Night's Fall (Night's Champion Book 2)

by Richard Parry

  Agni’s white-hot eyes moved to Rex. “You will all die here, and you are speaking of trivialities.”

  “He’s like that,” said Rex, putting himself in front of Sky. Rex tapped the side of his head. “I think he got hit in the head when he was a child.” He shrugged, a what-are-you-gonna-do? gesture.

  Sky looked around as they talked to Agni, distracting the thing that had eaten the power of his dead brother to stand, burning like a bonfire, in front of them. He can’t be killed with the axe. How do you fight fires? Her eyes moved to the walls of the room, the rich drapes hanging in silken promise. You smother them.

  “Really,” said John, “it wasn’t like that. My mother was very loving.”

  “You’re just lucky you didn’t drown in the bath,” said Rex.

  “ENOUGH!” Agni blazed, heat making both Rex and John stumble back. John — her John, her beautiful man — raised the axe. She could see it in the set of his face, the way he held his shoulders, just how he lifted the axe. He was going to die, he was going to do something to buy them a precious second to get free.

  That just wouldn’t do. Not this time. She felt something lurch in her stomach, knew with a sick feeling what she had to do. After this, she wouldn’t feel his touch, or see his face, or taste his kisses. She wouldn’t know what it was like to be his wife, and she wouldn’t see — again — how he ignored other women, his eyes for her alone.

  Sky grabbed the drapes off the wall, the heavy material coming free with a tear. The sound made all three of the men turn, John’s eyes starting to widen, Rex’s face one of confusion. Agni’s eyes, those white coals, narrowing. And before she could think about it anymore, she was running. Running at Agni, the drapes in her arms causing her to stumble, just once, before she got her stride. Sky hit Agni at a run, the drapes falling over the blazing man like a shroud, and she could feel the heat of the man burning the fabric she held.

  But she’d got a good speed up, hit Agni off balance, and her rush carried her clear to one of the broken windows at the room’s edge. She could hear John screaming behind her—

  Baby, no!

  —as she carried Agni out into the cold Chicago air, held against her like a prize. She burst into the cold day in a shower of broken glass, the building’s solid tears falling like rain, sharing her descent. The drapes were on fire now, her skin was blistering, and she held Agni tighter as the living flame thrashed against her, the air pulling at her hair as she fell.

  “Hi,” he’d said. “I’m John.”

  “I don’t care,” she’d said. She’d taken one look at that megawatt smile, at the easy way he stood, and knew he was trouble.

  The smile didn’t falter. “This is usually where you tell me your name. Because we’re introducing each other.”

  “Imagine,” she said. “Imagine a world where you go into a mall where everyone’s got advertising, right. And the advertising is all aimed at you. All the clerks, all the stores, hell, even the ice cream cart, they’re all trying to sell you something. And that one thing is dick. You can’t even buy an ice cream from the ice cream cart. They only sell dick, and that one guy at the ice cream cart, well, he’s only got one dick in stock. That’s what it’s like being a woman. Every man wants to sell you a dick, and I’m not buying.”

  “Huh,” said John. “You know, that’s fair enough. Can I interest you in a drink instead?”

  The air was really rushing past her now, and her shirt caught on fire. The pain was so much, not the burning, but the memories as they came to her as she fell.

  “I drive a cab,” she said.

  John was dissecting his dinner, something with chicken or fish, she didn’t know. The menus were all in French. “Okay,” he said.

  “Okay?” Sky frowned. “Are you even listening?”

  “Sure,” he said. “You drive a cab.”

  “You’re not surprised?”

  He’d laughed then. “I tell you. When you get to meet my buddy Val, well, you’ll understand that nothing much is really that surprising.”

  “What’s he do?” Sky leaned forward. “Spy? Elevator technician?”

  John had leaned back, savoring the wine. Or trying to. His face said yes, his lips said no. “He solves problems,” he said, then put his glass down. “Say.”

