Coalition of the Damned - 03 (19 page)

“If we have to maintain balance, then you’re saying for ev
ery one of theirs we kill, one of ours has to die, he’ll win just due to the vast numbers he has,” Sanchez shot back at him.

Max shook his head and lowered his eyes. “You’re not grasping the larger picture.” He scratched at his beard again and sighed. “Try not to think of this as a chess board with a set nu
mber of pieces. Think of this more as an energy field.” He noted their confusion, but pressed on. “The Sicarii is very old and that, in and of itself, gives him strength. He also has a lot of people on his side, and that gives him strength as well. He’s able to gather strength from their merely being available to him…like a
battery
! He has all of these little batteries that he can also pull power from!” he said, and noticed that the people in the room were suddenly on the same page as he was. “By our doing battle and taking away from him the little batteries en mass, we in effect drain him and make him more manageable.”

“What about you?” Tracy asked. “Do you gain strength from the number of people in your group, or army or…pack? Whatever.”

Max shook his head. “No. I wish it were that way…” he paused and reflected on what he was about to say, then thought of Victoria and her power hungry ways, and thought better of his comment. “Actually, no. I
don’t
wish it were that way. I’m quite happy with the way things are now.” He said, stealing a glance at Viktor. “I’m a warrior. A Centurion. A Lycan amongst Lycans and my skills have been honed over millennia. I am his Sentinel.” Max said, his eyes turning steely. “While the Sicarii will lose strength as his numbers dwindle, mine will not. I may not increase in strength, but it will seem like it to him as his power dwindles.”

“I mean no disrespect, sir, so please, do not take this que
stion in the wrong manner.” Hank slowly rose to his full height. “But what makes you think that you can handle Judah?”

Max raised an eyebrow as he studied Hank. “You know his true name?”

“When I heard that he was Judas Iscariot, I knew his true name,” the Padre informed him.

“Interesting,” Max responded. “I believe that of all of us, if any were to attempt to take him one-on-one, I would have the best chance of succeeding.” He glanced around the room before settling back on Hank. “It wouldn’t be the first time the two of us had fought.”

*****

Donovan rolled over and allowed himself a peek out the window of the common building. It was darker outside, but it never really got darker than what might pass for twilight in the real world. At first he thought it was because of all of the fires that the elves had going from their torches, their campfires and their cook fires, but he soon realized that as they slowly put their fires out and retired for the evening, it remained light outside. The twilight was simply a side effect of the dimensional world they were in.

Donovan sighed heavily and pulled the light blanket up again, trying to get comfortable. “I can’t sleep.”

Jack was sprawled out on the floor, his bedroll spread out under him. He opened one sleepy eye and glared at Donovan. “Because you slept all day while we were waiting for them to return.” He rolled over, turning his back to Donnie. “Shut up and maybe you can catch a few zees.”

Donnie sighed heavily again and tried another position. “This doesn’t feel right, Chief. According to my watch it should be morning.”

“Your watch is broken,” Jack murmured. “It’s dark ou
tside.”

Tufo rolled toward Donovan and gave a ‘Psst!’ as quietly as he could. Donnie turned to him, his eyes wide awake. Mark made a motion toward the door and Donnie nodded. Both men slipped out and left the others to sleep.

As soon as they slipped far enough away from the group, Donnie asked, “Sup, Gunny?”

“I couldn’t sleep either. Thought maybe we could get some air.” His eyes shifted toward the treetops where the grand majo
rity of the Greater Elves lived.

Donnie nodded and they strolled through the main pathway toward the brook. “Something on your mind?”

“Nothing major,” Tufo said. “Just thought I’d ask you about your encounter with your Sprite.”

Donnie nodded, a slight smile crossing his face. “Figured you’d get around to that sooner or later.”

“You did, did you?”

“Oh yeah,” Donnie said knowingly. “Feeling the effects are you?”

“What do you mean?” Tufo asked, knowing exactly what Donovan meant.

