Relics

by K. T. Tomb

  At least, that was the justification that allowed him to sleep at night.

  Now, with the hermetically-sealed parchment under his arm, he parried his opponent’s thrust. The knife was almost as long as a short sword and the little beast really seemed to have precision-like control over it.

  The parried knife blade stuck into the back of his sofa cushion.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  The knife was pulled free, along with some stuffing, which spilled out like the intestines of the dead man on his floor.

  Knight looked up from his disemboweled sofa and saw that Jess had her hands full with the Amazon-sized woman. Actually, they were very near the same size and he would like to wrap things up with these final two to catch a glimpse of the mother of all catfights. The Fallen were tougher and stronger than he would have guessed. It took all of his skill to not only defeat them, but to stay alive.

  The two remaining Fallen, one a shorter man with a blonde goatee, the other, perhaps Middle Eastern, spread out to his right and left. They were planning to pick him off from a distance, one striking while the other retreated, the way hyenas wear down lions.

  Not that he thought of himself as a lion.

  Well, not really, although the comparison, in this case, was valid.

  He needed something with range and he saw a Japanese fighting stick lying across the chest of the man he had killed just moments ago.

  He used his sword as a spear and hurled it at the closest Fallen. The short man dodged to the left and smiled. As the spear stuck deeply into the wooden frame of the doorway leading down into his studio, Knight was already moving. He did a neat little backflip that allowed him to snatch the wooden fighting stick on his downward plunge with his hands.

  He came up smoothly, holding the stick.

  He spun and faced the two Fallen.

  In the far distance, he heard sirens. Even though he nearly lived in seclusion on this patch of sand, with one side of his home cut off by a peninsula, someone had managed to hear and called the cops. Perhaps the many gunshots had carried into the Malibu night. Or someone walking the beach had heard the commotion in his house.

  Or, worse, perhaps someone had come across the body the Fallen had feasted on. That is, if they had managed to leave any of it behind.

  His house was littered with corpses. There was absolutely no way to explain any of this. He had to make short work of these last assailants and then he would bolt with Jess.

  Just as he thought her name, he had a glimpse of her raising her sword high and striking down, severing the head of her opponent.

  The others approached him again, heedless of the call of the sirens. They truly did need a leader, for they were helpless on their own.

  The one type of vampire Anne Rice had yet to write about, he mused.

  First, the darker-skinned one flashed forward and Knight moved to cut him off, swinging the wooden stick. Just as the first one attacked, he abruptly backed off. When he did so, the shorter one made his move in a coordinated manner.

  Knight knew the game and knew what he had to do.

  Using the length of the pole, he charged the second man, startling him. As if running with a pole vault, he drove the blunted wooden tip into the man’s forehead and abruptly stopped and swung the pole over his head. The darker-skinned one had been behind him and the sudden appearance of the pole had cracked his temple.

  Both were out cold.

  The sirens were growing louder.

  A flash of movement at his side. Knight raised the fighting stick, turned his head, and saw that it was Jess. She had moved to the first of the unconscious Fallen, the short man with the goatee. She lifted his head and brought down the edge of her sword.

  “Stop!” said Knight.

  The sword edge stopped inches from the man’s throat. Jess blinked and turned to him. Her eyes were a little too wild. She was not the woman of his dreams. She was a warrior and a cold-hearted killer. “What?” she asked.

  “You can’t just kill him like that.”

  “He is a killer, Evan. He preys on humans. He feasts on the dead. He will be commanded to kill you later. He will be commanded to kill me later.”

  “Then let him, or us, die on the battlefield.”

  “You give honor to an animal? You give honor to a creature that would never return it?”

  “I do.”

  “Fine,” she said, and let go of her handful of hair. The man’s head thudded down on the wooden floor. Already a massive bump was appearing between his eyes.

  The sirens had stopped outside of the house. Knight could see the flashing lights coming from the distant street. Knight’s property was gated. It would take the police a while to hop the fence and walk his half-mile driveway.

  They both turned to Morina.

  She was standing now over the body of the older man. She was also holding a gun, pointed at Knight’s heart.

  “Now I will kill the Chosen One,” she said. Perhaps a little too insanely, thought Knight. “And be rewarded by Sulina, once she takes over paradise and the Tree of all Life.”

  Jess and Knight both held their swords steady. Each was only a few feet from Morina. Knight knew that one of them, or the other, could take a swipe at Morina, but the other would risk being shot.

  Jess said, “You kill Knight and I will simply bring him back from the dead. You forget I have the oil of life and you cannot kill the both of us. You pull the trigger and one or the other will be upon you, only to use my oil to bring the other back from the grave.”

  Morina seemed to be staring at Jess’s neck, which was where the oil was secured. Morina looked briefly at the body between her feet. She seemed to want to bargain, but she had nothing to bargain with.

  Knight had to admit that the prospect of being shot and then brought back from the dead with the help of the oil was a little unsettling at best.

  “Um, Jess, can we talk about this first?”

  “Not now, Evan.”

  He stared at the gun, pointed unwaveringly at his chest. “Now is a perfect time to talk about it.”

