The Living Night (Book 1) (10 page)

After a while, he could hear the screams of Kharker's
victims … but not Kharker himself.
As
always
. The Great White Hunter was as silent and insidious as death itself.
Jean-Pierre remembered once during their safari when they'd slipped into beast
form and brought down an elephant together. They'd wallowed in its steaming
carcass, burrowing down into its guts and rutting as if they were possessed. It
was the first time they'd fucked in years, and the albino didn't like it. With
Kharker, emotions were involved, even in animal form, and emotions were too
much for Jean-Pierre. Life should be still, calm.

Jean-Pierre allowed himself become a man again. Ahead
moved prey. The albino followed, and the forest thickened. The human stopped,
and Jean-Pierre could hear him checking his weapons.
The final
sta
—

Bullets tore into Jean-Pierre, drilling his head
and shoulders and torso, knocking him to the ground. A half dozen mortals
dropped onto him from overhanging trees, covered in mud to mask their smell,
shooting him with automatic rifles and sticking him with lances. Blades and
rounds ripped into his flesh. He struggled, trying to escape, but he couldn't
even get off the fucking ground.

Without conscious thought, he shifted back into
a beast and lunged at the nearest attacker. Blood flew, and bones cracked. He
moved to the second one.

In seconds, corpses and soon-to-be corpses
littered the ground, writhing in their own entrails. The battle was over.
Jean-Pierre lowered his head over one and began feeding. When he was done, he
searched through the clothes of the dead until he found some cigarettes and lit
up. He sprawled on the ground, naked and covered in blood, and stared up
through the trees.

Someone was still hiding up there, he saw,
huddled against the trunk.

"Come down," he said.

"No!"

"Then I'll just come and get you."

He closed his eyes and exerted his psychic
influence (an ability he was quite strong in) on the girl. Against her will, he
made her descend the trunk until she was standing before him.

"Jesus," he said. The likeness wasn't
exact, but it was close enough. A dark waif, with black hair framing a pale
face and deep dark eyes. Like Danielle. Amid a stream of curses, he remembered
Gavin mentioning `that other matter' to Kharker. He remembered the Hunter's sly
smile.
This is my present.

The girl drew herself up against the tree.
"Don't hurt me. Haven't you done enough?"

He slapped her. She crumpled to the ground, whimpering.

"Goddamnit!" He slammed his fists into
the tree. Breathed. "Go on, get up!"

She stood shakily.

"Go," he said. "You'll probably
get eaten by cannibals, but at least you won't be contributing to this farce
any longer."

"You're … not going to kill me?"

"Please don't thank me. You're not out of
the woods, yet."

He picked his way back to where he'd left his
clothes, dressed and returned to the Lodge. He found Kharker in the Elephant
Room. Kharker's hair hung wetly, the man having just come out of the shower,
and he was dressed in a burgundy bathrobe, smoking a cigar. By contrast,
Jean-Pierre knew that dirt covered his clothes, his hair stuck up in wild
tangles, and blood caked him.

He grabbed Kharker by the lapels and threw him
to the ground.

"How
dare
you! How could you mock me like that?
How
?
Out of all the people I know, I'd never have thought
you'd
betray me. How could you?"

Kharker looked stunned.

"Well, if you wanted to hurt me, I can play
that game, too,” Jean-Pierre said. He grabbed the canvas-wrapped package from
off the stand and held his cigarette lighter up to it. "You know what this
is? This is an original poem by your beloved Ruegger, over two hundred years
old, back when he was still mortal. It took me a lot of time to find this for
you."

Kharker's eyes softened, then widened in alarm
as the albino set the package on fire. The Hunter leapt to his feet.

"Don't," he said. "I didn't mean
to hurt you, I swear. I thought you were almost over her and this would give
you the opportunity to exorcise your demons on someone who looks like her,
nothing else. I never meant you to think I was mocking you. I wasn't."

The albino sucked in a ragged breath. "Do
you swear?"

"I swear."

Jean-Pierre threw the package down and stomped
on it until the fire was out. Kharker lovingly unwrapped it. Jean-Pierre had
had each page (there were four) vacuum-sealed and bound in an expensive leather
jacket. Damage to the pages themselves appeared minimal, but they'd have to be
re-sealed.

