The Darkest Colors

by David M. Bachman

  Lady Kathleen’s actions were terribly telegraphed and slowed by her weariness and her injuries, but no less valiant. She made an upward slash at her foe, then drew back and thrust at her midsection. Both attacks were easily deflected by the Countess’s blade, then countered by doing little more than a solid kick to her wounded opponent’s side that sent her stumbling backwards. The arrogant blonde High Court made the attack appear to be utterly sad and had defeated it as casually as she would have in waving off an insect buzzing about her face.

  “This is not a fight, child. This is suicide.” She sighed and shook her head sadly, looking to Sebastian. “It’s a shame. Can the House of Fallamhain not find wiser, more mature servants? Can it not bring in proper warriors of true High Court blood to defend its honor?”

  “Please, m’lady, do not do this,” Sebastian pleaded, gripping the sheath of his own sword tightly in his left hand. He had brought it out of the Lincoln upon seeing Christopher’s body. “Let me stand in her place. Your feud is with the Fallamhain bloodline, not its associates.”

  “My feud is with anyone who would dare support the hypocrisy and madness that your Grand Duchess represents!” she cried out, shoving away from the cement base and stepping toward Lady Kathleen with her eyes fixed upon Sebastian. “Your Grand Duchess is a fool and a madwoman! Your Grand Duchess has ruined our noble High Court, tainted our race with the blood of peasants and fools, and put us on the road to extinction! Your Grand Duchess is a power-hungry demon that has sexed her way to the top of the Council, betrayed all whom have supported her before, and tried to kill anyone who dares question her!”

  “Mind your words, Countess. She is your Grand Duchess as well as mine. Unless you intend to renounce your position, you must acknowledge Duvessa as your Grand Duchess and ruler,” he reminded her firmly. He hoped to keep her talking, hoped to distract her from what she clearly meant to do, but he was failing even as he finished his sentence.

  “Renounce my position? What position is that? The position of someone deemed unworthy of the Fallamhain name, simply because I do not follow her with blind acceptance and an idiot’s devotion? Because I object to your refusal to atone for your own deeds? Because I hate her for allowing so much evil to unfold for so long? Because I despise her for what she allowed you to do to me?” she demanded loudly. “Before this moon’s end, it is I who shall be Grand Duchess when I cut down that miserable whore! It shall be your people that shall renounce her position, and it shall be you that shall acknowledge me as your queen!”

  The one-handed blow she unleashed upon Kathleen was not intended to strike her foe directly, but rather to deflect her weapon. Lady Kathleen’s sword was slapped down and aside with a loud clanging, taking her by surprise, and the Countess reversed the stroke upwards before the young Commoner could react. The blade drew across both of her arms in a clean slash that cut her deeply enough that she instantly released her own sword. The weapon clattered to the concrete driveway underfoot as the second blow was dealt. Countess Wilhelmina spun upon her heel and dropped to one knee as she delivered a picturesque horizontal slash to Kathleen’s abdomen. For a split second, Sebastian had almost expected to watch her body fall apart in two sections, but the blow had been a gliding slash rather than a hacking blow. Barely able to adequately articulate her badly wounded arms, Kathleen nevertheless managed to catch the spill of her own intestines as she collapsed to her knees with a half-gag, half-shriek of miserable agony. Countess Wilhelmina stood tall, circled calmly around her fallen opponent, and kicked away her sword before looking up at Sebastian with a hateful stare.

  “You could have stopped this,” she informed him. “I offered you my hand in union before, but you turned me away. Even after you used me, I was stupid enough to throw my heart at your feet, and even then you rejected me. I bared my soul to you, and you threw me away. If you had been a more noble and honest man before, if you had at least tried to atone for your sins, we could have been lovers instead of enemies.” She moved to stand behind a screaming Lady Kathleen, grabbing a handful of her long, wavy brunette hair to hold her aloft before she could fall over. She had to shout to be heard over her victim’s dying cries. “Why would you defend this? How could you be so blind, so stupid to choose this over me, this cult weakness and arrogance? Are you such a fool that you would willfully choose this?”

