“Come,” Cicatrice said, pressing Topan’s shoulder.
As they left the crosscut, Cicatrice dumped the fuel from a lantern across the entrance to the crosscut, then smashed the lantern in the fuel. A small wall of flame licked up the crossbeams, threatening second by second to tickle the black powder and dynamite. They heard a cheer as presumably the cart finally tipped over, followed by screams as the mortals finally realized what was happening to them. Explosions ripped through the mountain as they emerged from the mine entrance.
“Why did you ask them to renounce Winter if you were going to kill them anyway?” Topan asked as they mounted their horses and joined the snaking line of immortals and their disciples ambling down the mountain.
“I wasn’t. I told them their fates depended on the answer to a question. They answered incorrectly.”
Topan thought for a moment.
“Loyalty.”
“Remember this day, my beloved get. Remember the wages of disloyalty.”
***
Cicatrice folded his hands in front of him. Price remained standing, too wary to sit.
“Shall I order you some tea? A speech therapist, perhaps?”
“The Hunter of the Dead has reappeared. In Las Vegas.” They waited in silence for a moment. “You’re not going to deny it?”
“I heard a rumor. I’m still trying to determine its accuracy.”
Price tossed his cell phone across the conference table. Cicatrice snatched it and glanced at it. The picture depicted a broken lance tip, coated with some supernatural black tar-like or oily substance. Cicatrice tossed the cell phone back onto the conference table.
“You have this…evidence?”
“I don’t. But I trust the people who showed it to me.”
“And what do you want from me exactly? We are sworn enemies, you and I.”
“There is a truce between House Cicatrice and the Inquisition. We don’t kill your kind and you don’t kill ours.”
“This ‘truce’ as you call it was bought through terror and intimidation. It is the not the foundation for an alliance. It is an understanding between enemies. A cold war, not a friendship.”
“It may be all we’ve got. There was a red telephone between Moscow and Washington during the Cold War. The Soviets and the Americans hated each other’s guts, but they figured out a way to stave off nuclear Armageddon together.”
“And you think the Hunter of the Dead is the mutually assured destruction that will make us strange bedfellows?”
“Perhaps.” Slowly, Price lowered himself into a seat. “Is he real?”
Cicatrice paused.
“Yes.
“Have you really seen him?”
“Yes. I’ve seen him.”
“Do you think he’s really back?”
“I think it’s possible.”
“What’s the other possibility?”
“A copycat. Perhaps an oldblood who’s gone off the reservation. Dresses up as a knight and starts killing immortals. There’s been rumors of a serial immortal killer in the community for some time now. It could all be an elaborate farce.”
“What if I told you he killed one of The Damned?”
“Not possible.”
“I don’t know how you can be certain about that…” Price started to say.
“I am.”
Price nodded.
“Well, if you really have access to The Damned and they’re not just some old legend like The Hunter, why don’t you go count them? Because I found a dead one last night. And hoofprints leading away from the scene.”
“You’re certain it was one of The Damned?”
“A lamprey-faced, ghoul-like monster with power that dwarfs even yours? Yeah. I’m pretty fucking sure I saw it. I’m pretty fucking sure I fought it and only got away by blowing up a gas station.”
Cicatrice leaned back in his chair.
“The Hunter is back. The Damned are stirring. Strange times we live in.”
“Yeah, strange days indeed, Jim. I want to propose that we work together to find The Hunter.”
“To what end?”
“To what end? To…stop him. To subdue him. To kill him if possible.”
“And why would you want that, Price? Shouldn’t you be happy that The Hunter is back? He’s doing your job for you. In a few years he’ll clear us out of every tomb and hiding hole on the planet.”
Price glanced down. A look of shame. Cicatrice leaned forward.
“Cards on the table?” Price asked.
“Naturally.”
“He owes allegiance to no one. He killed an Inquisitor, too. I don’t know what he wants or what his endgame is, but he’s not distinguishing between killing people and killing vampires. Your kind has a code and you have…restraint. This guy doesn’t. I think he may be an even bigger menace to mankind than you. If he exists. I’m still not 100% convinced.”
Cicatrice placed his elbows on the table and rested his nose on his interlocked fists.
“My intellect tells me there is no chance that The Hunter of the Dead has emerged from centuries of sleep. That he disappeared all those years ago. But my heart screams out that he is back. And if he is, then, yes, mankind and immortals both are in existential danger. He is vicious, soulless, relentless. A killing machine without mercy, without fear. He destroys the undying the same way a man swats a fly. He is indestructible. And he is very, very real.”
“I don’t believe anything is indestructible. That’s what they said about the Titanic.”
“There might be a way to banish him…to put him back to sleep. You would have to get your hands very dirty. And I don’t think you’ll like it.”
Price bit his lower lip.
“I’m in your office asking for your help. I’m already dirty. I already don’t like it.”
“Then I will tell you something you don’t know. The Hunter of the Dead is drawn to great concentrations of my kind like a moth to a flame. He came to the Necropolis. Then when he scattered us to the four winds, he chased down every large group until finally there were no more groups to chase. And then the code kept us safe: no more than one or two immortals travelling together, no more than a few dozen in any large city.”
