The Living Night (Book 1) (27 page)

"That should do it," Jagoda said, and
started to draw his arm away, but Ruegger grabbed it.

"What did you mean my death would be worse
than hers?"

The Bone-Crusher smiled. "I can't give all
the secrets away, my boy, or else it would be no fun. Besides, and whether you
believe me or not, I don't know. Not completely, anyway—but find Hauswell and
you'll get some answers. Trust me."

"That's the last thing I'll ever do.”

Jagoda pulled his arm back. "That’s the
thanks I get for saving your woman?"

Ruegger's face was utterly and completely
without humor. In fact, it seemed to make Jagoda uncomfortable.

"You will die, Jagoda, and your friend with
you—this is a promise, a vow, and I've never been known to break a vow."

"You don't scare me, vampire. I'm more
powerful than you could ever be."

"It won't matter," Ruegger whispered,
and now he did smile, a tiny, grim smile that only made his bloody face more
severe. His eyes were cold and black, and he held Danielle carefully in his
arms as if to shield her from the world itself.

"It won't matter," he repeated.

He removed the albino's jacket from her
shoulders and tossed it to Jean-Pierre, then lifted Danielle gently and carried
her past the zombies, the werewolves, the Balaklava
and the ghensiv, through the swaying forest of flesh and through the breach that
the death-squad had created on entering. Bloody and naked as infants, they
passed through the hole and left the hangar behind.

*
    
*
    
*

“So,”
Danielle said, glancing at Ruegger from the passenger seat of their car, when
she had roused somewhat. “What did you find out from Laslo?”

Ruegger grimaced. “Hauswell’s in Lereba.”

“Morocco?”

“The one and only.”

“We weren’t far from there just a few weeks ago.
I guess he wasn’t there then, though. Why
is
he there?”

“In hiding from the Scouring. Laslo was covering
for him.”

“Shit.” Danielle frowned. “So I guess we’re off
to Africa.”

“So it seems.”

“Damn. I could really use a break, Rueg.”

“I know, babe. I know.”

Chapter 21

Sophia
watched as Cloire and Kilian prepared their crew to leave, though first they
salvaged what weapons they could from the corpses. Jean-Pierre and Sophia stood
side-by-side, watching and smoking. It amazed her that any sort of peace had
been declared, but so it seemed. For all her anger, Cloire made no move against
them now that things had been settled. Junger and Jagoda, meanwhile, discussed
something with Singer and a few other zombies. Although they were anxious to
return to New York, the Balaklava
seemed to see artistic possibilities with the hangar and wanted to buy it from
the bloodfinders, who were quite willing to make a deal. The bodies that still
moved were disposed of, quickly and mercifully.

When the death-squad had gathered all the
salvageable guns and was ready to leave, Cloire approached Jean-Pierre and Sophia.
"I should shoot you both just for good measure.”

"Then why don't you?" said Sophia.

Cloire raised her shotgun, but Byron, coming up
behind her, said, "Time to go."

She blew a kiss at Sophia and the albino.
"'Bye, kids, and have a nice walk back to town."

"No," said Byron, "they're coming
with us."

"Fuck off. Now isn't the time to discover you've
got a pair."

"Goddamnit, Cloire, Jean-Pierre's been with
us too long to treat him this way. The least we owe him is a trip back to town.
After that, we can declare all debts paid."

She nodded reluctantly. "Okay, you two,
shut up and come with us. But,
Frenchie
, remember
what By said—after this, all debts are paid. Don't come looking to me for a
handout. Maybe in a few decades you can join us again, but that's it, and even
then you won't be our leader. As for you,
Sofe
...
well, bitch, may you live in interesting times."

She marched back to the exit, Jean-Pierre and Sophia
following her at a more reserved pace. Sophia reached out for his hand and he
took it.

The drive back to Las Vegas was silent, tense, and seemingly
endless. When it was over, the occupants of the van climbed out and made their
way up to the penthouse they'd rented. After packing their bags, Jean-Pierre
and Sophia decided against making a farewell speech, left quickly and took an
elevator down to the Strand, where it was cool
and dry. Sophia felt dizzy. Events had been moving too fast.

"What now?" she said.

"I could use a drink.”

“Best plan I’ve heard all day."

They found themselves a bar, sat down at a booth
near a window and ordered a few beers. She leaned back, closed her eyes and
sighed. Suddenly, she felt very tired, but it was good to be here, alone again
with Jean-Pierre.

"Sophia," he said slowly, letting his
words sink in, "I'm not known for my impetuous actions, but our
relationship seems to be progressing rapidly."