  Rather than wait for a reply, she laid the edge of her sword against Lady Kathleen’s throat and drew it smoothly across, murmuring something under her breath. She released the mortally wounded Commoner’s hair and took a step back to observe her fallen enemy. Kathleen was still trying to scream, but the only sound that escaped her now was a disgusting, airy gurgle.

  Sebastian had to forcibly shut out the flood of her emotions that he sensed, even closing his eyes and looking away slightly with the effort to shield himself from the last agonizing, sorrowful, terrified moments of her life. Lady Kathleen had been such a brave young woman, as attractive in personality as she had been to behold, and it was tragic to see her die at such an early age and in such a grisly manner. True, she had been headstrong and naïve, but that had been no reason for her to die like this. She had only been a vampire for two years; combined with her human life, she had only been alive for twenty-four years, as had her fallen comrade, Christopher.

  Sebastian only looked to her again when he heard a strangely muffled sound of a sword scraping against the pavement. The Countess had impaled Lady Kathleen with her sword and then given the weapon a sharp twist. The direct downward thrust of her blade directly through the Commoner’s heart was enough to make her death mercifully swift, rather than what would surely have been a long, slow process of choking to death. It seemed almost out of character for Wilhelmina, given her wickedly sadistic nature, but apparently she had more pressing motivations to satisfy on this night.

  Countess Wilhelmina jerked the sword from Lady Kathleen’s chest, the blade audibly scraping bone as she did so, and she knelt slightly to clean the blood from her sword by wiping it upon the sleeve of Kathleen’s blouse before re-sheathing it. Dimly, Sebastian was aware of the public outcry of shocked and horrified human observers around them. The Countess seemed to bask in it for a moment or two, smiling and glancing around to savor their reaction. Quite theatrically, she slipped off one of her gloves as she continued to kneel beside Lady Kathleen’s body, wiped a finger right through the killing wound she’d just made, and wrapped her full, pink lips around that digit. She was mocking him, goading him. He didn’t need encouragement. He had already wanted to kill her, long before Lady Kathleen, Lord Christopher, or any of the others had fallen victim to this ancient dispute. It was both his professional and his personal responsibility to put this bitter and foolish conflict to rest forever. It was his obligation to destroy this monster that he had helped to create.

  “Nothing will erase the sins of our past. What has been done is forever in the past. What you have done now has sealed your fate. Stand and draw ready, Countess,” Duke Sebastian Fallamhain commanded her. “Let us end this madness tonight.”

  * * * *

  Chapter Six

  Was she pushing things too far again? First Halloween, and now this. She could credit herself for having finally said what she’d always wanted to – that she truly loved Raina – and she had managed to pass that phrase off so casually that Raina hadn’t freaked out about it at all. She hadn’t even blinked at the dreaded “L-word.” But then, she was sure that was entirely a matter of context. She had been trying so hard to butter her up for the delivery of that little bombshell that she’d inadvertently turned it into a dud. It had come off sounding like that ridiculous line, “I love you like a sister.” Who the hell loved their sister enough to want to make love to them? Well, aside from backwoods hillbilly rednecks, anyway…

  Brenna was nearing the last of her second clove cigar since she’d watched Raina depart with Duke Sebastian Fallamhain. God, what a lucky bitch, she had thought at the time; now, she was beginning to wonder if it was a
matter of good luck or ill fate that she’d been selected and led out by that famous High Court. It only took Raina about fifteen minutes at the most to do an after-hours draw. She had been gone for at least thirty minutes now … or maybe longer. She should have looked at the clock earlier.

