The Living Night (Book 1) (33 page)

“I figured as much. You won’t like the answer,
though.”

“Who?” Ruegger breathed. “Who ordered Ludwig’s
murder?”

Hauswell paused. “Kharker,” he said. “Lord
Kharker has taken responsibility for it.”

Ruegger stared at him. “But that … that can’t
be.”

Danielle squeezed his hand, but he barely felt
it. “Why would Kharker have had Ludwig killed?”

“An excellent question,” Hauswell said. “When I
first became aware of this information—only known to a few very high-ranking
shades—I assumed he had some motive. Revenge of some sort, possibly. Or perhaps
it has something to do with you, Ruegger. Jealousy, maybe. Who knows?”

“I don’t believe it,” Ruegger said. “I think
Kharker’s covering for Sarnova. Vistrot and this unnamed woman had set the
Libertarians up to attack him, so Kharker took credit for Ludwig’s death in an
attempt to divert them.”

“Possibly,” Hauswell said.

"Then why haven't Ludwig's followers killed
Kharker?" Danielle said.

The old German smiled. "He is in the middle
of the Congo,
Danielle.”

"That accounts for some of it, but you're
missing something,” Ruegger said.

"What’s that?"

"I don't know. I suppose we'll have to make
a trip to the Congo
to find out." He lowered his voice. "Crime and religion, eh,
Hauswell? Who's the woman who started this whole thing?"

Hauswell took a nervous sip. "My dear
fellow, make an effort of restraint when I tell you.”

“I’m restrained.”

“Okay, then. Here it is: Vistrot's accomplice is
none other than Amelia."

Ruegger's face grew ashen. He sat back, blinking
rapidly. "You're sure?"

"Quite certain. Amelia, your long-lost
love, is in cahoots with Vistrot. She, my dear chap, is the one who came to me
all those years ago and prodded me to save you from yourself during the Second
World War. I suppose she chose me because I'd done a similar thing in saving
Laslo. But don't get me wrong, Ruegger—I was glad to help you."

Ruegger stared. "Why didn't you tell me,
you bastard?"

"Please, let's not get nasty. I wasn't so
sure you didn't already know, and in any event she told me to keep quiet about
it."

Ruegger shook his head. "But she's dead. I
saw her ... "

"You saw a kavasari taking her blood. I
assume he changed her into what he was."

"Then why has she never contacted me?"

"Calm down." Hauswell lit a cigarette
and passed it to Ruegger. "I suppose the reason for that is that the kavasari
are very secretive. We know of their existence, but when have you ever heard of
an individual of that race? And who can blame them? They must kill shades to
live—so what shade wouldn't want to exact a measure of protection by performing
a preventative strike? Besides, I've often heard it rumored that they belong to
an ancient religious order that shuns publicity. She probably realized she
could never be with you in the same way again and wanted you to get on with
your life. She only revealed herself to me because she knew it would be a
one-time meeting. With you … especially in the condition you were in …"

Slowly, Ruegger's composure returned. "I'm
sorry for my outburst."

"Nonsense. Under the circumstances, I feel
you've behaved quite appropriately. But you see why I implied that you might be
connected to the Scouring?"

"You thought I knew of Amelia."

"I suspected it was possible, especially
with the emphasis on eradicating religion—I suppose during your time together,
you must have rubbed off on her.”

“Maybe. I think Amelia developed her own line of
reasoning independent of me, though.” He looked at Danielle, who had gone very
quiet. "You alright with this?"

She didn't respond at first, but then she
nodded. "It makes sense, doesn't it?"

"What?"

"The reason why the Balaklava
have been terrorizing us. Vistrot wanted them on our backs—on your back—so that
he'd have some leverage if Amelia turned against him. He was blackmailing her
with our lives. And torture. Because he couldn’t hope to overpower a kavasari
himself."

Ruegger’s brows drew together. "Then the
Titan sent Jean-Pierre's death-squad for the same reason, knowing that the
albino wouldn't kill
you
."

Hauswell nodded. "I see that you two have
come to the same conclusions I did, although much quicker, I must say."