Donovan looked at him sideways and kept walking. “The
longing
? The desire to have her back?” Tufo feigned ignorance in his reaction, but Donovan knew better. “It fades with time, Gunny.”

Tufo simply nodded as they continued to walk. They reached the brook and Donovan picked up a rock and tried to skip it. He failed miserably. “How long does it take?” Gunny asked him.

Donovan shrugged. “Everybody’s different.” He bent down and selected another stone. “Some a few days, others weeks.” He looked at Tufo and raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard that some people never really get over it.”

“Fucking great.”

“Yeah, they should print a warning label on the little pixie bitches.” Donovan laughed and tossed the rock causing a large splash.

“Damn straight they should,” Gunny shot back. “Do not stick your pecker in here!”

“Or you’ll want to keep doing it!” Donnie laughed.

“I know, right? Damndest thing, too,” Mark said, lowering his eyes. “You feel like shit for doing it, but, man…those pixies sure as hell know what they’re doing.” He stared off toward the horizon.

Donovan got a glazed look across his eyes as his memories carried him back. “They sure do.”

“How do they—”

“I have no idea,” Donovan answered before he could ask. “I spoke with a shaman who knows about pixies, or sprites, or spriggans or whatever the hell you want to call them. He thinks there’s something that they secrete that makes you desire them so that you don’t stop in the middle of it.”

He gave him a puzzled look and Donnie shrugged. “You saw how she damn near bit Lamb’s finger off, right? Could you imagine if you pissed her off by not finishing the job once you started?”

Tufo cupped himself and his eyes shot wide. “Yeah, probably a good thing they have that addictive juice then, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. It gets you past whatever trepidations you might have once you start.”

Mark picked up a rock and skipped it across the brook. Donovan stared at him and shook his head. “Show off.”

“Lots of practice. I
was
retired, remember?” Tufo shot him a shit-eating grin.

“Speaking of, when Dom gets back…what are you going to do? Go back to being a spotter?”

Tufo’s face clouded slightly and he looked away. “I don’t know.” He shrugged and then turned back to him. “To be honest, I don’t think Matt will give me much choice.”

“Mitchell? Why would he keep you out of the muck?” Do
nnie asked. “You held your own before, didn’t you?”

“That was then, wolf boy,” Tufo said sarcastically. “Now? I’m just old and slow compared to you juiced up youngsters.”

Donnie nodded, understanding completely. He knew a lot of operators that woke up one day and got their walking papers from higher up. Orders that stated they were being put out to pasture simply because they had reached a magic number that the powers-that-be decided meant that they couldn’t do their job any more. He didn’t agree with that at all. “Maybe you could hang around as a technical advisor or something?”

Tufo shot him a scornful look. “Me? A technical advisor?” He threw another rock, hard, not even trying to skip it. “I don’t know enough about the ins and outs of how you boys operate in theatre. It wouldn’t work. Besides, I’m a field agent,” he fi
nished, slightly less angry.

Donnie nodded and turned to head back to the common building. “Well, maybe we can find a place for you. I mean, hell…we wouldn’t have found the Greaters if it weren’t for you.”

“Yeah,” Tufo said with sarcasm. “I could be your token human.”

“Come on, man…work with me here. I’m trying to keep a positive outlook.”

“Well,
I’m
positive. Positive that my old wrinkled ass will be kicked to the curb again once Dom is back safe and sound,” Tufo said bitterly.

Donovan wrapped an arm around Tufo’s shoulder and pulled him in as they walked. “The fat lady ain’t sung yet, bu
ddy.”

Tufo snorted a laugh. “The only thing that will keep me in this uniform is if I’m killed in action, bud.”

Donnie shot him a surprised look. “We don’t even tease about shit like that, Gunny.”

“I ain’t teasing either, brother,” he said. “Just do me one f
avor, alright?”

Donnie studied him a moment as they paused under a large oak. “What’s that?”

“If I do bite it in battle…if I don’t make it? Do NOT send me home. My old lady would take too much joy in digging me up just to kill me again,” he said, his features set in stone. “I’d rather have a Viking funeral anyway.”