Kharker rose, leaving the poem on the floor. He embraced
Jean-Pierre, and, after a moment, Jean-Pierre hugged him back. The embrace was
short, but it was sincere.

"Why do we insist on hurting each
other?" Kharker said.

"I don't know. I'm … sorry."

"Don't be. Maybe my gift was more thoughtless
than I realized." Kharker picked up the poem. "Thank you.”

"Sure."

Kharker smiled. Jean-Pierre smiled, too, and
slowly they began to chuckle. Kharker waved a servant over and ordered the best
wine in the cellar. He clapped Jean-Pierre on the shoulder.

"My friend, what do you say to getting
stinking drunk tonight?"

Jean-Pierre laughed, the rage draining from him.

"You only turn a thousand once," he
said.

*
    
*
    
*

Jean-Pierre
departed for New York
two days later. At his leaving, Kharker considered a visit to London, where Roche’s little war was taking
place, to see what all the fuss was about. But, before he was able to go, he
received a very strange group of visitors indeed.

They were unexpected and uninvited, but they
offered him a proposition that he could in no way afford to refuse.

Chapter 8

The
screaming trumpet of hard rock announced the presence of Ruegger and Danielle
to Manhattan. Dark
and glittering spires rose around them, black monoliths with teeth for windows,
to welcome the vampires beneath the eye of the winter moon. They didn't see it,
but they felt it: when they crossed into the city, certain shadows moved
faster, certain grins grew tighter.

"Despite it all, I do love New York," Danielle
said, adjusting the radio volume.

"It doesn't love us.” Ruegger stared at the
grim monoliths, subdued but made colder by a skin of snow. "Not
tonight."

At one time he'd hated this city because of what
it represented to him, and because it was here that he'd lost the second great
love of his life. He tried not to think about that. New York hadn't changed, really, but his
attitude towards it had; he had friends here now, as well as enemies, but he no
longer thought of the city with enmity. In fact, he'd grown to like it in some
ways. To appreciate it.

"How does it feel to be home?" he
asked, then thought:
Malcolm. Malcolm’s
here. And the other one. Locke
. The idea had plagued him all the length of
their journey. Danielle’s two surviving rapists, doomed to die. Waiting for
her.

"Strange,” she said. “I guess if I could
revisit the old neighborhoods ... but there’s nothing I want to remember from
back then."

They switched vehicles in a private parking
garage on the edge of the city, out from the bulk of their van and into the
sleeker and blacker 1969 Mustang they had stashed away for urban (and southern)
driving. It had been custom-refitted so that a tiny coffin was camouflaged in
the rear compartment, seemingly part of the car. If the vampires were caught in
the open during daylight, it might save their lives, though given its cramped
quarters they both hoped this would never prove necessary. The vehicle was cozy,
and they sped from the garage feeling refreshed.

Needing a place to crash while they began their
investigations, they struck out for the residence of the Ghensiv Veliswa. The ghensivs
were a race of night creature composed completely of females; a second set of
teeth resided within their womanhoods. Some ghensivs, like Veliswa, had a taste
for blood as well. The
succubi
dwelt mainly in large
cities. Veliswa worked as a call-girl for the rich and secretive.

Ruegger and Danielle slipped past the mortals
prowling the corridors of the Cardeux
Building, where she'd
lived for decades, and rode the express elevator up to Veliswa's penthouse,
using an electronic key to get in. They didn't know when the ghensiv would be
back and weren't prepared to guess, so waiting seemed like the best option. Ruegger
pressed a button on the wall next to the sliding-glass doors to the balcony and
prettily-decorated blackout curtains swished down from a tasteful, even stylish
mechanism set above the glass portals. It probably closed the drapes
automatically at a certain time, but he didn't know that for certain. Better
safe than toast.

Heady, feminine aromas flooded the spacious
rooms. Rich artwork decorated the walls.

Danielle consulted a watch; often she wore two
or three, and today was no exception. "Veliswa's got just over an hour if
she's coming back today, taking into account that we'll see the sun here before
the street will."

It was odd that a being of the night like
Veliswa would brave the upper reaches of the sky, tempting the sun with all its
fury, but height meant power and that is something Veliswa would never be
without. She would have the biggest and best or nothing at all.

