Black Of Mood (Quentin Black: Shadow Wars #2): Quentin Black World

by JC Andrijeski

  “You think I could kill hundreds of innocent people, doc?” His flecked eyes shone faintly in the overhead lights. “Seriously? You think that of me?”

  I didn’t answer.

  I wanted to say no.

  I wanted to, more than anything.

  Given everything that’d happened over the past few weeks, however, I honestly wasn’t sure if I could.

  9

  THE BLACK PROBLEM

  “YOU SHOULD HAVE let me kill him.” Malakai tossed the magazine down on the table, its glossy cover facing up. His voice came out in a low hiss. “Have you seen this? The animal’s face is everywhere!”

  Lincoln’s face did not so much as twitch.

  Leaning back in the high-backed chair, legs crossed neatly, one over the other, he looked up at the other vampire’s pale face and red eyes. Those eyes nearly matched his long hair in color, and showed him to be feeling as murderous as his words implied.

  Lincoln noted all of that with barely a flicker of his gaze.

  “What would you wish me to do, precisely, friend?” he said.

  “What would I wish you to do?” Malakai let out a disbelieving grunt. “You’re joking, surely. Have you seen the way he mocks us, Lincoln?”

  “Of course I’ve seen it,” Lincoln said, weaving his fingers calmly over one knee. “Again, I ask... what is it you want from me, friend? You pulled me out of important matters to discuss this. I assume you have something specific you wish me to do?”

  “Why have we not killed him?” Malakai snapped. “Why have we not drained him dry? Him and his mongrel bride?” Seeing Lincoln frown, he paused, then added more pointedly. “I could have killed him myself today... and I know you could have, Lincoln. We could have done it together, with teeth and bare hands. We could have taken her. This would be over. What is there not to understand in this ask of mine, friend?”

  The rest of the vampires around the table watched, silent.

  Crystal eyes focused between Lincoln and Malakai, as if weighing each. They did not nod to Malakai’s words, but Lincoln strongly suspected most of those present shared his views.

  Lincoln sighed internally, his eyes drifting down to the cover of the magazine the red-haired Scot had just been waving in his face.

  The image there was modern and bright, incongruous with the antique slab of oak, as well as the white faces of those around it. It depicted a handsome man with expensively-cut black hair. He lounged on a king’s throne, one leg crossed languidly over the other, wearing a tailored business suit and a dark green shirt, a fake-bejeweled scepter gripped lightly in one hand. Aiming a cocked eyebrow at the camera, he smirked, gold eyes flashing bright under the studio lights. The jewels in the scepter matched the same glimmering green and gold of his shirt and eyes.

  “Unbelievable,” one of the elders muttered. “The animal has no shame.”

  Lincoln glanced up, saw him staring at the same cover.

  He wondered, briefly, what it was the elder expected Black to feel shame for.

  “He is taunting us!” another snapped, his hand clenching in a pale fist on the table’s surface. “Insulting our very race with these antics!”

  “He is laughing at us,” Malakai cut in. He planted his palms on the table, glaring around at the rest of them. “He thinks we dare not touch him while he covers the human media with his face.” He glared at Lincoln, aiming a finger at the magazine’s cover. “Which is why we cannot let this continue. The message it sends to the rest of the psychics is reason enough. They will all think themselves untouchable, if we let him get away with this. We must kill him. Now. Regardless of what Brick intends.”

  Lincoln sighed, aloud that time. “You are talking treason, friend.”

  “Treason?” Malakai straightened. “To voice my opinion is treason now? To question our leader as to his purpose is treason?” Stepping back from the table, he scowled, his large jaw jutting out. “I thought Brick said he could control this creature. I would like assurances that this confidence of his still holds... that we are not being told pretty lies meant to convince us of our new king’s invincibility.”

  Lincoln could tangibly feel the room shifting.

  Clearly, the others felt emboldened by Malakai’s words.

  “What do you intend to do about this, Lincoln?” another said, his voice openly accusing. “You are Brick’s lieutenant, are you not? Why are the details of this ‘grand plan’ of his being kept from us?”

