The Living Night (Book 1) (28 page)

"That would be great."

"Is there anything else I can do for you
while you're here?"

"We could use some hardware,” Ruegger said.
“I feel naked without a few guns on me."

"Of course. I'll send a man around
tonight." Smiling affectionately, he embraced them both and departed.

Watching him go, Danielle said, "I'm more
confused now than I was before. What the hell's going on?"

*
    
*
    
*

“What
about that one?” Jean-Pierre asked, pointing out the dirty window of the truck
towards a man standing on the street corner.

“No,”
said Sophia. “They must
be
evil
. That guy’s just selling ‘
shrooms
.”

Every day he was getting better, or thought he
was, but this just wasn’t something he was used to thinking about. All the
same, he knew he had to.
A defining moment
. Besides that, Sophia had
made it plain that she would not stay with his old amoral self. Now, days after
the showdown at Laslo’s, he had bought a used Bronco and, together, they were
trying to pick out a victim to feed from. They’d been at it for hours.

“Well, then you choose one,” he said. “Show me
how it’s done.”

She squinted at the crowded street. At long last
she admitted, “To tell you the truth, I’ve never really done this. A ghensiv
doesn’t have to.”

“Then how’d you expect me to tell which one of
these people is evil?”

“I don’t know. You’re supposed to be a powerful
psychic.”

“You said reading their minds was an invasion of
privacy.”

She let out a breath. “I take it back, for the
moment. Better to invade their privacy than kill them if they’re innocent.”

While he was probing the brains of the
passers-by, he mused, “How do Ruegger and Danielle do it?”

“Heard they ousted lowlifes from prison
sometimes, killers and rapists—then feed from them. But mainly, I think they
just use their contacts. They pay people all around the world to keep tabs on
bad guys for them. Plus, they kill a lot of shades and drink their blood.”

They didn’t find anybody purely evil that night.
Instead, they returned to their hotel room and made love, then called up room
service and ate until they couldn’t move. Next evening they camped out again,
looking for bad guys. The cycle repeated itself several times, and to him that
was a good thing. No more roaming around, executing Vistrot’s enemies,
maintaining order in the criminal underworld. Still, it was frustrating. Going
hungry wasn’t the glamorous life he’d pictured. He missed the crew and the
constant rush of adrenaline.

He was learning, though. Sophia taught him to be
patient and to bide his time. Her calm was contagious. If this was being in a
constructive relationship, he could live with that. When another few nights
passed without food, he told her the situation was unfair. Every day he
sustained her—sometimes several times—yet she expected him to starve.

“What’s your point?” she said.

“Maybe I’ll let you go without for a couple days
and see how well you do.”

“I’ll bet you can’t.”

“Bet I can,” he said.

“Care to make it interesting?” When he said yes,
she asked, “What’re the stakes?”

“If you hold out longer than I do, we’ll go on
like this. If I resist you, you help me fill my belly unless you want to go
without as well.”

They shook on it. After two nights of nothing
but heavy petting, she grew more strident in her efforts at helping him feed. To
make up for lost time, he sustained her as often as he could.

Days passed. Then a week. Then two.

After the second week had gone by, and he and Sophia
were closer than ever, he announced his plan. They were sharing an omelet in
the last Ma and Pa restaurant in Vegas when Jean-Pierre told her how he felt,
and what he felt they ought to do about it.

“While in Vegas ...”

“You can’t be serious,” she said.

Jean-Pierre, the albino, retired world-famous
assassin, slipped out of the booth and dropped to one knee.

*
    
*
    
*

In
Los Angeles, at Sophia’s home in Beverly Hills, Veliswa was
enjoying the moonlight out by the pool and stroking the three-legged cat when
the phone rang. She smiled when she heard her daughter’s voice.

“Yes, yes, the cat’s fine. How about Ruegger and
Danielle?”

“Safe for now,” said Sophia.

“I’m so glad you’ve been able to keep an eye on
them. So what bizarre circumstance compelled you to call your poor mother?”