Ruegger stayed in the living area while Danielle
inspected the bedrooms.

"She's still got the waterbed!"

Smiling, he entered the bedroom and found her
flung comfortably across the gigantic black-silk waterbed. An immense
wrought-iron headboard rose above her; stained handcuffs dangled from its dully
gleaming bars. Whips and chains and oils and blades and harnesses and
sadomasochistic articles of every description littered the room and hung from
the walls. A large mirror provided a ceiling to the bed's canopy. Veliswa often
said that the Marquis de Sade's
120 Days of Sodom
was her bible, and Ruegger had
never doubted her.

Danielle fingered a handcuff. “Maybe we should .
. . ?”

“Don’t you dare,” said a voice from the doorway,
and they turned.

A raving beauty, with rich blond hair cascading
down to partially hide her blue eyes, Veliswa possessed tender red lips and a
strong feminine chin. Her young face had lived too much perhaps, but she was
enchanting. Tall, she stood maybe an inch under six feet without high heels on.

“I like my kink,” she said, “but my toys are
mine. You're wanted, by the way," she added, beginning to slip off her
clothes without thought to the vampires watching. "There's a nice little
price on your heads."

"How nice?" Danielle asked.

Veliswa smiled. "Very nice."

"Well," Ruegger said, "if we die,
at least we'll make somebody happy. Never let it be said that we were
uncharitable."

"So is this a social visit?" Her
panties fell in a puddle at her feet.

"Tea and crumpets,
don'tcha
know?" said Danielle.

"Jesus, you two. What could you have done?"

"We were hoping you could tell us
something,” Ruegger said.

"I don't have a clue. Honest to fucking God.
I just don't know. Vistrot ... I know the order came from Vistrot. Why, or if
he’s doing a favor for somebody else, I don't know."

"You think he was hired by someone? I
didn't think he took orders from anyone."

"If the price is high enough—or if he can
garner a large enough favor in return—he can be persuaded."

"Couldn't it be Vistrot himself? Perhaps
he's mad at us for some reason."

"Vistrot, mad? At you? No. He's too entrenched
in his own little criminal world. He may've even forgotten you, Darkling. And
he's never heard of you, Danielle, except maybe through Jean-Pierre. The albino
is his pet psychopath, one of his highest-ranking assassins here and off the
island."

Danielle smiled. "Vistrot and Kharker. What
a pair of god-parents."

"You’re right,
Dani
—don't
kill that fucker. If Jean-Pierre dies, you'll have to deal with the wrath of Lord
Kharker, not to mention the Titan. Christ, you'll be, well ... very, very
dead." She reached out a gentle hand and poked Ruegger affectionately in
the belly. "I'm sorry, love. I heard about Ludwig. I know how much he
meant to you."

Ruegger nodded. "I always thought he'd
outlive me.”

"Me too,
mon ami.
You were the
warrior, the blood-drenched poet off fighting demons wherever you found them.
He was the dreamer. Wanted the world to be a better place, poor misguided
bastard.” She slid beneath her silken sheets, covering up her long legs, but
her breasts, full and high, were still quite visible. “So what was meeting
Junger and Jagoda like?"

"You know of that?"

"It's the latest gossip. Everyone's talking
about how the Balaklava are going to pursue
you till the end of the world or until you die, whichever comes first."

"Well," Danielle said to Veliswa, or
at least her breasts. "It's sun-up and we should really let you sleep.
Thanks for everything."

The ghensiv yawned gracefully and slid down,
tucking the sheets up to her chin.

"Thank you,
mon amis
. Please feel
free to use the guest room or, if you'd be more comfortable, in the coffins in
the secret chamber. You remember where it is—behind the left wall of the
walk-in pantry.
Oui?
" She smiled sleepily. "Oh, and I like
your pig, but, ah, it's on the sofa."

"Her name's Cerberus," Danielle said.

"Very cute.”

Off Veliswa’s expression, Danielle said, “Don’t
worry, we’ll get her off.” Taking Ruegger by the hand, she led him away from
the ghensiv’s bedroom, and together they found the guestroom.