Ruegger inhaled gratefully on the cigarette.
"So that solves the question of the Scouring—at least, some of it—but what
of the War of the Dark Council Do you know anything about that, Hauswell? It
seems awfully convenient that it began around the same time as the
Scouring."

"To be honest, I know absolutely nothing
about the war. My concentration has been on the Scouring. If I had to guess,
I'd say that Amelia began
that
when
she did because the war would've created a helpful distraction, taking some of
the focus off of her own activities."

Danielle drained the last of her brandy.
"It's all starting to fall into place now, but there's some major pieces
missing.”

"We need to find out more about the war and
Kharker's involvement in all this,” Ruegger said. “Why he claimed credit for
killing Ludwig.”

She rose to fix herself another glass. After
taking a long sip, she said, "I haven't seen Kharker since my days with
Jean-Pierre.”

“I haven’t either,” Ruegger said. “And before
that, not since World War Two.”

“Are you two really planning another trip?”
Hauswell said. “You’re mad! It will be dangerous.”

“It’s the only way to stop all this,” Danielle
said. “Find the heart of the knot and unravel of it.” Darkly, she added, “Or
just cut it in two.”

Ruegger grimaced. "To the Congo it is."

Chapter 26

"It's
almost over, you know,” Amelia said.

"What's that, dear?" Vistrot asked.
The two lay in bed.

"The Scouring of course. Just a few more
deaths and it will be complete."

He nodded, feeling a certain pride for the
murderous phenomenon he and this strange being had created. What would happen
now that it was over? He found himself hoping that Amelia would stay with him,
then immediately chastised himself.
What about Kristen?
Still, he was
quite taken with the kavasari. She was everything that Kristen was
not—voluptuous, mature, and welling over with power—and it had seemed only
natural that they strike up an intimate acquaintance to parallel or strengthen
their business relationship.

Not only that, but he wanted her blood—the
strongest blood an immortal could know—and, being a kavasari, she hadn't turned
down a free meal.

He wanted to be what she was. He wanted to feel
that power and know that it was his own. She’d said that she wouldn't allow
this, that a certain number of kavasari had to be maintained in order to
conserve the status-quo, just as the number of lesser immortals could not be
allowed to go beyond a certain point. The exceeding of this limit was one of
the several reasons she cited for having begun the Scouring in the first place,
and she would be damned if she contributed to the over-population of the
Community.

Nevertheless, what Vistrot wanted …

"When it is over, Amelia my darling, will
you stay with me in order for us to rule the world together?"

"We've discussed all this before,” she
said. “Maybe I'll stay and maybe I won't. It depends on how good a job you do.
But in no way will I be subordinated to you. The lords you’ve installed in the
various power vacuums must serve me with the same diligence that they serve
you."

"You know they will. I've taken great pains
to ensure that they think of you with the proper respect. If I were to leave,
they would be yours to command. After all, you are a kavasari and could eat any
of them for lunch if you so desired."

Instantly he regretted the comment; he was
already quite afraid that she would turn on him when everything was over, when
their Kingdom had been established. He did not need to be planting thoughts in
her head.

"Augustine," she said softly, running
a hand over his chest, "there's one more thing you need to do for
me."

"Anything."

She smiled, but not warmly. "You must kill
Kristen."

He started. "Never!”

"Now
now
. I'm a
jealous woman and if I were to stay on after the Scouring, I would naturally
want to be your one and only. Not only that, but you need to prove your loyalty
to me. You've hounded me with the threat of killing Ruegger for so long that I
feel you've been taking undue advantage of my one weakness; this is not the act
of someone I can place great trust in, is it? If you do this for me, if you
kill Kristen, then I’ll be pleased. I will trust, respect—and love you."

He stared at her. "You love me?"

Running her fingers across his bald head, she
leaned over and kissed him. "How could I not? And don't you love me, too,
just a little?"

Feeling her lips against his face and her
fingers sliding ever further south, he snarled, "Yes. Yes, devil help me,
I do. But Kristen ..."

