Night Kings: The Complete Anthology (42 page)

Marianne was known to leave for days at a
time during Gemma’s misbegotten youth. She wouldn’t say where she
went or how she got there. She would simply vanish off the face of
the earth. Gemma didn’t know where her mother vanished on this
occasion. She didn’t want to know, but she feared that option
wasn’t available to her this time.

“The goddess speaks through me,” Marianne
said with a shaky hand that ran down her daughter’s black hair,
“and she calls for you, dearest daughter. She was here. Yes she
was; but not here anymore. She left before the fires came, feared
her secrets would get out, but she’ll be back soon enough. Yes she
will.”

When Cetra came back locate her youngest
sister she found the streets empty, save for the fires that rages,
the unknown girl, and her new werewolf brethren. Marianne was gone
from this world, her daughter along with her for the ride. It was
time for her to disappear, as well.

With the witches gone from the streets, the
vampires dead to rights, and all but two werewolves left of a once
prominent pack, Elsa Dukane was as lost to the world as all those
that stayed to fight for their home. The pains of the night
would’ve been more manageable to the three left behind if the only
one left that truly mattered came back to them.

Their calls to Lukas Wendish would go
unanswered on this night and all other nights, for the prodigal
son, friend, and would be lover wouldn’t be there when the flames
died down.

Lukas watched from a distance as the ones he
loved most of all quietly departed the streets of Salem. He wanted
more than anything on this world to go to them in their hour of
need, but if the dark princess still lived that’s what she would
count on him to do. He couldn’t do that to them. There had been too
much blood spilled already. So, he slipped away into the darkness
until he couldn’t look upon the faces he was forced to leave
behind.

On this night, those that the humans called
monsters sacrificed everything to save them, their city, and come
morning all the supernatural races were decimated for their
efforts; some beyond repair or reconciliation. It wasn’t that the
monsters weren’t prepared or lacked the strength and conviction
needed to save their homes. It was that none of them trusted the
other enough to act cohesively. The city of Salem suffered for
those failures. None more than the monsters that stood their
ground.

The humans would never know of the
Brotherhood of the Crescent Moon or why they came for Salem. They
wouldn’t know of the monsters or their sacrifices. They would go
on, in blissful ignorance of how close they came to complete
annihilation, forever in the shadows of the monsters that saved
them. If the humans ever saw those that saved their city from
devastation, they would no doubt call them bringers of death and
darkness.

The monsters of Salem wouldn’t have it any
other way.

The End

The Story Continues in Moon Gods

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Excerpt

Duster and a Gun: Reaper

Gregory Blackman

A Calling

Reaper. It was more than just a title. It was
a part of me. Or at least it used to be. My life had been taken
from me, for reasons still unknown. Not that it mattered, the world
had gone to hell and I was just along for the ride. Nothing would
dull the pain, although I never seemed to stop trying.

“Another!” I shouted. The empty glass crashed
against the counter next to the Stetson that otherwise rests on my
head. My hands ran through my tousled black hair and scratch the
whiskers on my chin.

“I think you’ve had enough, chief,” replied
the bartender, a fat and grisly old man. He was busting at the gut
and covered in grime, the thought of a shower and new set of
clothes seemingly the least of his concerns. “Last call was over an
hour ago… and the bar has gotta close sometime.”

He got no response, not while I contemplated
my next move.

“Are you deaf or dumb?” the bartender asked,
leaning towards me. “The saloon’s fixin’ to close for the night…
it’s time to pay up, pal.”

Still, he received no answer. I looked him in
his bloodshot eyes, pulled out a smoke, struck a match and felt the
soothing release that I so desperately craved. “There are still
other patrons in the bar. Two, but who’s really counting? So, like
I said before, I’ll have another.”

Three silver coins clattered on the bar,
produced from the deep pockets of my walnut-colored duster. Three
sparkles could be seen in the bartender’s eyes, now glittering with
greed. To the bartender, I had overpaid. I didn’t share that
opinion.

