot a look at Ruegger, and he nodded. They would play along, for now.

  * * *

  The dinner continued on a more pleasant note, but Ruegger couldn’t help picturing their confrontation with Junger and Jagoda. Things had almost gone very, very bad. What are you hiding, Ludwig?

  When dinner ended, they moved to the pool room and the couples paired up. Ludwig opened with his own special cue and declared stripes. Ruegger played, mentally counseling himself to be patient. From time to time he looked out the enormous windows that faced out onto another terrace, this one running the length of the house on this side. In the distance, clouds gathered.

  Maleasoel, Ludwig's partner, gripped her cue delicately and leaned over the table. The dark flesh of her wings quivered slightly, as a muscle clenched and unclenched there—a nervous habit of hers. She missed the shot.

  Danielle smiled at Ruegger as he passed her his cue.

  She sunk three balls and scratched on the fourth. In a normal game, of course, immortals would have no trouble winning because of their sharper reflexes and more able strength, but tables could be custom-made for shades, as this was. Its balls and cues were heavier—no human could play with them—lending the game a proportionate degree of difficulty. The use of telekinesis was considered poor form.

  The game progressed, Danielle eventually sinking the eight ball with a triumphant yell, but as they began setting up the next game, Maleasoel smiled politely. "You'll have to play this one without me, guys. I think I'll get some fresh air." She cracked a sliding glass door and walked out onto the terrace, blue light falling about her and filtering through the tops of her wings. Before she slid the door closed, a gust of cold air briefly filled the room.

  Ruegger also declined to play, leaning against a wall and watching Ludwig and Danielle go at it. He was vaguely amused by some of the other tables in the room, namely a snooker and a billiards table. He thought it odd that Ludwig would spend so much money on games he couldn't even play. Most shades had large stashes of money and properties they'd taken off their victims, but not all were ... as materialistic as Ludwig was, as strange as that sounded.

  Leaving the players to their own devices, Ruegger joined Maleasoel on the terrace. The frigid air gusted forcefully, and it felt wonderful to his flushed skin.

  “Invigorating,” he said, then noticed, with some surprise, that Malie was crying. The wind played among the dark downy hair on her wings and blew her tears in a gentle stream downward toward the arching curve of her jaw.

  He laid a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off. With an apologetic smile, she turned to watch the rolling clouds and the lightning that flashed down.

  "I love storms," she said.

  "Especially here. The Northern Lights …"

  "Beautiful, aren't they?"

  "Very." He leaned out over the railing to peer into the dark tangle of the forest. Waited.

  "Ludwig—" she started.

  "What about him?"

  "He ... we ... never meant for you to get hurt."

  "I know."

  Her forehead furrowed. "It wasn't the dissidents that hired Junger and Jagoda, but I'm sure you've probably guessed that."

  “Who did?”

  “I don’t know. Truly. Ludwig does, though. And he knows more about the kavasari than he’s saying.” She turned to him. "This may be the last time I see you, at least for some time. Things will be different from now on."

  "How?"

  She placed the back of her hand to her nose and shook her head. Suddenly, she smiled. "I love to fly before the storm. Ludwig is always afraid I'll get struck by lightning or something, but it's so beautiful up there. Like a dream."

  She began to undress, folding her blouse and skirt into a neat wad and handing them to Ruegger for safe-keeping. He couldn’t help but notice
that she had a very nice figure.

  Her wings fanned out in anticipation. With sublime gracefulness, she mounted the railing and leapt into the abyss. Ruegger feared for a moment she wouldn't open her wings in time, but they fanned out gloriously and caught her above the frozen treetops, and the wind carried her away on the tails of the storm.

  * * *

  Later that night, when the couples had retired to their nightly activities, and Ruegger and Danielle were lying on the bed, she said, "Ludwig's a prick."

  "Did he ever beat you?"

  "Not really."

  "How much does he owe you now?"

  "Who counts?" Danielle said.

  "So what do you think's going on, here? Maleasoel was in tears, and Ludwig's acting strange." He saw her frown. "What's wrong?"

  "I don't know. They're so goddamned quiet about this morning. Do you think they were in on it somehow?"

  He shook his head. “High-profile shades are being killed in the Scouring, the Dark Lord is engaged in some mysterious war, Liberty’s in chaos and Ludwig knows something about what’s going on. The whole Community is in crisis. Add to that two sociopathic Balaklava and a kavasari, and what have you got?”

  “A mess and a half.”

  “Ludwig would never do anything to harm us. I know that much.”

  She let out a breath. “I know. He’s got his faults, but he’s a good man in his own way. But what’s the big mystery? Why won’t he tell us what he knows? We can take care of ourselves.”

  “Not against Junger and Jagoda.”

  She touched an eye fleetingly. He could see the moisture there, and raised a hand to trace her jaw. He brought her closer to him and kissed her. She broke the kiss and laid her head on his chest. He could smell the sweetness of her hair.

  "I thought we were dead this morning," she said.

  "So did I."

  Her lithe body trembled against him, trying to avoid an attack of tears. Tough as nails, she was.