  “Yeah?” The wine was good, and at two-fifty a bottle it had better be. It was a little earthy for her tastes, and she was already doing the mental math on how many extra fares she’d need to run to pay off this dinner. But she wanted to enjoy it, because he’d asked her here.

  “Are you trying to get into my friend’s pants?”

  She blinked, then laughed. “I don’t even know who he is.”

  Something sad went through his face for a second before that megawatt smile came back. “Plenty of time for that, after I sell you the full bag-o’-dicks package.”

  The ground was getting closer, but the tears in her eyes were making the world a soft collection of muted grays. She tried to pull in a breath, but all she got was fire and smoke.

  “Baby,” said John. “Baby, I’ve got something I need to tell you.”

  Sky looked up from the kitchen counter. It had been a bag-of-shit day, one of those ones where everything was a red light in your way. “John Miles, this had better be good.”

  He’d looked a little stunned, but swallowed. “I love you.”

  “You … what?”

  “I love you,” he said. “See, I made a list.” He led her to the bathroom, where he’d written on their mirror with a Sharpie. Number one said she had a great singing voice. Number two was that she sang in the shower every morning. Three was that she didn’t hate his terrible cooking, and four was that she didn’t mind him being him. It went on, memories held on that glass in black marker, until she hit the end. It said “Number 20: Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Oh.” She didn’t say anything back, too afraid of what it meant.

  “Oh,” said Sky, the air taking her words away. “I love you, John Miles.”

  She hit the ground, and Skyler Evans didn’t say anything after that.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Adalia’s feet crunched over broken shards of a fallen vase. It had probably been nice once, the bits and pieces just holding a hint of perfect colors and a shape that held the eye. She knew if she tried hard enough she could step sideways into that other place and see what it had been, and what it could be.

  She didn’t want to. Being in the other place didn’t feel like being her.

  “You know, there’s probably going to be bad things happening up ahead.” Gabriel walked in front of them, his feet making no sound.

  “Do you think there are zombies here?” Just James’ eyes were wide and round, his head on a swivel. “I think Ghost Boy should go first.”

  “He is going first,” said Adalia. “His name is Gabriel.”

  “Loudmouth is still making too much noise.” Gabriel turned away, hands in his pockets.

  “Does he always call me James?” said Just James. “If he doesn’t I don’t have to call him Gabriel.”

  “Very mature,” said Adalia. Boys. “We need to find my mom.”

  “Wait one,” said Just James. “She’s a werewolf, right? She went in ahead to bust some skulls. That was the plan?”

  “Right,” said Adalia. “That was the plan.”

  “So, and I’m kind of talking out loud here, but wouldn’t she be right in the middle of the danger vortex? You know, random gunfire, sharp knives, harsh language, all kinds of scary things.”

  “Sounds plausible,” said Gabriel. “Just said louder than it needed to be said.”

  “I think there’s more biting and clawing from zombies, but that sounds right,” said Adalia.

  “Cool,” said Just James. “I think we should go to where she isn’t.”

  “We should find the Shield,” said Gabriel. “She is your armor.”

  Adalia looked between them, then blew her breath out in a si
gh. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. She took a peek sideways into the other place, not quite stepping there, just looking, then said, “They’ll both be in the same place. When the time comes.”

  “What does that mean?” said Just James.

  “I’m with Loudmouth this time,” said Gabriel. “What time?”

  “When the Sacrifice is made,” said Adalia. “When the Guide is blind. When the Shield is sundered, the Good Right Arm is broken, and the Knight Falls.”

  “Sounds amazing,” said Just James. “Why are we going there?”

  “To save the world,” said Gabriel. He still had his hands in his pockets.

  “Because we must,” said Adalia, “or my family will die.”

  “I figured it’d be something like that,” said Just James. He pushed the button on the elevator in the lobby.

  “That won’t work,” said Gabriel. “The power is out.”

  The elevator doors opened, a soft ding sounding in the lobby. Light spilled from the doors as they opened, a widening line being drawn against the dark carpet.

  “Huh,” said Gabriel.