“Hey Ernie… and you, too, Chuck… get the Hell
outta my goddamn bar!” shouted the bartender as he slammed his fist
down on the bar. He turned to look at me, the glitter in his eyes
now replaced with a foreboding darkness. “You’ll get one more drink
and then you pack it up for the night.”

The bartender pulled a filthy bottle from
underneath the bar and filled my glass. It was awful, the thought
of another sip made me gag. Still, it was better than feeling—for
in my line of work emotions can get a guy killed.

I waited for Chuck and Ernie to make their
way out of the saloon. Some things needed to be left unseen from
the eyes of the people I once vowed to protect.

“I want to show you something, old man,” I
said, “something very dear to my heart.”

I reached into my pocket and placed a worn
out photo on the bar. It was faded and the bartender looked
closely. He turned it over and read the words out loud, words that
still stung to this day, “It said, ‘Rose and Marley, always and
forever’… ‘Eh, so what’s this to me?”

The photo was of a beautiful young woman with
long blonde hair and a hypnotizing smile. Beside the woman sat a
young girl, a pretty southern belle, around the age of ten. She was
a spitting image of her mother.

“I was hoping that you could tell me,” I
replied. I took a drag from the cigarette, sucking in deep and
blowing it directly into the bartender’s face. I wanted to goad him
into making a mistake. I knew his true face, and that only one of
us would be walking away from the bar tonight.

“I can remember everything about my life,
where I was born, my childhood and my first day on the job. What I
can’t remember, is the last two years, or who these people are. The
girl is clearly much older than two… and yet… nothing. Not one
single memory of a child stirs in my head.”

“Yer breaking my heart,” the bartender
replied sarcastically. “What makes you think that I’d know anything
about them? I’m just a man runnin’ a bar.”

“Exactly,” I said. “People come to you with
their problems. Like the problem you’re in tonight—.”

“Hey now, don’t get any ideas, slick,” said
the bartender as he leaned forward, a grin stretched from ear to
ear. “You wouldn’t like the results.”

Too late, I pressed the barrel of my revolver
to his chin. I refused to blink as I knew full well the bartender
would break me in half if I flinched, even in the slightest.

“I know what you are… and you’re no man.
Nothing so depraved of soul could ever call themselves one of
Adam’s descendants. I’m looking for a feeding den… the closest one
to be exact.”

The bartender’s laughter echoed through the
bar, defiant to the end. I knew his kind well, and the one thing we
both respected and feared was power. He didn’t take his eyes off
me, as he tried to search into my soul and understand the man I
truly was. “I’ve never heard of any such place. I think you’re
mistaken, pal… painfully mistaken.”

“Cut the bullshit,” I said, “I’m not about to
dispute their existence with you. Either you tell me what I need to
know, or I’ll relieve you of this life.”

“You’ve got balls, kid,” the bartender
laughed. “I like that. I’ll tell you what you need to know, but
first, I’m just
dying
to know how such a miserable little
shit like you has come here in search of this den. Surely you can’t
be so
willing
to die?”

“I’m the one asking questions here,” I
answered, dropping the cigarette to the floor; after all, common
courtesy had pretty much flown out the window at this point.

“Indulge me,” the bartender said with a
smile. He pressed his chin against the barrel of the gun. He was
taunting me, daring me to pull the trigger. “What drives you to the
feeding dens, cowboy?”

“I’m chasing someone,” I replied; nothing
more and nothing less. So long as I could get the bartender
interested, I could keep pulling his strings. He had something that
I needed, something vital to my mission and regaining what had been
lost to me.

“What could you possibly be chasing that
would lead you to a place such as the feeding dens?” the bartender
asked. “Not even I would dare go to a place like that. You’ve got a
death wish, pal, and I’m not getting in the way of that.”

How could I tell him of the monster that I
stalked without giving myself away in the process? No men hunted
this creature known as the Abaddon, of that we both were well
aware. With skin of dark crimson and fiery eyes straight from the
pits of Hell, it was a monster not to be taken lightly. Its eight
foot tall frame was matched in audacity only by its leathery wings
and weight, which measured in the tons.

