The Living Night (Book 2) (5 page)

Kilian
was a good lover, Cloire thought to herself afterwards. Perhaps even a great
one. He was passionate, in an angry sort of way, and he was lean and skillful.
He seemed to like it when she arched her back, pressing into him, and thrust
her hips rapidly. There had been one time, before she'd forced her way on
top, that
he'd almost laughed in pleasure; that had been
when she'd given his back a good clawing. She enjoyed seeing the arrogant
bastard in pain, and he hadn't seemed to mind.

Afterwards, they lay together drowsily, enjoying
the lush bed Kharker had provided. Cloire smoked a cigarette or two while
Kilian worked on a cigar, and after a time he drifted into a light doze.

Still naked and enjoying the dried sweat against
her skin, Cloire pushed
herself
up from the bed and
moved to the window, where she watched the jungle for awhile. It was beautiful
here, she thought, but in a strange way that irritated her. It was like virgin
territory out here, and to Cloire there was little more irritating than a
virgin. She thought it would be fun to go out there right now with the largest
chainsaw she could find and start dismembering the trees right and left. And
she would not stop until this place was scarred and ugly. Only then could she
really find peace here.

Suddenly, appearing between great trunks and the
almost-impenetrable undergrowth of the
jungle,
came
Danielle, leaping and ducking where the moon could not easily find her. To
Cloire's amusement, she felt a bitter growl work its way up from her belly. Old
rivalries died hard.

"What is it?" said Kilian, sitting up
in bed.

"It's Danielle.
Looks
like she's taking a walk."

Kilian re-lit his cigar. "Think she'll do
it—leave Ruegger and come with us?"

"She has to. It's in her nature. But it's
more important that we get Ruegger.
Vistrot's orders."

"When she leaves,
Ruegger'll
come after her."

She smiled. "That's the plan."

Kilian looked at his cigar. "Why did I have
to start smoking again?"

"Because you're in love with me, and you
know I hate pure things. That includes lungs."

He climbed out of bed.
"Cloire?"

"What?"

"Danielle's room is in the other wing.
On the opposite side of this place."

"You're right."

"I know,” he said.

She saw it, too. "She's trying to signal
us. She took a walk to get away from Ruegger and now she wants us to come down
and talk to her."

"That's what it looks like.
But why?"

Cloire chuckled. "She wants to be
sold." The sound died in her throat. Someone else was moving down there,
jogging from the house to the jungle where Danielle could be seen
intermittently. Harry Lavaca. "Damnit," she said. "I knew we
shouldn't've
let him have the run of the place."

"It was your idea."

She shrugged. "I like him. Now I'm going
down there to speak with the Gutter Angel. Are you coming?"

"No. Both us would be intimidating. Also,
you forget: I killed her pig."

For a moment his face was blank, and then they
both laughed.

Chapter 3

After
Danielle's decision to go on a walk by herself, Ruegger distracted himself with
a trip down to Kharker's extensive library—a place in which he himself had
spent many long summer nights back when, losing himself in this virtual sea of
information. The ancient tomes covered everything from classic mortal
literature to old newspaper clippings of underground immortal presses, and
everything in between.

Ruegger selected one of several running
biographies of Augustine Michael Vistrot and sat down to read up on the shade
that Hauswell believed to be behind the Scouring, but he hadn't gotten very far
when he heard a familiar coughing behind him. When he swiveled his head, there
stood Kharker, as worn and aristocratic as always. Ruegger felt his mouth go
slightly dry. For the first time in a long while, he and the Hunter were alone
together.

"Find anything interesting?" Kharker said.

"I'm reading up on the Titan."

"So you believe what Hauswell said,
eh?"

"I believe that
he
believes what he said, and I'm quite sure that he's done a hell
of a lot more research on the matter than I have. So I'm willing to go along
with what he told me until I can come up with something better."

"You always did have an open mind."

"For all the good it's done me."

"Dear boy ...” breathed the werewolf.
"It's been so long."

They watched each other, and a long silence
stretched into an even longer one.

Ruegger felt things he hadn't felt in over half
a century. Kharker still measured up to Ruegger's impression of him as a rock—stable
and old and wise. This last, wisdom, was the trait that appealed to Ruegger the
most, for Kharker had taught him to embrace a part of himself that he'd been
forced to reject and hate before. The question Ruegger asked himself every
night since he'd left Kharker's side was whether or not that darker side should
in fact be hated and rejected. In all his years of wandering and thinking,
Ruegger had yet to find an answer to that one.

As he looked into Kharker's face, he felt the
Hunter's love for him—the Hunter's unconditional love. Kharker embraced and
encouraged every side of Ruegger, even the murderous half that Ruegger tried so
hard to repress, the half that even Danielle attempted either to fight or
ignore.

"Come here, my boy," Kharker said at
last, holding out his arms. Ruegger rose from the chair and moved towards him, smelling
that old dusky scent that his mentor could never seem to shed and that was
always strangely soothing. They crushed their arms about each other and held
each other tight.

"I missed you," Kharker said.

"I missed
you
.”

They stepped back, and Ruegger could see the
moisture in Kharker's old brown eyes and wondered if he looked any better
himself.