  A man stepped from the elevator, a white robe pulled close about him, head covered by a cowl. He looked for all the world like a monk, a book held in one hand, a rosary in the other. His face was shadowed, but Adalia could see a clean jawline, a hook nose. The man’s head turned towards Gabriel. “Begone.”

  Gabriel had a moment to look surprised before he flickered out like a candle in a gust of wind, the air snapping where he used to be.

  “Hey,” said Adalia. “That was my friend.”

  “The ghost is gone?” said Just James. “All right.” He looked at Adalia, caught her stare, and swallowed. “I mean, that was a total dick move.”

  The man stepped closer to Adalia, the light from the elevator slipping away as the doors closed behind him. His face was planes and angles inside the shadow of his cowl. “I am—”

  “Saint John,” said Adalia. “Or, that’s what you call yourself now.”

  Saint John paused. “Yes.”

  “You know this guy?” said Just James. “How—”

  “Be silent,” said Saint John. Just James’ mouth worked, no sound coming out. “The Master needs you. He calls you.”

  Adalia felt cross. Who was this thing to tell her friends what to do? “We’re coming, but not because he called.”

  “You are coming because you are destined to die.” Saint John held the book out towards Adalia. “I am here to call you to justice.”

  “That’s not how this works,” said Adalia. She saw the eyes within the hood blink in surprise. She held up a hand. “Oh, I know you think you’re here for justice, or whatever twisted fantasy you’ve got. I know you think you hold power over the living, and the dead. You think you are the Hand of God.”

  “I am—”

  “What you are,” said Adalia, stepping sideways a fraction, just a tiny step into that other place, “is a fantasy.”

  “You’re not—”

  “What I am,” said Adalia, smoothing the front of her sweater, “is a reality check. By the sun that warms us, the moon that dreams with us, and the stars across the endless Night, I call you back, Gabriel Pearce. I am not done with you.”

  There was a snap and Gabriel re-appeared, off balance. He held out his hands, took a faltering step. “How did—”

  Adalia cut him off with a look, then turned to Just James. “James Malory, your voice is gentle and kind and spoken from your heart. I give it back to you.”

  Just James coughed. “Wow. That was … intense.”

  “Adalia Kendrick,” said Saint John. “Adalia Kendrick, I take from you your power. I take it from you, and call it my own. I hold it in my hand—” and here, he held his book in front of him like a shield “—and in my heart.” He held the rosary to his chest, and a low rumble of thunder crawled across the sky behind Adalia. The room darkened, leaving a small pool of light around where Gabriel stood. “The Master calls and you will come.”

  Adalia laughed, the sound ringing from her like the peal of a bell. The light eased back into the room. “Saint John. There is not enough power in the world to bind me.”

  Saint John looked at the book he held, then at the rosary. “What—”

  Adalia stepped forward, brushing her hair from her face. “Do you think I walk with the living and the dead by accident?” She felt full of energy, her skin taught with it. It felt like anger, it felt like justice. “Saint John, I call you by your line of Jones. I give you back your name, Bastian. Bastian Jones, I have given you back your name, and you will give me Saint John.” Adalia held out her hand, palm up. Waiting.

  The man shuddered, then sank to his knees. He retched once, twice, then threw up something black and bubbling onto the dark carpet of the lobby, where only the moneyed rich had walked. His face — a young face, now full of fear — looked at Adalia. He tried to reach a hand to hers, the fingers hooked like claws, before he fell sideways onto the ground. Blood started to seep through the robe he wore, and Bastian Jones let out one last breath before he died.

  “You … you killed him,” said Just James.

  “You called me back,” said Gabriel.

  “He was already dead. Stabbed, through the heart. I gave him back himself, and took away the thing that was keeping him from dying all the way.” Adalia stepped back from the other place, and almost fell. She felt strong hands and looked up to see Just James, his face full of concern. She waved him away, standing tall. “We have work to do.” She pressed the button on the elevator, heard the soft chime, and walked inside.