Quietly, Danielle, “I, uh, have a question. I’ve
always wondered.”

“Yes?” Ruegger said.

She looked sheepish. "Do ghensivs
completely, er, you know ... do they
take
it
?"

He grimaced. "Depends on the ghensiv. If
she's hungry and has a dark bent, she may drain the man completely. But
regardless of their disposition, every now and then, just like we need to feed
on blood, they must, ah, bite it off.”

"With their
teeth
..."

He didn’t have to pretend to shudder.
"Right."

*
    
*
    
*

They
woke at dusk to find Veliswa yawning and ordering from room service. The staff
was well acquainted with her evening breakfasts. Dressed in a cream-colored robe,
her long blond hair whirled about her head. "Where's Cerberus?" was
the first thing she said after seeing the vampires.

"Ah, hell," said Danielle.

"
Guys
."

"Sorry, Veli. We're not used to having a
pet. Van Reisser usually takes care of her."

"You’re forgiven, but don’t make me replace
the carpet.” Veliswa stepped into the walk-in pantry and triggered the hidden
wall. The vampires heard her move around in there, then the sound of bottles
clinking. She emerged triumphantly with a musty bottle of champagne. They ate
Edam Cheese on
Triscuits
and chased it down with cool
bubbly while they waited for room service.

"Awesome," said Danielle.

"Not enough," said Veliswa. “I’m—”

Something knocked against the glass beyond the
blackout curtains.

"Hide in the cellar," Veliswa
whispered, referring to the hidden area behind the fold-away wall in the
pantry.

The vampires, having stayed with their hostess before,
scuttled swiftly into the pantry, located the trigger, and followed the
swinging wall into the secret chamber. Ruegger thought he knew who the sudden
visitor might be: for the last five years, a young, well-dressed jandrow by the
name of David had acted as an agent for her. Not a pimp, really, although he
did find her clients and would organize help for her if needed, but he worked
for her, not the other way around.

"David!" Veliswa exclaimed from the
other room, and Ruegger and Danielle breathed easier.

"Good morning, Veliswa," they heard
David say in his usual lawyerly tone. He would be dressed neatly, and standing
very erect, wings folded and arched politely, on the large white balcony. Most
immortals had talents for concealing themselves from humans, but jandrows, who
are so physically deviant, have even stronger such powers that allow them to
(as long as they're not too flagrant about it) fly unseen.

"You, too, David. Have anything for
me?"

"Certainly. Provided you haven't arranged
too many dates tomorrow on your own, I've a client lined up if you're
interested."

"Go on."

He gave her a name, a time, and a place. "Is
that satisfactory?"

"Yes, David, thank you. Have a good evening."
She started to slide the door closed.

"Hey ... is that your pig?"

"My—? Oh, yes. That's Cerberus. Isn't he
lovely?"

"Yeah, he ...
she
... is quite
interesting."

"Well, be off," said the ghensiv, and
closed the door audibly, letting the blackout curtain fall in its place with a
swish.

"Jesus," she sighed, as Ruegger and
Danielle emerged. "That was beastly."

"He didn't buy it," commented Ruegger.

Veliswa shook her head. "I don't know. I
thought Cerberus was male. Wasn't he?"

Danielle crouched and called to her pig.
"Not
our
Cerberus. Not our girl."

"I'm really sorry, guys. But David doesn't
know. He
can't
. And besides, he's really not a bad sort. Not
really."

"It's okay," Ruegger said, but still
he moved toward the living room phone and flipped through the Rolodex that lay
near it.

"What're you doin'?" Danielle said.

"Committing David's number and address to
memory.”

He tensed as more knocking sounded.

Veliswa smiled nervously. "This should be
room service." She turned the knob, flung it open and jumped back.

"You okay, ma'am?" asked the young man
on the other side. His eyes were wide and adoring. When she affirmed that she
was, he and an assistant wheeled in small tables with big domes of silver which
covered about a dozen different breakfast entrees. The mortals seemed intrigued
by Ruegger and Danielle, these two pale things dressed in black leather and
denim, with unkempt black hair and too-dark eyes. They accepted a generous tip
and left.

"Aren't mortals fun?" Danielle mused
as she lifted a gleaming lid clear from a plate of Denver omelet.