When Sophia told her, Veliswa dropped the phone.
“Jesus H. Christ!”

She waited for the tears to come. After all the
affection she’d wasted on that bastard, he’d married her daughter! She couldn’t
believe it. But the tears didn’t come. In fact, after a minute she found
herself laughing so hard that the cat ran off.

“Does he know?” she said.

“No. He has no idea.”

Chapter 22

The
first thing Ruegger noticed when he woke up was that the maid was late again. A
body lay near the door, where it had been left last night, a dry host to flies
to be taken out during the day while the vampires slept—but this was the second
night in a row a body was still there when he woke.

He nudged Danielle, immersed in a silken sea of
reddish sheets. She murmured something, then slowly rolled over and propped
herself up against the adobe wall the bed was shoved against. Though naked
beneath the sheets, she didn't cover herself. She smiled sleepily.

"
Hey.
"

He smiled back. "Hey."

He kissed her sweaty throat, playing his fingers
through her hair. He rose, rooted briefly through a wad of scattered clothes on
the floor, produced a couple of cigarettes—not cloves, thank the gods—and lit
them both one. Smoking, she threw off the covers and climbed out of bed as
well, obviously relishing the warm clay against her bare feet. She wrapped
herself loosely in a rouge sheet and moved to the window, hidden now behind a
curtain. Ruegger felt it, too: the pulse of the young dusk outside, its
crackling energies lush and unrestrained.

Danielle found a pack of incense, shook a few
dry brown stalks into her hand and plunged the sharpened tips into the
bloodless chest of the dead man, a former child peddler and murderer they'd
stalked last night, then lit her clove from the incense flame, blowing her
first lungful out to tame the fire and taking a moment to study the hot glow of
the burning tip.

“I’ll never get over having to kill people to
live,” she said. “At least we’re able to take down some bad guys, though.”

“Indeed.”

Ruegger slipped into a pair of white silk pants,
stepped over to the wall near the balcony and hit a button that made the
blackout curtains swoosh to the side, letting in the strong light from outside.
He blinked, knowing that the sun hadn't been down for even five minutes. But it
was night now. Moving onto the balcony, he leaned over the balustrade to peer
at the bustling robed merchants and brightly decorated camels that banged through
the narrow street. Danielle joined him. Together they watched the exotic
frenzy, letting the spices and scents of the city tickle their noses.

"I love Morocco," she sighed.
"Too bad we can't stay here much longer."

Ruegger arched his eyebrows, thinking of the
telegram they'd gotten last night. Hauswell had contacted them; he was indeed staying
with the renegade abunka in the southeastern part of town, though apparently he
was using a false name and few there knew him. He'd gotten wind of the
vampires’ questions and sent for them. They’d been in Lereba five days trying
to find him, unsure which branch of the renegade abunka to look into or if he
was really with them at all.

"It's almost over," Danielle said.

Ruegger kissed her forehead. "Let's just
hope that what he has to say was worth what we went through to hear it."
What he was really thinking was that it was a shame they had to leave, because
he felt that another few weeks here could bring her back to her old self.
Already she seemed in better spirits. But they couldn't risk the chance that
the death-squad would reacquire them here, especially now that Jean-Pierre
wouldn't be able to protect them. And Ruegger sure didn’t want to meet up with
the Balaklava again.

She reached for his hand, then leaned out over
the balcony on tip-toe, allowing the wind to tease her dark hair.

"We'll have to come back soon, though,” she
said.

"We will.”

"Umm," she murmured, still studying
the street, but something in her face had changed. She raised a hand lamely and
waved at someone down below, then turned to Ruegger. "I think we've outstayed
our welcome, babe."

"How?"

Then he saw them too. They weren't hard to spot.
Out of all the hundreds of people below, they were the only ones standing bone
still and staring up at the hotel. Six tall, thin black men who wore
desert-blue robes, they carried machetes at their sides. Ceremonial designs had
peen painted on their faces, supposedly giving them strength to walk above
ground.