  Lincoln gave him a faint smile.

  “Will you not answer?” the elder demanded.

  Lincoln held out his hands. “I cannot answer what I do not know.”

  Malakai glared at him. “We have already waited too long for an explanation of this ‘plan’ of brother Brick’s. Opportunities have already been missed. We cannot even expose the psychic’s true race now––not effectively. He has spent the last few weeks manipulating the major media outlets with false stories and misdirection. If we try to go public with what he is now, they would dismiss it as some sort of conspiracy theory. He has planted even more ridiculous rumors about himself. Anything we did would only sound like more nonsense!”

  Nodding, Lincoln merely steepled his fingers.

  He could not disagree that the psychic had strategized well in some regards.

  Another of the elders spoke before Malakai could go on.

  “Malakai is right.” Annalisa’s voice rang out as hard as the others, if more measured. “We cannot simply do nothing. Only yesterday, his military allies shut down two more of our shipping yards.” She glanced up and down the table, her blond, shoulder-length hair unmoving as she turned. “He is looking into holdings we have in Europe now. We must protect the assets we have left. The only way to do that is put him on the defensive. Force him to run by moving against him and his mate. Move against their human allies and friends, too. If we cannot go against them directly, why not kill a few people they care about, see if that sobers Black? That bitch mate of his still thinks of herself as human, does she not?”

  Lincoln gave her a hard look, but didn’t speak.

  “What if we cannot stop him?” another asked.

  Murmurs broke out over the table, agitated mutterings back and forth across both sides of the heavy oak slab.

  Lincoln let this go on, his large hands folded in his lap. He listened, interjecting nothing, acknowledging nothing, until he heard the tenor of the talk shifting from anger and outrage into something else.

  “We must act at once––” one of the elders began.

  “Yes,” another broke in. “We must kill them both. Now, before this goes any further. Malakai is right. Black is insane. Charles at least can be reasoned with.”

  “Charles stopped the tribute shipments,” Annalisa reminded him coldly. “He has clearly chosen a side. Moreover, he is blood uncle to Black’s mate.”

  “So what?” Malakai’s voice filled with contempt. “At heart, Charles is a businessman. Reason will override any irrationality of his regarding her blood, even if he is seer. Anyway, she is only a half-breed, is it not so? How loyal can he be?”

  Malakai nodded. “So we kill Black, kill his mate, then give Charles an ultimatum. Let him remember what he still has to lose. Let him remember who he is dealing with... and just how precarious his race’s survival is in this world.”

  “Agreed,” another elder said. “Charles we can manage. Charles is rational––”

  SMACK. Lincoln’s palm struck the table, hard, with a sharp report.

  Those around the table jumped, then fell silent.

  Lincoln aimed his gaze around at faces.

  “No,” he said coldly. “That is not how this will happen.” Pausing, he stared around at them, an explicit warning in his eyes. “Did you not hear me, when I said that brother Brick was immovable in his instructions on this matter?”

  The same elder frowned. “But don’t you agree that Black poses a risk?”

  “Of course he poses a risk.” Lincoln frowned around at all of them, u
nable to hide his contempt. “Blood of the Source, brother Brick is correct. This Council has grown as soft as kittens.” At the angry looks this earned him, Lincoln raised his voice. “My friends, the psychics have always posed a risk. Brick is simply addressing that risk head-on, and strategically. He is not forming delusional ‘truces’ with them, nor waiting to be triggered into fearful and mindless reaction by irrational actions they might take.”

  Gazing around the room, he asked more coldly, “Have none of you faith in your sovereign? Have none of you, who swore allegiance to him, enough trust in brother Brick, that you might wait to see his plan unfold?”

  The silence deepened.

  It was Malakai who broke it that time, as well.

  “Do you really trust him so much, Lincoln?” the auburn-haired vampire said. “Or are you simply shoving your nose so far up brother Brick’s ass in the hopes of succeeding him one day? You and your... pet.” With a distasteful curl of his lips, he motioned towards the fireplace, where one chair sat apart from the others.