“I actually know all of this.”
“Here’s the part you don’t. There are nearly five hundred immortals in Las Vegas tonight.”
Price’s eyes opened as wide as saucers.
“Five hundred? How could this happen without anyone noticing?”
“It seems they’ve congregated in the sewers and tunnels, while the Signaris kept them fed and happy and out of sight.”
“In other words your old blood enemies are amassing an army on your doorstep. And you think I should wipe them out for you.”
“I told you you wouldn’t like it.”
Price shook his head in disbelief.
“Five hundred? And you don’t care if they’re all destroyed?”
“It would be a blow to my kind. We’d be set back many centuries. But it would weaken the other Houses.”
“Oh, good. Vampire politics. My favorite discussion topic.”
Cicatrice raised his hand.
“More importantly: if The Hunter really is attracted in some way to mass groupings of immortals, it should make him fall back into stasis or go back into hiding or whatever it is that he does.”
Price put his thumb against his teeth.
“I don’t know, Cicatrice. Even in a daylight attack against five hundred nightcrawlers there would have to be hundreds of renfields. I mean, um…what do you call them?”
Cicatrice shook his head.
“I know what you meant.”
“And there’s just me and my apprentice. I don’t see how we could fight all that. But even if we did manage to stake five hundred vampires in their coffins…it’d take more than a day.”
“For two people, perhaps. You would have to call in your short friend and her brownshirts.”
“Bonaparte? Why would she hel
p me?”
“For the chance to fully dispatch five hundred of my kind? Sanctioned by me, no less? Wouldn’t that be the greatest victory in the history of the Inquisition? Your Bonaparte is motivated by nothing if not hubris.”
Price squeezed his eyes shut, as if visibly mulling over the possibilities in his mind.
“This is probably a trick.”
“On the contrary. I’ve laid my cards on the table, as we discussed. My life and the life of my new heir, and perhaps my entire House is in danger. You would alleviate this danger and dispose of The Hunter in one fell stroke. The sacrifice I make is five hundred members of my kind, half the fixers in North America practically. It’s a dirty, dirty matter, but Otto Signari brought these circumstances upon us. I did not.”
“You’ll show me this lair?”
“As soon as my heir returns.”
Price glanced at the bank of video monitors behind Cicatrice. He pointed.
“Is that her?”
On the steps leading up to the false pyramid Idi Han sat with Price’s protégé. They seemed uncomfortably warm and close. Cicatrice rose and began to walk out to fetch the girl away. Price rose as he passed and placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Cicatrice could easily have broken every bone in the man’s body, but he had turned out to be a possible solution to all of his problems, unlikely as that seemed.
“Wait. Do we have a deal?”
“We do.”
“I’m not sure we do. I need assurances. If I do this, if I pull this all together for you, can you promise me there will be no retaliations? If I do this huge favor for you how do I know two years from now some nightcrawler with an itchy trigger finger won’t come looking for me because I killed his cousin or whatever?”
“It’s well within my power to promise that.”
“Oh, I know it’s within your power. But how do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“I must trust that you’ll keep your word as well. There’s a story about a scorpion and a fox…”
“And I’m sure it’s a corker. But I want real assurances, not metaphors.”
Cicatrice glanced back at the video monitor.
“We each have a new apprentice in our lives and from them will we gain the balance we need. Killing you is a dubious proposition. But I have no doubts about my ability to strike at your young charge - even after my death. As I’m sure your arm could reach from beyond the grave for long enough to strike down my child. So through the children there is a truce. Is that a fair assurance for you?”
Slowly, reluctantly, Price put out his hand and just as tentatively Cicatrice shook it. As they emerged onto the casino floor, Idi Han and the boy were embarrassingly close, nearly nose-to-nose and laughing conspiratorially. They both jumped as soon as the door opened.
“Idi Han,” he glanced up and down at his get, whose clothes were shredded near to rags, “What happened?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle, Father Cicatrice.”
Price whistled sharply and jerked his thumb, indicating that the boy should join him. Reluctantly, the boy broke away from Idi Han. Cicatrice descended the stairwell and looked into Idi Han’s eyes. Already she was able to hide things from him. He would’ve been proud if it wasn’t so infuriating.
“Was the fixer’s tale true?” he asked in Cantonese.
She nodded.
“Where was the entrance?”
She told him.
“Very well,” he said loudly, “You two will stay here and out of trouble. And away from each other. I’m taking Price on a brief trip. We’ll be back shortly.”
“Eh, bring the kids along, Scar,” Price said, “They need seasoning.”
“They’re not salads, Price. And I don’t want my new charge being influenced by the likes of you.”
“All right. Just Nico’s coming, then. I want to keep an eye on him. It’ll be two against one then.”
“Very well, then. Idi Han, you’re coming with us as well.”
Ten
“You and Idi Han seemed to be getting along.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Price parroted back in a mocking voice.