“Seriously? Where the hell am I supposed to find a Viking ship to send you off on?”

Mark gave him a sardonic smile. “Dumbass, it doesn’t have to be an actual Viking ship. Just any old boat will work. Just toss my shield and sword on there with me and set the damn thing on fire…push it out into the bay.”

“Gunny, Oklahoma City doesn’t
have
a bay. And we’re moving to Groom Lake for the big ‘battle of all battles’. That’s in the desert. Again, no bays.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, forget I said anything, will ya?” he said totally exasperated. “You’d think a real friend could find a way to see his dead buddy off the way he wanted but all you got is excuses. Fine.”

“No,” Donovan laughed, “no, if that’s the way you want to be sent off, by God, I’ll find a way.”

“No, just drop it.”

“No, I’m not going to drop it. I’ll find a boat. It may be a freaking tuna boat or a row boat or maybe a tug boat, but I’ll find you a boat.”

“Forget I said anything.” Tufo marched back to the common building.

“No, I can’t forget it,” Donnie said, trying to be serious. “If that’s the way you want to be sent off, then I’ll make sure that’s the way you are sent off. Hell, I may not even wait ‘til you’re dead. I bet I can find a boat here in Canada…a dinghy!”

Tufo shook his head. “Everybody’s a comedian.”

“Just trying to help a buddy out,” Donnie said, still smiling.

*****

The little messenger stepped gingerly into the old cathedral and glanced nervously first to the second story window for the dark vampire that he called ‘master’, then to the courtyard. He finally spotted him by the broken altar, staring up at the fresco of Christ, his head tilted, studying the painting. He quickly stepped to the dark vampire, afraid to inform him of the bad news that had just worked its way across the seas to them, but he knew that he must be told.

“Master? I come bearing grave news,” the little messenger said, his legs trembling as he approached.

“Tell me, Puppet,” the dark one said as he pointed to the painting on the wall. “Do you think they would care to know that their paintings were all wrong?” He ignored the little vampire.

“Master?” he asked, unsure what he meant.

“The humans. Do you think they’d care that their depictions of Christ are all wrong?” he asked. He pointed to the painting with one long finger. “He looked nothing like this. Or any of the other paintings I’ve ever seen of him,” he remarked absently.

“I…uh…perhaps…er…perhaps
you
could paint them one that is more accurate?” the little messenger asked, confusion crossing his own features.

“Me?” the dark vampire chuckled. “I am no painter, Pu
ppet.”

“But you could tell the painter what he looked like, yes?”

The dark one continued to stare at the painting and sighed. “I suppose I could,” he remarked. “But why give them hope?” he said.

The little messenger was confused and had almost forgotten why he had come to find the Sicarii. “Master, I come bearing grave news.”

“Yes, Puppet. I heard you the first time.” The dark one finally stepped away and turned his attention to the little vampire. “Please, Puppet. Enlighten me.”

The little messenger dropped his eyes to the floor and lo
wered his head. He truly did
not
want to tell his master this news, but he knew that he needed to know. “Those we sent to collect the family members? They returned with sorrowful news, Master.” He waited for his dark master to explode with anger, or at least surge his power over him, but it did not come. He lifted his eyes and peeked at him and saw that he only waited, his face was one only of expectation. “They, uh…went to the homes of the hunters, but the hunters had no family, sire. All but the one with the ex-wife…and she was prepared. She killed the two vampires who went there.”

The little messenger cringed and waited for his master’s f
ury, and yet it did not come. Slowly he released his tension and noticed that his master’s brows were knotted in concentration. “She was prepared for our visitors?” he repeated as he stepped away, tapping at his chin as he gave the information thought. He shook his head and slowly smiled. “Mr. DeGiacomo was quite clear that nobody was to know of their mission, nor of the existence of our kind. How could she be prepared for two visiting vampires?” he mused. “Somebody broke the rules, Puppet,” he said in a sing-song voice.