  There, a single vampire sat, staring into the flames.

  Lincoln followed his hand, focusing on the lone figure.

  After a short pause, he looked back at Malakai, softening his voice. “I find it interesting that you would view my loyalty as a character flaw, Malakai, rather than the reverse.”

  Silence followed his words.

  A few looked nervously from Lincoln to Malakai, and then to the vampire sitting by himself near the fire. Up until then, they had all avoided looking at him, although Lincoln knew them all to be aware of his presence. Despite having so much of the room’s attention focused on him now, the vampire with the inhumanly pretty face and the pale, curled blond hair didn’t look up from the dancing flames. He sat motionless in the high-backed chair, looking for all the world like the favored son of an ancient castle.

  All he needed was an Afghan hound at his feet, and perhaps a downy beard.

  Lincoln continued to scan faces, trying to discern the truth behind the indecision he sensed there. Was Malakai truly their leader? How many were merely followers, and how many committed to this rebellion? Without feeding from them, without seeing their minds and thoughts through the blood, it was difficult to know.

  Flames flickered from white tapers, reflecting on stone-like faces. Around them, antique tapestries and paintings hung on the walls, making Lincoln feel like he’d stepped back in time. He could almost see himself there again, in those more innocent years––when vampires owned this Earth. Back then, humans ran from them in fear.

  Back then, seers had not yet invaded their world.

  In those years before the seers came, the worst they had to fear were angry villagers with swords, or the occasional vampire losing his or her mind, and attacking one of their own.

  Lincoln knew the art hanging on these walls was real. Most of these works had been taken directly from museums and private collections. Others had been scavenged during various wars. This house’s previous owner had been a collector in all respects: of art, of antiques, of music, even of expensive cars and other machinery.

  But Konstantin was dead now.

  That this group of aging fossils had chosen to meet here, in a house owned by their now-dead sovereign, contained its own kind of message, intentional or not.

  Konstantin had been the one to negotiate the truce with the seers. Konstantin had been the one to hand away their birthright.

  Worse, he had done so purely out of fear.

  Fear of the unknown. Fear of a power they had not yet understood.

  Now these frightened, soft-skinned vampires were asking Lincoln, knowingly or not, to return their people to the time of Konstantin.

  It was something Lincoln could not do. He would not do it.

  Moreover, he could feel little but contempt for any who harbored childish desires to return to the past. The past would never be again. Any who believed otherwise only deluded themselves––the specific confluence of events that created any moment in time was, by necessity and nature, fleeting and impermanent. Once gone, it would never be seen again.

  It was very human sort of folly, to whine when the world evolved around one, before one was ready.

  Lincoln knew Konstantin was not the faultless leader they believed him to be.

  The truth was, Konstantin put peace with the seers over the long-term safety and security of their own race. Such a thing was intolerable. It was treason––betraying not only his role as their protector and sovereign, but the very blood itself.

  Lincoln knew it had been Brick’s blade that finally took Konstantin’s head.

  The story about the psychics killing Konstantin was pure fiction. Lincoln knew that, because he, himself, had been there. He had taken a knee to his young king that very night, while his new king’s hands and clothes were still covered in Konstantin’s blood.

  In the end, and despite his relative youth, Brick had done what no other vampire dared to do: he put an end to that ridiculous and treasonous truce with the seers. He ended the old, corrupt and irrelevant reign of Konstantin. Moreover, Brick promised to go further. He intended to put an end to all truces––an end to all groveling and hiding in the shadows.

  Brick was a visionary.

  Like Lincoln himself, Brick grieved that their kind had for too long refused their rightful place in the world. Lincoln didn’t know why so many of their kind were reluctant to live out their true destiny. He didn’t know if a few cowards had brainwashed the rest, or perverted custom had been allowed to grow, then proliferate unchecked. He wondered sometimes if things had grown too easy for his race––if too much luxury bred cowardice and lack of will.

