The Living Night (Book 2) (4 page)

“Is it really him?” she said.

"It's Malcolm Verger," Cloire affirmed.
"He changed his name to Martin Ascott, but he wasn't too hard to find for
a determined searcher."

"What do you want with him?" Danielle
said.

"The question, dear, isn't what
I
want with him. I don't want anything with the bastard. It's what
you
want with him." Seeing the malevolence in Danielle's face, Cloire continued.
"So, tell us, Gutter Angel, what
do
you want with him?"

"Stop it," Ruegger said.

"No, I don't think so,
Darkling
.
Let's see what your better half has to say."

The pain in Danielle’s eyes shriveled his
insides.

"You know what I want," she said to
Cloire. "You all know what I want."

"We do," Cloire agreed.
"You want to play Mussorgsky's "Night on Bald Mountain"
while you slowly and painfully tear him limb from limb.
According to the
tabloids and the gossips, that's what you've done with all the others before
him. You've saved him for last, haven't you? So maybe you'll want to take your
time, maybe play "Night on Bald
Mountain" over and
over and over again until you've avenged yourself in style. Maybe you'll spend
hours or days torturing the bastard until he finally comprehends the horror
that you must have felt when he and his buddies were having their way with you.
And when he finally understands, then you can deliver the final blow. Because
then he will know he deserves it." Cloire nodded, leaned back in her
chair. "Oh, yes, we understand. And he does deserve it, he really does.
You're perfectly right in wanting to avenge yourself—and not only you, but all
the other girls he's hurt and killed in his time."

"
But
," said Danielle.

Cloire smirked. "But you'll never get him
for yourself unless you do what we tell you to do."

Danielle hesitated. Ruegger wanted to say
something comforting, something wise that she could find strength in, but he
couldn't think of a thing, except one.

"Baby," he said.

Her lips trembled. She turned away from him and
faced Cloire.

"What do you want me to do?" she said.

Cloire and Kilian exchanged glances.

"We want you to come with us," Kilian
said.
"Ruegger too, of course."

"How do I know Malcolm's still alive, that
you didn't kill him the second after you took this picture? Or that you haven't
set him free?"

"That's what the Slayer's here for."
Cloire thrust an elbow into Lavaca's side. "Speak up, Harry."

Lavaca sighed and downed a sip of scotch.
"It's true. They have him and he was still alive when we left to come
here. But Danielle—"

"Enough," said Cloire. "Now,
Ruegger ... Danielle ... if you think we've tampered with Harry's mind in order
to get him to say this, feel free to examine it yourselves."

Danielle looked to Ruegger, and he nodded,
having swept his mortal friend's mind broadly the second he'd taken his seat.
Harry was acting—reluctantly—
on his own
.

"And where would we be going?"
Danielle asked.
"If we were to come with you?"

"Somewhere neutral," Cloire said.
"Somewhere where you would feel just as safe as we do: Roche
Sarnova's castle.
That's where Malcolm is now."

"Jesus," Ruegger said. "Why is
Roche Sarnova letting you stay at the Castle?"

"Because he knows we're affiliated with
Vistrot and we got the Titan to convince Sarnova we're acting as his
emissaries."

"Emissaries?"

"Right.
Our story's that
Vistrot is thinking of making an alliance with Sarnova. And we're acting as the
Titan's ambassadors, should he decide to go through with it. Of course, old
Blackie doesn't really trust us, but he needs all the friends he can get at the
moment, so he's willing to humor us for now."

"Who's taking care of Ascott?"

"The other members of our team—Byron,
Loirot and that sick fuck Kiernevar."

Ruegger nodded. If Cloire was the mastermind
behind all this, then she really must be quite clever. Not only did she know
how to exploit the weaknesses of her enemies, but she wasn't a bad salesman,
either.

"And if we don't go with you?"
Danielle said.

"Then Mr. Verger will have one of three
fates. One, I could make him a shade. That could fun. Second, I could get tired
of him and shoot him in the back of the head.
Easy but
painless.
It would be the simplest way to ensure that you never receive
satisfaction from his death. Third and least likely, I could find it amusing to
lavish him with gifts. We'll give him all the wine and jewels he can use. Not
only that, but we'll give him as many young girls as he wants. He can rape and
beat them and kill them, or tear their insides up so badly that they'll never
be able to have children. Isn't that what he did with you, Danielle?"

Danielle’s hands curled into fists. What
remained of her cigarette burned into the flesh of her right
palm.

"You bitch," she said, her voice
shaking with pain and rage. Her white face was red and cords stood out from her
graceful neck. "You fucking ... fucking ...
bitch!
" She flung
the cigarette to the floor and stared dully at the imprint it had left on her
skin. After a long moment, she said, "So what do you want with us that
you'd be willing to go through so much preparation just to catch us? You were
assigned to kill us. Why should we believe you want anything different
now?"

Cloire nodded, as if that was a good point.
"When Vistrot learned that your boy Jean-Pierre was no longer the leader
of this death-squad, he rescinded his order to have you and Ruegger killed.
Why, I don't know. To be honest, I kind of wish he hadn't. But I guess he knew
that the albino couldn't do it, so maybe he never wanted you dead to begin
with. Whatever, he’s ordered us to capture you two, and that's what we're going
to do. We'll hold you at the Castle until Vistrot
decides
what to do with you."

"Why should we believe you?"