"Great," said Ruegger.

He guided Danielle inside and closed the door.
His eyes darted into the corner, where their suitcases lay open on a little
table. Courtesy of their host, they’d been able to purchase a wide variety of
weapons not normally available in the States, and Ruegger was looking forward
to trying them out. As was his custom, he had devoted an entire suitcase to his
firearms.

"We've got to warn Saskia,” he said.

"Lead the way."

Carrying their luggage, Ruegger and Danielle
fought their way through the busy halls, flailing against the current—what the
hell was going on?—to reach Saskia's suite on the top story, two floors above. Saskia's
soldiers ranged everywhere here, some storming about, some grouped in pairs,
guns ready. This was Saskia's domain; everything that happened on this floor
related directly to his criminal interests. Usually it was busier here than the
other three stories, but obviously Ruegger and Danielle weren't the only ones
who'd foreseen bad tidings.

Guards stopped them.

"Take us to Saskia," Ruegger said.

The guards hesitated, then one said, “Come.” The
guards led them down a hall into Saskia's office. At the little bar against one
wall, Saskia bolted down vodka shots by himself while his guards waited
listlessly, one keeping watch at the windows.

Saskia glanced up, coughing a3s if the vodka had
gone down wrong. "Well, this is it, my friends. They've finally decided to
have it out with me."

"So you're getting drunk?" Ruegger
said.

"Don’t tell anyone. I’m not Muslim, but it
pays to put on the act around here. Anyway, I’m just waiting for my ride. The
helicopter should be here any minute. Have you ever seen my helipad?"

"We've landed on it before." It was on
the roof.

"Ah, that's right. Well, would you like to
come with me? Though I honestly doubt the abunka will bother you much—if they
killed you it would look as if they are indiscriminate in their wrath, and they
want to give the appearance of a holy war. Arrogant bastards."

"Thanks, but we'd only weigh you down. As
you said, we'll manage."

"You're evacuating the hotel?"
Danielle said.

"Yes, tourists and personal guests alike,
all encouraged to leave,” Saskia said. “The least I can do for loyal patrons.
Besides, this place probably won't be standing in the morning." He cocked
his head and called to one of his guards, the one near the window: "Do I
hear our ride?"

The man nodded, his gaze on the object of
inquiry. "Should be here in a minute."

Saskia lifted the vodka bottle toward Ruegger.
"Would you like to do one last shot with me?"

Ruegger obliged. After Ruegger had swallowed,
Danielle downed a shot herself. By that time, the helicopter had drawn near and
prepared to land. Ruegger could hear it through the ceiling.

Saskia’s eyes turned up. “Guess my ride’s h—”

 
The
explosion shook the chamber. The aircraft fell to the clay roof of the hotel,
missing the helipad but smashing through the ceiling to settle between floors,
caught in the ragged hole it had made upon impact. Ruegger didn’t witness it,
but he soon saw the proof as Saskia and the vampires ran into the hallway and
watched what was left of the helicopter burn. Smoke filled the hall.

"Hells," coughed Saskia. "This is
worse than you know."

Danielle wiped soot from her face. "What do
you mean?"

Saskia drew them back into this office. "It
means that the abunka have decided to use modern technology. Never before would
they have shot an aircraft down; they would've tried to win without mechanical
devices, using only machetes and the like. This is very bad." He collapsed
onto a stool. "Well, let's not make this too dramatic. Not all is
lost." He stood suddenly and called his men to him. Before addressing
them, he turned to his guests. "I can give you five minutes before I come
down. It looks like we're going to have to blast ourselves out the
old-fashioned way, but I couldn't live with myself if I endangered you. So
please, go now, and I hope to see you again soon, under better
circumstances."

Ruegger didn’t like leaving his friend in such
an emergency, but he knew that Saskia could take care of himself, and the last
thing Danielle needed was another battle. Just the same …

“I can’t leave you,” he said.

“Go. I swear, if you stay—yes, believe it—I’ll
kill myself. My honor demands nothing less. I could not risk the lives of my
friends without need and go on. Only by leaving will you give me a chance at
victory.”