She opened her eyes. He seemed sincere, despite
the businesslike nature of his tone.

"It does,” she said, feeling the heat from
his hand.

"What I'm proposing ... well, why don’t we
stay here, together, for a few days, before we return to New York. See if we can’t make something out
of this?”

What in hell is going
on?
she
thought.
Love? Really?

She studied his moist green eyes, which
reflected the brilliant neon of the Strand,
and saw that there were tears there. God, he was so open! And, more than
anything else, she could respect this, because it was something she wasn't yet
strong enough to be. Accepting his proposal would bring her that much closer.

She removed her hand from his and busied herself
by lighting a Black Death.

There was, of course, that other issue between
them, that issue which bound them no matter what, an issue which would make any
union between them rather unconventional. It was this issue that finally
decided her.

Immediately she found herself laughing
(Can't
wait to tell Mom!)
and reached for his hand. "I will, Jean-Pierre. God
help me, but I will. You must do one thing for me, though.”

“Yes?”

“I could never be with an evil man. I must teach
you how to be good. Not that I’m on particularly good terms with
good
, but … do you accept?”

He blinked at her. “A defining moment, you
said.” When she didn’t reply, he ran a hand through his hair.

She waited, tense. Would he actually forgo the
dark path?

Finally, he straightened. “So be it. For you,
Sophia, I accept. But teaching me will not be easy.”

*
    
*
    
*

Leaving
the airport, Ruegger and Danielle rode a taxi into the heart of Lereba. Excitement
coursed through him, and Danielle seemed to feed on it.

The city blazed, bright and colorful. Capital of
immortal activity in Africa, Lereba played
home to the two dominant races of immortal here: the abunka, like the assassin
Jarvick, and the karula. The karula tended to be Arab-looking and, unlike abunka,
they fed exclusively on humans, on whatever bodily tissue or fluid was
convenient and tasty at the time. Relations between the two races were always tense,
but their coexistence was made easier by the fact that one race lived largely
below ground and one above.

The narrow streets twisted and turned in
labyrinthine corridors, and the taxi was often halted by the people and their
mounts swarming the streets. Clay buildings towered to either side. Spicy
scents of local cuisine drifted out from open windows.

"It's beautiful," Danielle said.

Ruegger watched her. The cross on her forehead
was completely gone, erasing all physical evidence of their time in Nevada, but there was
something that was too quiet about her, too composed. She showed little of her
usual spark or enthusiasm, which worried him.

"Yes," he said, "it is."

"What's wrong?"

"Just wondering where the hell we're going
to find Hauswell in this madhouse. He could've already left by now. Laslo
wasn’t in any condition to tell me how long he’d been here."

She patted his hand. "Maybe Saskia will
know."

"Maybe."

"If he doesn't, then at least he can
provide a place for us to stay while we ask around, right? Everything will be
okay, don't worry."

The taxi dropped them off a block short of
Saskia's hotel, and they enjoyed the chance to walk among the townspeople.
Ruegger hoped their energy would be contagious. Upon entering the hotel's
lobby, the odd flock immediately noticed the many guards in attendance—at least
five of them immortal. Though the guards were discreet, their presence was
unnerving.

The lobby, like most of Moroccan buildings,
radiated heat, as the clay absorbed the warmth of the sun and retained it for
long periods. A few fans stirred the air, and with the buzzing clientele and
the friendly nature of the place, the effect was warm and pleasant. The odd
flock moved through a small archway and a curtain of beads into a
heavily-shadowed room that appeared to be a sort of nightclub, filled with
several different kinds of smoke, sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. They
sipped their drinks, getting comfortable, listening to a small native band that
played on a raised stage in the corner. A few local businessmen of respectable
ages sat nearby, celebrating something. They smoked marijuana but didn’t drink,
not uncommon in the region.

Ruegger asked the bartender to send a courier to
inform Saskia they were here. The bartender obliged, and in a few minutes
Saskia came through another archway spanned by beads. The karula looked more
severe than usual, his thick black beard braided formally and wearing a brown
robe and head scarf, as if in mourning. Three immortal bodyguards hovered about
him.

"Well, well," he said, putting on a
smile. "So my favorite nomads have returned!"

He embraced them both, exchanging greetings.
Saskia bid his guardians relax and plopped down at the bar, ordering a bottle
of vodka and a shot glass.

"I wasn't sure you'd make it back here, my
friends," he said. "We hear rumors about your Balaklava
and your Jean-Pierre. We heard what you did to Triboli. He was quite well-known
around these parts."