Nico ran his bat along the macadam, turning it until the blades threw sparks.
“It’s not like we ran off to go make deals behind closed doors, you know.”
“You’ll dull the blade doing that.”
Nico lifted the bat and tossed it over his shoulder.
“You know, I could be back in my nice, warm apartment right now with my X-Box and a pound of fucking ganja.”
Price gestured elaborately in no particular direction, not knowing where Nico actually lived.
“Well, then why don’t you go?”
Nico jabbed the curved top of the bat into Price’s chest.
“Because I’m a wanted man. And it just so happens that you lied on your job application and there’s no way for the authorities to find that little roach motel you actually live in.”
With surprising speed and strength, especially considering his age, Price swatted at the bat, knocking it out of Nico’s hands and sending it tumbling away into the street. He took a step forward and suddenly Nico felt how intimidating Price was when he was really mad.
“First of all, I’ve told you from the start not to follow me around. Second of all, I don’t want to hear shit about the way I live my life from anyone who’s not paying my bills. And third the fuck of all, if you really want to be an Inquisitor one day – and at the rate you’re going, I sincerely doubt that day will ever come – you’re going to have to learn to listen to your head and not your cock.”
Price rolled his hips around, pointing in various directions as though using his penis as a divining rod. He made a disgusted noise and started to walk away.
Nico could feel his cheeks burning. Glumly, he retrieved his weapon from the sewer grate it had nearly fallen down. He had to run to catch up with Price.
“Carter!”
“What?”
“I’m sorry. It just feels like we’ve been wandering aimlessly for hours.”
Idi Han and Cicatrice had quickly led them to the entrance to the warrens where the Signari fixers had set up shop. Since then he and Price had been back to the funeral parlor Bonaparte called home and found it empty. They’d been wandering the streets ever since.
“I don’t like being on my feet any more than you do, kid. But Bonaparte’s not at home and she’s not answering her phone. We’ve got to find her and soon if we want to clear out those tunnels.”
“Well, maybe we should split up?”
“With an army of angry fixers on the street? I don’t think so, kid. Listen, I’ll drop you off at the roach motel.”
“No, nevermind,” Nico said. “I didn’t mean to be a dick. I’m guessing this job’s not all sex and caviar.”
“Not even a little bit. And this wouldn’t be the first night I’ve wasted on a wild goose chase,” he added under his breath, perhaps not caring if Nico heard, “or the thousandth.”
They plodded along together in silence. Price had talked about all the haunts he and the other Inquisitors spent time wandering – slums, cemeteries, funeral parlors, but most of all just back alleys. The same places where drug dealers and prostitutes and all manner of mortal criminals lingered late at night, as well.
“You know, believe it or not, I know how you feel. Exactly how you feel.”
“What do you mean?”
Price sighed.
I wasn’t always the asshole I am now, you know. I was young once, too. I was a young vampire hunter. And I believed that they weren’t so bad. I fell in love with one once.”
“I’m not in love with…anyone.”
“Okay, good.”
Nico looked at him.
“Well…what happened?”
“Exactly what had to happen. She was beautiful and young and we were in love. And I had to put a stake in her heart. She was a killer. And she would’ve
kept killing. She might not have killed me. But I would have either had to become what she was or destroy her. Can you live like that, Nico? Can you live forever, killing others to live? Trading your soul for a little extra life? Because that’s all it is. Everyone dies someday, even the so-called immortals. And in the end, you’ll have nothing. If you want to be with her, you’ll have to become like her. You make your choice. But if you choose her you’ll never see another sunrise.”
Nico opened his mouth to protest but a scream pierced the night. It couldn’t have come from any farther than a block away. He stopped and turned to look, rubbernecking. When he turned back Price had already made it halfway down the block.
They reached a T-intersection and Price placed his hand on Nico’s chest. The older man reached into his bandolier and tossed a stake loudly across the lip of the intersection, deliberately giving it some English so that it would clatter.
The report of three bullets cut through the air and Nico felt the breath knocked out of him as Price slammed him into the wall. When he recovered enough to see what was going on he saw that his back was to the wall, as was Price’s, and they were both lined up along the wall perpendicular to the alleyway.
“Just my luck,” Price hissed, rolling his eyes and taking his shotgun from his leg holster, “A regular mugging and I have to get involved. Batting a thousand, Price.”
“Carter, is that you?”
Nico and Price exchanged a glance.
“Could you say a word to let me know that’s you out there, Carter?”
“Why you shooting at me, half-pint?” Price growled.
“Well, I thought you were Blake’s backup.”
“Blake Turner? The Temuchin fixer?”
“That’s the one.”
Price whistled appreciatively.
“You caught yourself a whale, Bonaparte.”
“Right, I’m coming out.”
Bonaparte emerged from the alleyway. She was dressed quite differently from her simple mortuary getup. This time her clothes were decidedly utilitarian, with cargo pockets and an almost World War II-style cut to them. Like Price, she wore a bandolier of wooden stakes.
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