Ruegger nodded, unsure of how much this was true
but suspecting it might be, and they said their farewells.

"Good luck," Saskia called out behind
them.

The vampires emerged into the lobby amid colorful
anarchy of the exodus. They stumbled outside, where it only seemed to be more
crowded. The stench of camel dung was prevalent, and Danielle lit up a clove. They
reached a taxi, its dented metal still smelling of the sun, and hopped in. The
engine leapt to life, Ruegger said a few words to the driver, and they set off,
the little white car seeming to ricochet from point to point. The lines on the
road were little more than decoration.

Not far away, in the direction of Saskia's,
gunfire erupted amid a maelstrom of explosions. Ruegger tensed.

“We had to leave him,” Danielle assured him. “It
was the only way. Besides, if we’d died back there we couldn’t stop what’s
going to happen. If we don’t find Ludwig’s killer …”

“I know.”

She glanced back. “I think we’re being
followed.”

"Never a dull moment."

They held hands while the strange dusty city
clanked by, letting the spices and street sounds lull them as they made their
way to a
hellchild
carnival on the eve of war.

*
    
*
    
*

The
taxi let them out in the lower-east side of town, located on the rise of a
hill—the highest in the city—a wild area where corrupt oil millionaires and
eccentric foreigners came to stay, enjoying their most depraved fantasies for
pocket change. The pocket change being considerable, of course, so that certain
undead elements thrived here amid massive adobe villas and Salvatore Dali-influenced
bordellos, the desert and its dark-skinned demons waiting just beyond. And
below.

Ruegger and Danielle leapt up the steps of a
clay mansion painted a pastel red. Torches blazed on the porch, casting shadows
across the pillars and the giant statue of a winged lion above the door, flame
licking at its teeth and burning from its eyes.

The vampires stepped through the open door,
hearing the cacophony of African tribal rock blasting its way out from the
bowels of the mansion. As they made their way inside, they noticed the colored
lights, the
blacklit
posters, the torches, and the
pulsating projections thrown upon the walls in twisting gothic patterns. Aside
from some glowing televisions and hip artistic couches, there was little
furniture other than the bars. It was all very Western, which probably seemed
exotic to the natives. The smell of opium, hash, sweat and sex flooded the
halls, getting thicker the further down the vampires went.

They moved through the secret door, down the
secret steps, and into an immense underground cavern of a basement. Pillars stood
everywhere, as did torches. All manner of beings rubbed elbows here, from
black-winged shades to glowering, suited mortals, from abunka to karula. Different
pockets of the room performed different functions, from the crowded bar to the
mosh pit to the moaning tangle of the orgy.

Ruegger and Danielle found a certain hallway—one
of the many—and followed it until it became a sandy corridor snaking off into
the busy darkness, wooden boards holding it up. Here is where the territory of this
branch of the renegade abunka really began, and it was a joyous place where the
more open-minded mingled and partied. Mortals came too, intrigued by the sex,
drugs, and the possibility of meeting the bizarre. They arrived in legions, and
they were easy prey not only for their flesh but their money. The ones who
didn't get swindled or killed had the possibility of finding themselves, and
they spread the word.

A bare-chested, blue-painted man blew flame from
his mouth while in the shadows a human male was being sucked off by what seemed
to be an under-aged girl, but who was surely an older-than-she-looked ghensiv.
Some insectile, red-skinned creatures with tails and moist exoskeletons were
pleasuring each other in a confused cluster in the middle of the path, and
Ruegger and Danielle were obliged to step over them. A sorcerer with the head
of a dog did tricks for the audience while his assistant picked their pockets.

Once Ruegger and Danielle got lost among the
maze of tunnels and found their corridor dead-ending into the upper portion of
a gigantic atrium, where jandrows flew and swooped in great arcs, perching on
comfortable landings that hung from the ceiling. Danielle found herself
wondering if Maleasoel had ever been here.