  The living and the dead followed her, the living a little more cautious than before. The doors closed with a hush.

  None of them saw as Sky and Agni hit the pavement, a fireball rocking the street outside. The windows of the lobby shattered inward, glass and tables and chairs and pieces of the sidewalk flying through the hotel’s foyer.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  “Talin Moray. I have come for you.” Danny felt the words as rough stones against her lips, as something less honest than what she wanted — needed — to do to the man who had caused her so much pain. Who had hurt those she—

  Pack.

  —loved. She finished shouldering aside the broken, sundered door, splintered wood and pieces of metal falling aside, made brittle by her anger.

  “Then come,” said a man’s voice, the lilt of the Caribbean in it. “We are well matched, you and I. What do you hope to do here? Kill me? You know you can’t.”

  The floor, the very top floor of Trump Tower, had been cleared out. It was a penthouse suite reserved for the very best, but no gated lobby stood in her way. The walls had been cleared aside, their roots exposed through what had been rich carpet and tile. Where expensive couches and coffee tables and televisions had stood, there was rubble, detritus left here after some cataclysm. The smell of broken wood, sheared metal, powdered marble filled the air, confusing her senses. Her eyes narrowed. There was something else here, something hidden. She placed one foot in front of the other, sniffing at the air.

  “Do you like it?” The man—

  Deceiver. Hunt. Kill.

  —stepped out from behind a pile of junk that could once have been a refrigerator, or just as easily one of a hundred other things that made up an apartment. “I’ve been redecorating.” He laughed, strong shoulders moving easy with the sound.

  “I will kill you. I have done it before.” Danny stalked closer, wanting to change. She wanted more than anything to be able to do that thing that her Valentine—

  Pack mate.

  —could do, to change when he needed it enough. But she couldn’t, hadn’t learned the knack. It didn’t matter. She’d crush the life from this little man, send his body falling all the way to the hard Earth below.

  Talin held up a hand. “You mean Volk?” He frowned, then tapped the side of his head. “I’ve been trying to remember. To see what happened. But I can’t. Which means it must have been you
that did the deed, not the wastrel Everard. He bit you, and so the line of memory stops there.”

  Danny remembered flashes, bits and pieces, the fight in a small room with her—

  Cub.

  —daughter, the impossible jump to a forest below, a bright flash and a race through trees, tongue lolling, teeth showing, the red rage falling around her and the sweet taste of victory as she licked her jaws. “I remember,” she said. “I know how we can die.”

  “That is something we share,” said Talin. He smiled. “Oh, not the way you’re thinking. Not by tooth and claw. There are other ways. If you stretch your mind back, you’ll see. So many ways we can die. Have you never wondered why the Earth isn’t full of our kind? Why we few remain?”

  “You are not one of us.” Danny stepped closer, cautious now. Her muscles bunched and flexed. She wanted to rend this little man into pieces, couldn’t understand why he wasn’t fighting her, tooth against tooth, claw against claw. It was the right way. “You have stolen from the Night.”

  “True enough,” said Talin. His eyes sparkled at her surprise. “You expected me to deny it? For many long years I’ve been watching, waiting, hunting. I knew it was out there, snatches of story, told around a hearth, pointing at impossible power. Untapped, ungoverned. All that was needed was for one of you to not want it. And then it could be lifted, light as a feather, soft as a dove. Transferred. I’ve almost got it all, and soon — when Everard comes in here in a deluded attempt to save you — I will have the last few drops.”

  “Save me?” Danny laughed at the absurdity of it. The sound was harsh and guttural, the change sitting just under her skin, waiting for release. “From what? You, a fragile little man with a stolen bag of treats?”

  Talin’s face darkened. “Do you know the power of this gift? How much strength you have both wasted?”

  “I know it is a curse. I know it drives us from hearth and home. It makes us wander the dark places of the world, to take our Cub into places it is not safe. But for all that, it is a gift. It is the gift that will end you.” Danny wiped drool from her chin, then licked her lips.