“Something that’s taken everything from me,”
I replied. “One cut from the same cloth as you, but unlike you, the
monster I seek contributes nothing of value, pestilence and
destruction are all this monster knows.”

The bartender’s eyes widened and he turned
deathly pale in the blink of an eye. I had struck a nerve. He knew
something, and I was going to make sure he told me. I cocked the
hammer of my gun and pushed harder on the bartender’s bulbous
chin.

“Who are you?” the bartender grimaced.

“I’m just a man,” I replied as a smile crept
across my weary face. “…An average, run-of-the-mill
man
…
unlike you.”

The bartender made no move to dislodge the
gun, instead he seemed to revel in the anarchy that was about to
ensue. He shed not one tear, nor prayed to any god, for he knew
that no god of his would come to his rescue.

“Now who’s the one piling on the bullshit,
pal?” inquired the bartender as he slowly reached for a pack of
cigarettes. “I don’t have a
clue
who you think you are… and
you seem to know an
awful
lot about me.”

“Give me the location of the feeding den and
we can talk about that in greater detail,” I said.

The bartender reached underneath the counter
and fumbled for something. It took everything I had left not to
pull the trigger in anticipation of an attack, but I managed to
hold my composure, for the reward was worth the risk.

A scroll dropped to the bar, bound tightly
with leather, it looked ancient. With my free hand I tugged on the
leather binding. He was telling the truth, the map had the
locations of all the feeding dens within a thousand miles of here.
This information was not readily available to my kind and the
demons would be not pleased to learn I had it.

“What would the others say about this?” I
asked. “Likely they would have your head or worse. I don’t have to
remind you of the Charleston culling ten years back, do I?”

“Are
you
going to tell them?” the
bartender questioned. “I think not. Besides, you’ll be dead long
before then, and I’ll scoop it back up from your freshly rotten
corpse. You’re a dead man, traveler, and you don’t even know
it.”

He barked a sick laugh, spewing spit from his
repulsive mouth, “I’ve noticed that your gun is still pressed to my
chin… even after you got the information.” the bartender said as he
settled back down. “I can’t be killed by any normal gun. So you
might as well just put it down… before that pretty face of yours
gets
real
ugly,
real
fast. What is your name?”

“Horace,” I replied. “My name’s Horace
McKidrict and this isn’t a normal gun—.”

“No… you can’t be him! He’s dead!” the
bartender bellowed, his eyes were ablaze with hellfire. His face
began to distort and rows of horns protruded down his back, his
skin the color of blood. The only feature he retained was his
smile—the same devilish grin that lured many to temptation. He was
a demon of ignorance and greed, and his kind was plentiful in this
forsaken world of ours. “You can’t have it! Give me back that
damned scroll! I’ll see you in Hell—!”

Dead men can’t pull triggers, something the
demon figured out the hard way with a blast from point blank range.
It exited out the back of his head with thunderous percussion. The
demon dropped to the floor, but the man lay in his place. Such was
the rule between Heaven and Hell. None shall know of their direct
involvement. They were always in the shadows, both demon and angel
alike.

I reached over the counter and grabbed a
bottle of whiskey. After a long overdue swig, I holstered my
weapon, tucked the scroll into my duster and retrieved my coins.
After all, he wouldn’t need them. I steadied myself; something not
easily accomplished after a night drinking and walked out the door.
No doubt the locals heard the gunfire and would soon be upon me. I
needed distance—and fast.

I was far too drunk. If I was lucky, it’d be
awhile before someone stumbles across the body, but if there was
one thing in this world that I
wasn’t
, it’s a lucky man. But
there she was, already saddled and itching for a run, practically
calling for someone to rescue her.

“That’s a good girl,” I said, stroking the
majestic creature’s mane. “I’m going to call you Betsy. Would ya
like that, huh, girl?”

I untied the fiery red mustang from the
stable beside the saloon and with but a whisper, the mighty beast
took off with me on her, out into the dark town. We were kindred
spirits, Betsy and I, or at least my booze soaked mind was leading
me to believe. She understood me, and in a world such as this,
someone like that doesn’t come around too often