  Whatever the reason, he knew these things must change.

  Brick believed that, too.

  Removing Konstantin had been the obvious and necessary first step. That Brick had done so, mere days after he said he would, demonstrated a deep commitment to his words that touched Lincoln’s very soul. For that, alone, Lincoln had taken the knee.

  For that, alone, Lincoln had pledged his life.

  He’d long awaited a leader who would act, not only speak empty words.

  Now, looking at Konstantin’s living legacy in the form of his remaining Council, Lincoln found himself thinking Brick was right about them, as well. They’d forgotten how to fight, how to even summon the will to do what needed to be done. Fattened on tribute blood, they’d become more sheep than wolf. More pet than predator.

  In betraying the blood, they had lost its power.

  “Lincoln?” Malakai snapped, bringing Lincoln’s eyes back to his. “How does our fearless leader plan to deal with this? Clearly, some among us have badly underestimated this creature. You cannot fault us for wanting to know whether our king is among them?”

  Lincoln frowned.

  Malakai’s scarlet-painted eyes grew harder. “To go after the animal now, we need an army. From what I have seen of this creature’s profile, I strongly suspect he wants that. Clearly, he intends to commit genocide against us, if he is able. Or at least weaken us severely and drive us permanently underground.”

  Lincoln nodded, pretending to think about his words.

  As he did, he glanced towards the fireplace, at Dorian.

  The vampire with the white-blond hair was now using a short, bone-handled knife to clean his fingernails. His bow-shaped mouth pursed in concentration. His eyes––frozen, blood-stained pools––were tinted sharply by the crimson flower that bloomed at their center.

  Whether Dorian was at rest or in motion, Lincoln never saw that crimson diminish.

  Dorian always hunted. To hunt was Dorian’s natural state.

  His appearance remained one of camouflage, misdirection. With his baby-round face, full lips and white-blond, curled hair he looked angelic to many humans. His clothing was disarming, too: a soft brown leather jacket, white T-shirt, designer jeans. Basketball sneakers adorned his feet, one red and the other black, with white socks. He resembled a wealthy college stude
nt, or perhaps a young programmer, working for a tech start-up. Lincoln had even seen Dorian on a skateboard.

  Of course, he’d seen Dorian crush skulls with that skateboard, too.

  The camouflage worked less well on other vampires.

  Every vampire around that table knew exactly what Dorian was.

  Lincoln’s eyes returned to Malakai. “What do you want of me, friend?”

  “I have told you what I want!” Malakai leaned over the table, scowling. “I want you to kill him. Lure him away from his people and drain him dry.”

  Lincoln sighed, folding his arms over a broad chest. “And I’ve already told you, this is not an option. The issue is more complicated.”

  “Complicated? How? You mean because of Brick’s secret master plan, that somehow requires the psychic to live?” Malakai sneered, not hiding his contempt. “Fine. If he cannot be killed, convince Charles to control him. Pay him, if you have to.”

  Lincoln was already shaking his head.

  “The time for such negotiations is past,” he said somberly. “Perhaps we can negotiate with her, if the time comes, but he is beyond hope. We can no longer trust Charles, either. We must face this, my friends. We hurt and loosed a dangerous animal, one now bent on destroying us.” When Malakai opened his mouth to speak, Lincoln sharpened his voice. “Your king is very aware of this. Which is why you must trust him to use that fact to our advantage.”

  Harkness, an older vampire, drew Lincoln’s eyes from the other end of the table.

  “Reason with the female?” His black, sculpted beard rose and fell as he spoke. “Didn’t she kill Konstantin, our king? Whether it was her who wielded the sword or not, she began destroying our assets before we’d freed her mate.”

  He looked between Lincoln and Malakai, frowning.

  “What would keep her from retaliating even more savagely, were we to kill him now? If we kill one, we must kill all three. Let a new leader rise within the seers. One of our choosing.”

  Murmurs rose in agreement with Harkness’s words.

  Lincoln held up a hand, once more maintaining patience with an effort.