  She shushed him.

  He didn’t appreciate being shushed when his own death was being talked about. Jess kept her stare level with Morina. “Go ahead and shoot him,” said Jess again. “I have the power to bring him back and you will be dead. It will accomplish nothing.”

  “Jess,” he said. “I really have a problem with the scenario you are painting.”

  She never turned her head. “Do you trust me, Evan?”

  He was surprised by his answer. He didn’t even have to think about it. “I trust you more than anyone in the world.”

  “Good, then shut up.”

  “Point taken.”

  Morina finally cocked her head, aware for the first time of the sirens and the cruisers parked out front. Whatever she was, she wasn’t like the other Fallen, having retained much of her personality and wits.

  Behind them, the other two were awakening and sitting up.

  Jess said, “Take your two animals and be gone. The authorities have arrived. I give you this one opportunity to walk out of here alive.”

  Morina thought for a brief second and then pocketed the gun inside her robe. The others were now on their feet, both a little wobbly. “Come,” she said.

  Both looked at the room littered with the dead of their comrades. Knight was disturbed by the fact that the looks on their faces revealed something akin to hunger.

  Dear God, he should have let Jess kill them. What the hell had he done? He had a sneaking suspicion that his foolish little act of chivalry would cost him later.

  “Forget them,” hissed Morina. “We must leave immediately.”

  The other two, like well-disciplined bloodhounds, looked up from their midnight snacks and moved across his living room to the shattered rear sliding glass door, where Morina was waiting for them.

  Morina paused, as she stepped out onto the patio deck. A crisp wind blew her leather trench coat back like a cape. “
We shall meet again, Jessima IL Eve. When we do, do not be surprised if you are the last of your kind. Even now, Sulina marches on your Eden and she brings with her a mighty force.”

  “Tell Sulina the Fallen that you have failed. Jessima IL Eve shall return with the Chosen One.”

  With that, Morina left and the two others obediently followed, now attached to their new leader.

  “You know,” said Knight, “leaving is not such a bad idea.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “I have a truck in the garage; we take it along the beach, ditch it and then get the hell out of Dodge.”

  “Ah, an idiomatic reference to Dodge City,” said Jess, smiling. She had blood splatters all over her. In fact, blood was pooling everywhere from the corpses around his living room. He wondered if he would ever get the stench of the Fallen out of his home.

  Or if he would ever return home again.

  “Let me guess,” said Knight. “You’ve been to Dodge City. In its heyday. With saloons, gunfights, card games, and barroom brawls.”

  She smiled, wiping her blade on the chest of the dead and then sheathing her sword. “What can I say?” she said. “Sometimes, even Cherubim need vacations.”

  “C’mon,” said Knight. “Let’s get the hell out of here. You can tell me your Wyatt Earp stories later.”

  “Do you have a passport?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re going to need one where we’re going.”

  “As intriguing as that sounds, there’s someone I think we need to visit before we get this show on the road. Mystical oddities of history such as this are her specialty and, though you might not need it, I have a feeling I’m going to need all the help I can get to survive this adventure.”

  “So be it, Dr. Knight!”

  The End

  The adventure continues in:

  Keepers of the Lost Garden

  Return to the Table of Contents

  KEEPERS OF THE LOST GARDEN

  by

  K.T. TOMB

  An Evan Knight Adventure #2

  Keepers of the Lost Garden

  Published by K.T. Tomb

  Copyright © 2014 by K.T. Tomb

  All rights reserved.

  Keepers of the Lost Garden

  Chapter One

  A surprisingly sophisticated Mediterranean restaurant sat atop Alexey’s hotel, overlooking the dusty town of Azri.

  Alexey and the historian, Sulna Obvesky, sat at a window seat. They were served by a very good-looking young Persian man who looked as if he belonged in a Hollywood film. He smiled brightly and told them that his name was Jani and that he would be taking care of them that evening.

  Alexey ordered their best champagne and was mildly surprised to hear they still had an older bottle of Krug in their inventory. He had thought he had consumed it all by now. Perhaps they had flown in more.

  Below them, with the sun setting beyond the distant foothills, the old city seemed ever-present, as if it had always existed and humans had simply come to occupy it, even if temporarily. Humans might die out, but the gray brick mortared city of Azri would always exist.

  Before him, Sulna was a complete mystery to him. She seemed far too young to be so highly regarded by her peers. She was beautiful, tall, and muscular, as if she had spent as much time in the gym as she had engrossed in her scholarly material. To his utter surprise, she spoke fluent Russian. Spoke it perfectly. In fact, she spoke it better than Alexey, which utterly disarmed him, at first. She was awash in perfume, so much so that Alexey found himself a little uncomfortable. Along with the perfume, another smell was noticeable. As if she had stepped in something on her way from the airport. Alexey couldn’t quite place it.

  The smell made him uneasy. If there was even a smell there at all. Maybe he was imagining things. Either way, he discovered that he had suddenly lost his appetite.

  “The city is old,” said Alexey. “Sometimes, I think it’s the oldest thing on Earth, when I’m up here gazing down on it.”