"You have no choice if you still intend to
be the one that kills Malcolm. Also, Lord Kharker here has generously
volunteered to send some of his immortal troops to accompany us back to the
Castle and insure that nothing happens to you. Once there, Blackie will keep an
eye on you, I'm sure. He and Kharker are loyal to each other, you know, and he
wouldn't let Kharker's friends go to their deaths without good reason."

Ruegger looked at the Hunter. "What do you
have to gain by all this, Kharker?"

Kharker affected a look of innocence.
"Nothing.
Nothing at all."

He was lying, Ruegger knew. Kharker never did
anything without a reason. The reason could be as simple as idle mischief, but
Ruegger knew that there was something larger at stake here.

*
    
*
    
*

The
breakfast wasn’t
bad,
Ruegger had to admit, though the
conversation could have been more appealing. After the specifics of Cloire's
proposal had been ironed out, Kharker ordered in the main course and commanded
his guests to change the subject to something more civil. Naturally, they all
wound up talking about Jean-Pierre. He was the only thing they all had in
common—except, of course, for Lavaca, who said very little.

At one point, after studying Danielle (who had
seated herself in an unbroken chair) for several minutes, Kilian said, "I
don't see it."

"What?"

"What the albino sees in you. I suppose you
might be a good fuck, but you shouldn't be enough to destroy someone like
Jean-Pierre." Almost wistfully, he said, "Before you came along, he
was an enjoyable adversary. He really was." He turned his brown eyes to
Ruegger. "Don't think about it,
Darkling
. So I
said she might be a good fuck—isn't she?"

"Cut it out," ordered Kharker.
"You're behaving like children. But children are cuter."

Ruegger recognized bait when he saw it. Sitting
back down in his chair, he was surprised to hear Danielle give a little laugh.
He turned his head to catch her smiling.

"What?" she asked, patting his
shoulder.
"Aren't I?"

He looked down at his plate of gravy and
biscuits, which had been scraped clean despite the fact that he'd lost his
appetite the instant he'd seen Cloire.

"Enough of this," said the she-wolf.
"Danielle, are you or are you not going with us to Blackie's Castle so
that we can pay a visit to your dear foster brother?"

Danielle bit her lip. She examined each of the
faces around the table in turn, hastily turning away from Ruegger to settle on
Harry Lavaca instead.

"Don't do it, Danielle,” Harry said. “
Ascott's
not the man he used to be. He's changed.
Reformed."

Cloire laughed. "Evil never reforms."

Danielle gave what seemed like an involuntary
glance at Ruegger, and he felt himself stiffen. For the first time, he wished
he hadn't told her about his past. She didn't turn her eyes away from him this
time, though. When he finally realized she was looking to him for guidance, he
shook himself.

"It's up to you,” he said. “I must allow
you to do what’s in your heart. But I'm staying here."

She nodded and stared at her plate, which had
only been picked at.

"Goddamn," she said, snapping up to
face Cloire. "No, you bitch, I'm not going with you."

Cloire's lip actually lifted to expose a
gleaming fang, but then the corner of her mouth twisted itself into a smile. She
said nothing, only shared a small patient glance with Kilian.

Ruegger reached for Danielle's hand and was
almost surprised when she accepted the gesture, even squeezing back. She
withdrew her hand, leaned back in her chair and lit a cigarette. To Ruegger,
she seemed full of thought.

*
    
*
  
  
*

While
the servants were taking away the plates, Kharker informed his guests that the
Hunt would begin in two hours and invited them all to join him. He felt that
their differences could all be worked out if they
Hunted
together. And, since his invitation was more command than request, all the
immortals agreed.

After the meal that had been breakfast for the
odd flock was finished, Cloire and Kilian retired to a room that they'd decided
to share. She lit a French cigarette and moved to a large window, looking down
into the jungle. Kilian acquainted himself with the mini-bar and began mixing
himself a drink.

"Get me something, too," she said.

"What?"

"Doesn't matter.
Scotch on rocks would
be decent."

"Something the
matter?"

"Why?"

"You drink tequila when you're happy. You
drink scotch or Jack Daniels when you're not."

She turned to him, a strange expression on her
face. "What the hell are you talking about, Kilian?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Jesus Fucking
Christ.
I can't believe that someone as self-absorbed as you can notice something like
that. Let alone remember it. Shit,
I've
never made that connection."
She waved her hand, dismissing it. "Fuck it. Just make the goddamned
scotch."

After he made their drinks, he brought her glass
over and handed it to her.

"So," he said. "Why'd you bring
me along on this run and not Byron?"

"Why do you think? A few days alone with
me, he wouldn't have been able to remain focused on the mission."

"So you made him stay behind while you took
me along." He sipped his drink. "You treat him like shit, you
know."

"Since when do you care?"

"I don't. I think you two are codependent,
and I think you lust after him."

"If you're saying that I love him, you're a
fucking moron. Byron's like a little boy. He needs his treats now and then, and
he needs a good slap across the face every once and awhile, too."

"That's why you brought me instead of him.
To slap him across the face."

"No." She sucked a last hit off her
cigarette and tossed it out the open window. "I brought you along because ...
well, you're growing on me."

"After almost
twenty years, and I'm growing on you?"

She moved a little closer to him, so that he
could smell the scotch on her breath and a small fragrant whiff that came from
the shampoo she'd used.

"Yes," she said and sat her drink down
on the windowsill. "You're growing on me."

*
    
*
    
*