"We were hoping you might know something about
the hit Jarvick was carrying out."

Saskia shrugged. "Well, I can tell you that
he had vague connections with Roche Sarnova's people."

"You think Sarnova wants us dead?"
Danielle said.

Saskia chuckled. "That seems unlikely, but
it's all I know. I'm sure you’ve more than a few enemies lying around, but
you'd know them better than I. Would you consider Lord Kharker an enemy?”

Ruegger shifted uncomfortably. “No. At least, I
wouldn’t have phrased it that way.”

"Well, I know that Lord Kharker and Roche
Sarnova are friends, which leads to the connection with Jarvick."

"What are you saying?"

Saskia downed a shot without a chaser and said,
"Probably nothing. I didn't mean to upset you. Please, let's not discuss
this anymore."

"So what's with the guards?" Danielle
asked. “And why are you dressed that way? What’s wrong?”

Saskia made a face. He started rolling a joint. "Care
to join me? This is prime stuff."

"Sure."

"It's been a bloody awful last few
weeks," the karula said while he worked. "Lyrenk and Testopha were
killed within a few hours of each other, twenty-five nights ago. Since then,
it's been war."

The news jolted Ruegger. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t get it,” Danielle said. “Who were
they?”

“Lyrenk and Testopha were the leaders of the
karula and the abunka here for over three hundred years,” Ruegger said. “They
kept the two races at peace.”

“Without them, who knows what will happen?”
Saskia said.

“Hell,” Danielle said.

Ruegger lowered his voice. "Who killed
them?"

"The abunka claim that we killed Testopha
and they retaliated by assassinating Lyrenk,” Saskia said. “But it's all very
shady, very mysterious. No one knows for sure what happened. There's a rumor that
someone from the outside had Testopha killed to ignite a war. Maybe, maybe not,
but either way, war's what's happened, though so far it's been small-scale
stuff, an assassination here and there. But sooner or later ..." He licked
the joint shut and lit it.

"You think there will be actual war?"
Ruegger asked. "Fighting in the streets?"

"I'm afraid so; at this point, it seems
inevitable. The abunka and my kind have hated each other for thousands of years—our
gods versus theirs, and both sides claim that this is their homeland. The usual.
I've always taken a stand against that crap, being friendly to the abunka when
I can, but it's only the renegades—like Jarvick—that will deal with me. They've
rejected their gods, for the most part, and I've rejected mine. We have no
quarrel, but it's all the others, the traditionalists, that are out for blood.
Figuratively, of course." He passed Danielle the bomb.

She sucked in a long toke, then a sip of her
beer. "Maybe they'll kill each other off," she said. "And the
only ones left standing will be the enlightened ones."

Saskia smiled sadly. "That's my dream, too,
kid. But it seems that I'm in some danger, and not just from the
sand-rats."

"You're afraid of karula, too?"
Ruegger said.

Saskia nodded. "I think my free-spirited
ways have gotten me in trouble. My peers don't appreciate my rejection of their
values … and the fact that I deal with abunka. And the abunka know I'm a valued
leader and representative of my kind, at the same time my kind wish I weren't.
So, you see, it's looking pretty grim for your humble friend either way, don't
you think?"

"Why don't you just get out of here?"
Danielle said, passing the joint to Ruegger. He declined.

"This is my home. I've been thinking of
abandoning it, though, at least until things calm down. I've thought of
relocating to Iraq
for a time." He shrugged again. "Looks like we're both being hunted,
doesn't it?"

"Nothing makes sense," Ruegger
muttered, knocked back a vodka shot and passed the shot glass to Danielle.

Saskia looked contemplative. "Chaos is
breaking out all over the world. Immortals are being slaughtered every night,
every hour. The Scouring, they call it, but no one knows what's really going
on, or what tomorrow might bring to light. By the way, I am sorry about the
loss of your friend, Ludwig. I never met him, but he always sounded like an
interesting character."

"Thank you. You wouldn't happen
to've
heard anything about Hauswell, would you?"

"I heard he was dead, but I'm sure you know
that already."

“If he wasn’t dead, and were in town, where
would he be?”

“There’s only one place I can think of: the
territory of the renegade abunka.” Saskia stood. "Well, my friends, I'm
afraid that I've got things to do, but you're always welcome to come chat and
smoke with me. I think you'll be quite safe in Lereba as long as you stay here;
I've some clout, you know, and no one would dare harm one of my guests. Would
you like your old room?"