  Sulna smiled. There were no wrinkles on that beautiful face. When she spoke, she did so in Russian, as if she had lived there her entire life. “Trust me, Alexey Konstantin. There are much older things on this Earth than this dirty little city.”

  He didn’t say anything. He simply studied her. She was obviously not intimidated by money or power, both of which Alexey had in abundance. She was completely self-confident and at ease. Almost as if she had been here before. Alexey somehow had the impression that she could have been comfortable anywhere on Earth.

  “You speak fluent Russian. Perhaps even better than me,” he said. “In the old days, I would have thought you a spy, but now...”

  She raised an eyebrow and lifted her wine glass to her lips. She wore dark red lipstick that accentuated what Alexey concluded was a perfect set of lips. She smiled as her lips glistened in the muted light of the white oak-paneled restaurant. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” she asked.

  Alexey faltered. For the first time in a long time, he was at a loss for a reply. He even felt slightly intimidated in another’s presence, an Israeli woman, no less. Although Alexey hardly thought of himself as racist or chauvinistic, the whole scenario was almost amusing. “Disconcerted at best. I do not know how to figure you out.” He paused.

  “But you have your suspicions?” she pressed.

  “Yes,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  The waiter returned and Alexey used the opportunity to collect his thoughts as he ordered them the house special, steamed raspberry lamb. Sulna raised her finger to decline.

  “None for me, thank you.”

  “Fine,” said Alexey as he looked at the waiter. “I will skip dinner as well, then.”

  “Please don’t do that on my account. I rarely eat. Always on the run.”

  “You’re not running now.”

  “Old habits die hard.”

  “Just bring me the house bread,” Alexey told the waiter.

  The waiter left and Sulna watched him go. “A beautiful boy. Almost good enough to eat,” she said. For someone who claimed to not be hungry, Alexey saw the hunger in her eyes. “But a little young for me,” she continued.

  Sulna turned to him and smiled pleasantly, as if she had made a joke. As far as Alexey could tell, the waiter and Sulna appeared to be the same age, although she probably stood three or four inches taller than the Persian waiter.

  “I suspect,” said Alexey, carefully lifting his own champagne glass and swirling the contents, “that just about every man in the world would be too young for you.” He tilted back the glass and watched her carefully.

  She didn’t immediately react as she turned toward him. Returning her full gaze to him, Alexey forced himself to return her stare, difficult as it was. The color in her eyes seemed to have been blue at one time, but over the years, they may have been bleached of their color. Now they were pale, almost a sickly pale. He wanted to turn away from her, but his pride alone kept him from it.

  “Whatever do you mean?” she asked.

  “You’re one of them,” said Alexey.

  “I ask again, whatever do you mean, Mr. Konstantin?”

  She seemed to have completely lost interest in the conversation and was now following the young waiter with her eyes, leering at him like a drunk would a barmaid.

  “We will be spending much time together. Please, call me Alexey.”

  “Of course,” she said.

  He studied her and watched her as she stared at the young man. “You are immortal.”

  Her head whipped around. The gaze was formidable. Alexey could not hold it. He looked away and actually did not feel ashamed, but he tried to be cool. He picked up his glass and sipped as he looked down at the darkening city.

  He continued, “You have no past. No one knows where you are from. You just appeared as a Biblical scholar. A historian of limitless knowledge who looks like she should be cramming for exams in college.” He continued, focusing on a donkey-drawn
cart on the street that had lost a wheel and was tying up traffic. The driver was working frantically. No one seemed to want to help him. The world had truly become a completely individualistic place. Alexey’s habit of continuous, almost obsessive, observation of the people and circumstances around him revealed that to be true every day. “I had my security analysts look into you. I always like to know who I am working with. I suspect you have touched down in many such places around the globe. Sometimes quietly, other times more openly. And in this case, you were perhaps bolder than usual… writing, publishing, and teaching histories that you yourself have lived.”

  He stopped his narrative and looked at her. Her pupils had shrunk to pinpricks, despite the darkening night. Those eyes needed little light to see and that, for some reason, was a disturbing thought to Alexey.

  Alexey continued, “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. If you are one of them, then why have you been shunned? More importantly, why do you seek to return and why do you need me to do it?”

  She spoke for the first time in minutes, having listened to everything he had to say with an unblinking gaze.

  “Well, well. You have figured out much, Alexey Konstantin. And in so short a time.” She fell silent, as Alexey teetered on the edge of his seat. The woman was maddening in her aloofness. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. He was unaccustomed to waiting for anything. Anything. However, he suspected that Sulna didn’t give a damn about what he was accustomed to or not. He would play her game, for now.

  “So, I am correct?” prodded Alexey.

  “In a way.”

  Silence. Alexey gritted his teeth. He was tempted to wait her out, but his impatience was overwhelming. He adjusted his collar and nonchalantly looked away. “And in what way would that be, Sulna?”

  More silence. The sound of traffic reached them. Alexey saw that the donkey-drawn cart had been moved off to the side of the road, where the driver was using a mallet to hammer away at something. Alexey forced himself to breathe and to readjust his entire behavior. This was too important for him to lose his temper.