"Do it and we can rule together. I give you
one week. If you fail me, I can never trust you again, and why would I want to
keep someone I can't trust alive? Do this and things will be wonderful and
beautiful always. But if you cringe from your duty, I will have to deal with
you—permanently—and Kristen, too."

*
    
*
    
*

Vistrot
left Amelia to return to work. Of course, he had enough of both money and
employees to ensure a peaceful, luxurious life without the everyday hassle of
business, if that was what he desired, but he found the concept of idleness
unsettling.

As he took station behind his desk, he found his
mind swallowed by thoughts of Kristen. Even though they'd been apart only a short
time, he missed her. She was so sweet and pure and vital, and he had wronged
her through his liaison with Amelia. Of course, this didn’t entitle Kristen to
cheat on him, and certainly not with Jean-Pierre. How could he possibly justify
her death, though? Amelia had no right to ask him to arrange such a thing. If
he were to kill Kristen, he would be destroying everything sweet and pure that
remained in himself, if he hadn't done so already. What was he to do?

The phone rang. Slowly, distracted, he picked it
up.

“Vistrot?” It was Jean-Pierre.

The Titan snapped to attention. "It's good
of you to call, my friend. Are you ready to come back into the fold?"

"We need to talk, Vistrot. Alone."

"I'll schedule an appointment."

"You don't understand; I want to meet with
you on my terms, not yours. You must leave your building and come to
me
."

"Out of the question, son."

"Then I'm out of the fold permanently. You’ll
never see my face again. Not unless you're willing to come to me. Tonight."

"It’s not to happen, my friend. How am I to
know that you aren't planning some cheap retaliation for the murder of your
bride?"

"All the pain I could inflict upon you, if
I had from this moment until the sun exploded, could never bring back Sophia or
replace the soul that you stole from me with her passing."

"All melodrama aside, you should know that
I regret her loss sincerely. She showed promise. Her passing, as you call it,
was necessary to achieve the proper understanding between us. You’re one of my
top officers—you
know
that, damn it.
I look on you with a fondness unlike any other. For you of all shades to show
me such disrespect … What action I took was required to reestablish the
foundation of our relationship."

Jean-Pierre laughed. "Who are you trying to
convince, you fat bastard? If you're trying to sway the ears of God, you're
wasting your breath."

The Titan reined in his anger. "Your tone's
uncalled for, boy. It provides me with the sort of reason I really do not
require in order to refuse your invitation. If you keep up this disobedience,
I’ll find some way to reprimand you—and it will not be pleasant, I
assure
you. Now—is Kristen with you?"

"She is. I suggest you send your love to
her while you've still got the chance."

"Put her on, please. We’ll talk after
you've had time to reconsider your attitude."

Shortly, Kristen came on.

"What is it, Auggie?"

His heart swelled. The anger he felt toward
Jean-Pierre disappeared with her first syllable. God, how he wished she was
here!

"Dear ... " he started. "Baby,
how are you?"

"What you did to Sophia was unforgivable.
Did you know that she was pregnant?"

He considered that a moment, at the end of which
he felt a little pity for Jean-Pierre. Perhaps killing Sophia had been a touch
rash, after all.

"Here, why don't you come back home?” he
said. “I miss you, darling. There's no reason why we shouldn't be
together."

"I miss you too, Auggie, but I'm with
Jean-Pierre now. Unless you come to him, you'll never see either of us
again."

"This is insane."

"You brought it on yourself, Auggie. If you
wanna see me ever again, come to the Funhouse of the Forsaken tonight.
Otherwise, this is good-bye."

"The freak show—?"

"That's right," answered Jean-Pierre. "Purchase
backstage passes and we'll meet you after the show."

"Jean-Pierre, you ..." Vistrot made a
fist and forced all of his anger into it. It trembled with rage, then grew
still. "Fine. I'll come tonight, but if I don't show up for work tomorrow,
you'll receive a very special visit indeed from Junger and Jagoda. Their faces
will be the last you see, and that is not a fate I would wish upon you, however
necessary it may become. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly."

The line went dead.