  Sure, there was a very slim chance that the guy had decided to put the moves on her pretty human friend, and an even smaller chance that she’d given in to his advances. Raina had never been with a vampire, to her knowledge, and what better way to have her fang-cherry popped than with a High Court? Brenna just didn’t see that as a likely outcome. The thought that the Duke was the type to use his status and connections to snap up chicks at random for late-night snacks was a very scary and much more believable possibility. She knew of less-connected and totally unknown Commoners that had been getting away with it for quite awhile. She’d heard that some of those freaks prided themselves upon “living by the old ways” and getting their blood fix from victims instead of volunteers.

  Raina wasn’t naïve or helpless, but she was no match for even a single Commoner vampire, much less a High Court. The longer Brenna waited, the more she began to worry. She had left one of the twenties on the bar to cover their ten-dollar tab – what the hell, it was on his dime, not hers – and took the rest with her as she stepped outside, lighting up a third Djarum Black from the glowing remains of her second.

  She stood outside the door and took a long drag from the little cigar. It wasn’t really a cigar in the traditional sense; it was more of a clove cigarette, but wrapped in tobacco instead of paper since that stupid regulation was passed to ban most flavored cigarettes. Raina’s car was still parked where it had been earlier, but it didn’t appear that the dome light was on. That could have meant a lot of things. She might have left with the Duke to go back to his place for the blood draw … and for whatever else he might’ve had in mind. Maybe she had just finished and was having a lengthy conversation with him – hey, how often did a person get to have a one-on-one talk with a vampire like that? Brenna stared at the big-ass Lincoln for a few seconds, noting that it wasn’t rocking at all, and she decided that Raina wasn’t in the process of literally getting royally screwed, either. Even if any of those things had actually happened, Raina would have at least called or sent a text message.

  Any other time, those dark tinted windows were a blessing because they kept other cars from blinding Brenna when she rode along with Raina, but they also completely obstructed her view of the interior … and, she supposed, that was the whole idea behind them. For all she knew, Raina could be lying dead inside her own car, drained of every last precious drop. That thought was enough to make Brenna take a few steps across the worn blacktop parking lot. She stopped less than a third of the distance along, however, as she realized that she was being foolishly emotional about the whole deal.

  Plain and simple, Brenna was consumed with love and guilt. She had been kicking herself for months over “The Halloween Incident,” as it was coming to be known, and not just so much for getting Raina drunk and setting her up with a random guy. Partly, it was shame for the measure of deceit she had used against her dear friend and her deviant scheme that had involved such a random chump as Steve. Mostly, however, it was regret for failing to do what she should have done. She should have just told Raina then how she felt for her, rather than waiting another six months just to see if the feeling had been mutual. In fact, unless she did something about it soon, unless she just came right out and said it, things could have gone on like this for years. She treasured her friendship with Raina, knowing that she was the only true, good, wholesome, honest friend that she had in this world. Brenna had a lot of people that she called friends, but so many of them were just acquaintances that would just as soon screw her over for one reason or another as they would anyone else. Raina would never be like that with her. Raina was a quality friend, through and through. Raina was fucking golden.

  Brenna flicked away the remains of her Djarum Black and re-entered the bar to reclaim her seat. She buried her face in her hands for a moment. This whole idea that Raina was the potential victim of vampiric seduction and violence was just an idiotic cover, a distraction from the truth. Brenna wanted to get it out in the open now, tonight. She couldn’t stand holding back like this any longer. She’d never been this reluctant to admit her interests to a guy before, so why should it be any different with another woman? She had already dated a few females, and not just for sex. But she’d never loved another woman, not seriously … not until Raina had entered her life. She didn’t look at it as a matter of Raina being her first homosexual love; instead, she simply saw Raina as the first person that had ever been willing to just accept her at face value, with all of her flaws, quirks, obnoxious habits, and general bitchiness. Guys didn’t usually get that attached to her, not enough to really care and to really forgive her less appealing traits. Men wanted to fuck her, not love her. And, admittedly, her personality had sort of prevented relationships from having a chance to really advance much beyond a bit of bedroom fun before she turned them off. Brenna pushed people away because she was afraid of letting anyone get too close – she had been aware of that for years. Even Raina was guilty of the same thing, and probably for similar reasons. But Raina would never use her, tell her what she wanted to hear, buy her things, or do things for her simply because she wanted to get her hands on her tits or dump a load of DNA on (or inside of) her. She was every bit as lonely as Brenna, but only by her own choice. It was about time they both put an end to that. The whole ruse was every bit as absurd as standing next to a fountain of pure water and choosing to die of thirst.