*
    
*
    
*

The
rest of the day passed with such infuriating slowness that by the time evening
came Vistrot was oddly looking forward to the Funhouse show. Nonetheless, he
had no illusions about Jean-Pierre's intentions, but surely if Kristen were
with him she would temper the albino's fury. He made quick arrangements with
Junger and Jagoda, then set out for the Funhouse of the Forsaken, a small army
of guards in tow.

The performance was sold out, but they'd been
expecting him and even gave him a choice table close to the stage. His guards,
however, were made to stand in the rear of the room. During the show, Vistrot
fidgeted, unable to try to enjoy himself while Jean-Pierre was scheming to do
him in. More troubling, what was Kristen's place in all this?
 
After the performance, Vistrot shoved his way
backstage, where a man met him. He had no lips but his teeth had all been filed
to sharp points. Grinning his horrible grin, the lipless man led the Titan into
a backroom.

Surrounded by misshapen performers and
illuminated by a single harsh bulb, the albino waited in the center of the room
smoking a Pall-Mall. This was the old Jean-Pierre, full of cold venom, unbound
by such niceties as love. For some reason, Vistrot was reminded of his meeting
with Sophia. She and the albino bore the same menacing postures, grim expressions
and disinterested eyes.

"Where's Kristen?"

Jean-Pierre bared his teeth. They were sharp.
"If you wish to see her, come with me. Leave your guards behind." He
held up a finger, silencing Vistrot's next words. "If you say something
stupid like ‘Out of the question, son', then I'm going to turn my back on you
right now. As promised, you'll never see Kristen or myself again—unless, of
course, there is a hell."

The Titan nodded to his guards, who, prepared
for this eventuality, left him.

"Alright," Vistrot said. "Let's
get this over with."

"Not quite, Titan. We've been friends for a
long time. I know your tricks." Jean-Pierre turned to one of the freaks,
who handed him a large robe. "This is what you're going to put on. Strip."

"I will not."

"My word is law, vampire. The reward of
following the law is that you’ll see Kristen."

Vistrot shed his clothes and threw on the robe.
At the albino's order, the bundle of garments that up to a moment ago had hung
from the Titan were searched thoroughly until a performer found what he was
looking for. After a slight ripping noise, he brought a small black object to
Jean-Pierre.

"What is it?" one of the freaks asked.

The albino held it up to the light as if it were
a diamond. "It gives off a radio signal, so if Vistrot doesn't show up for
work tomorrow some soon-to-be-dead Jamaicans can track him down with yet
another device that receives the signal this one gives off. Where was it?"

"Sewn into the lapel."

Nodding absently, Jean-Pierre held out his hand,
and another small box was placed there; after tearing it open, he threw a sheet
of pills at Vistrot.

The Titan looked down at the pills in his hand.
"Laxatives.”

"That's right," said Jean-Pierre, as
much to his following as to Vistrot. "See, the device we found was only a
decoy; the Titan would've swallowed another, just in case the first was found.
He knew I’d look for it. The laxatives will wash out the second one. Then we
can take him to see his beloved."

A sudden twinge of fear ran through Vistrot.
"Does this mean I won't be showing up for work tomorrow?"

"It depends upon how cooperative you
are."

Vistrot knew this was probably a lie, but what
choice did he have but to make himself believe it? He could leave this room and
return to the safety of his guards, but then he would never see Kristen or Jean-Pierre
again. Tearing open the sheet of pills, he dropped several of the laxatives
into his hand and swallowed them dry.

Jean-Pierre led him out back to a small
procession of limousines, which the performers were climbing into; his proved
to be an old black 40's-style Rolls-Royce, a model, he knew, which happened to
be a particular favorite of the albino's. After a series of intricate twists
and turns (to make sure there was no one shadowing their movements), Vistrot
was driven to a large if run-down motel. A hearse parked out front of their
room.

"A hearse?" he asked.

"There's a coffin inside,” Jean-Pierre
said. “We'll stay in this room until the laxatives kick in—by which time the
sun will most likely be up—throw you in the coffin and take you to our final
destination, where we'll release you into Kristen’s arms."

"What are you going to do with me?"