  “You doing okay, honey?” the perky dumb blonde behind the counter asked.

  Brenna ran her fingers through her hair and sat up, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “Decided to stay for another round?”

  “I guess so. Could I get another stein of Coors Light?”

  “Coming right up,” she replied with a subtle bounce that made her chest trophies jiggle. Bikini-top nights were so distracting. Pointing to the empty stool nearby, she asked, “What about your friend? Is she coming back?”

  “I sure hope so.”

  Brenna wanted to light up another cigar and take a long drag from it. Damn this Arizona ban on public smoking! She wasn’t sure why she still smoked, anyway. The nicotine addiction had technically been erased when she’d taken on the Change a couple of years ago, and clove cigars had always been too strong for her liking when she’d been a human. These nasty little black mini-cigars were the only thing that seemed to give her the same “proper” nicotine rush that she remembered as a human.

  Still, she couldn’t seem to kick the habit. It was strictly psychological – an oral fixation, perhaps. The only differences now were that she didn’t smoke as often and, when she did, she was hardcore about it. As far as she knew, vampires never died from cancer or heart attacks, but she still wondered what happened to all of the gunk she inhaled when she was chain-smoking like this. Some of it occasionally emerged in the form of some nasty phlegm, but what about the tar in her lungs? None of the old vamps ever smoked, as far as she knew. She wasn’t dumb. Resisting vices like tobacco, booze, and drugs wasn’t a secret formula for longevity – it was perspective. Vampires that had already been around for a while knew well enough to take care of themselves; others, such as Brenna, figured that they would meet their end soon enough through one untimely means or another, so why bother abstaining from indulgence? Within reason, of course…

  As she finished that thought, the blonde returned with another frosty mug of brew that matched her hair color. “Want to start up another tab?”

  “Nah. I’m taking off as soon as she gets back,” Brenna replied, tossing the Duke’s wadded-up twenty onto the counter.

  “You sure she didn’t just take off with Prince Charming?” the blonde asked with a wink. “I know I sure would have, if I’d been in her shoes.”

  Brenna said nothing as she p
icked up the mug and took a long pull from it. Again, chemical addictions were hardly an issue for vampires, as it took an incredible amount of booze to get her smashed, but she still loved alcohol. For once, it was strictly a matter of taste, and not at all the buzz that came with it. Besides, she’d sooner get sick with fullness than intoxication before she could ever get drunk on beer. Her usual weapons of choice for destroying her sobriety were hard liquor, blood, weed, and sex. Alas, alcohol was far easier to obtain than the other three.

  She avoided the usual temptation to run her eyes over the late-night crowd. Too many guys interpreted her stare as being flirtatious when she didn’t mean for it to be. After all, when she liked a guy, she left them absolutely no doubt about it. It was just the usual bunch of mugs she’d seen a hundred times before in here anyway. Instead, she turned to stare at the televisions above. She couldn’t have cared less about the high-stakes poker game in Vegas, she didn’t give a damn about any of the sports reruns being played, and she’d sooner fall asleep where she sat than try to answer one of those random goofy trivia game questions. When her eyes drifted over to the second television to her right, she had to squint a bit to read the words printed on the very worn and discolored screen. She read the news headline, froze, read it again, and nearly choked upon the mouthful of beer she’d just begun to swallow. Her drink sloshed over the brim and coldly splashed her fingers as she slammed her mug upon the counter, waving frantically to the bartender.

  “Turn … hey! Turn that shit up!” she coughed, stabbing the polished nail of her index finger in the TV’s direction. “C’mon, dammit! Hurry!”