"Let's go into the Elephant Room,"
said the Great White Hunter. "We can relax there. And we can talk."

"Yes," Ruegger answered. "We need
to talk."

*
    
*
    
*

Harry
had been wandering around down in the catacombs before finding Danielle. It was
strange and dusty down there, but Harry found it inviting, even homey. He’d
heard that Kharker suffered from a mild claustrophobia, which explained why the
tunnels themselves were as wide as they were.

Eventually, Harry stumbled on the Great White
Bastard's extensive wine cellar and, laughing to himself, swiped a bottle that
claimed to be over two hundred years old. It was wonderful.

Drinking straight from the bottle, Harry soon
found himself in the prisoners' quarters, and all his levity drained from him
in an instant. Though the cells were well-furnished, it didn't change the fact
that they were cells.
When he passed by, the prisoners that
were awake rose from their activities and moved towards him, gripping the iron
bars that separated the free and the caged.
One man's face was
particularly haunted, and it was to this man that Harry handed the bottle of
wine. The man stared at Harry for a long moment, took a swig,
then
passed the bottle to a mate. "Thanks," the
man said.

Harry began a thorough search for the keys to
their cells, but of course there were none, and Harry chastised himself for
being so naïve; Kharker would simply use his mindthrust to open the doors.

Disheartened, Harry found where the catacombs
ended and gave way to open air. There, across an open expanse of tall grass,
waited the jungle.

He lit a cigarette and leaned against the
outside wall of Kharker's mansion. After a few minutes, he heard the faint
sound of something stirring in the jungle. Straining his eyes into the night,
he thought he caught a flash of moonlight on white skin. Danielle. He threw
down the cigarette and ran after her.

"Danielle!" he shouted, over and over,
until he could see that she'd slowed down and emerged from the undergrowth into
the clearing between the jungle and the mansion.

"What is it?" she said as he
approached, panting. She stood there, still, her black hair wild, run through
with bristles and leaves, her eyes cool, arms folded impatiently across her
chest.

"Danielle," he wheezed, placing his
hands on his hips and bending over to suck in air.

"That's me," she said.

"Danielle, I've got to talk to you."

"Talk."

"I'm serious."

"Go ahead."

He raised his head to face her. It was amazing how
ethereal she looked, the perfect vampire.
Beautiful, too,
with cruel lips and high cheekbones and impossibly deep, dark eyes.
He
didn't know her well, had only met her on a couple of occasions, and for a
moment he found it disconcerting that, though he was a few inches her senior,
she had such a presence of self that she somehow seemed to tower over him.
Maybe she was playing tricks with his mind, he thought, although he'd heard
that she disliked such displays of power.

"What were you doing?" he said, still
breathing heavily. "Running around out there?"

"I wanted some fresh air.”

For a moment, he wished that he hadn't given
that prisoner his bottle of wine. "Danielle," he said. "You
can't go with Cloire and Kilian."

"Why? Have they already killed Malcolm?"

"No. And neither will you."

"Over your dead body, huh?"

He couldn't tell if she was mocking him or not.
"He's innocent."

"He's innocent.
Of what?
Name one thing that bastard is innocent of."

Harry shook his head. "That's not what I
meant. Please, take me seriously, Danielle."

"I'm trying."

"Look.” He placed the back of a hand to his
forehead. "This isn't working. If I defend him, you'll play devil's advocate
just to irritate me."

"You're defending him and I'm playing
devil's advocate.
Gotcha.
Just so we got that
clear."

"Shut up! You know what I meant. Malcolm's
changed."

"Yeah.
It's Martin now. Isn't
that what Cloire said?"

"Listen. The man you used to know as Malcolm
Verger was a very bad man, a very wicked and evil man. But he's not that way
anymore. He's a family man, a good person. I know it's hard for you to believe—"

He felt a tap on his shoulder and spun around to
see Cloire holding a bottle of beer out to him.

"Here, Harry," she said. "Drink
up like a good mortal. Go back inside, okay? Leave me and
Dani
alone. We need to talk."

Harry glanced from Cloire to Danielle.

"Cloire," he said. "Don't do
this. You're trying to discredit me by sending me off with a bottle, but
Dani's
not going to go for it."

"It's
Guiness
,
Harry."

"Enough.” He turned to Danielle, whose face
was a mask of nothing but cold eyes and hard lips. "Danielle, do you want
me to leave?"

"Do you have anything more to say?"
she said.

He wanted to open his mouth and tell her
something important, but he knew it would only come out in an angry stutter. He
hung his head and whispered, "No. I guess not."

As he began to walk away, Cloire shouted,
"Don't forget this."

He spun to catch the bottle of
Guiness
. Angrily, he hurled the bottle at the mansion wall,
but it fell short, disappearing into the tall grass of the clearing.

He swore once under his breath,
then
turned to Danielle one last time. Cloire had her arm
around the vampiress and was leading her back into the jungle. Harry swore
again and turned back towards the Lodge. He picked up the bottle along the way.

*
    
*
    
*

Once
in the Elephant Room, Kharker ordered in some drinks (not bothering to pour
them himself) and had his gramophone turned on to some old Big Band songs. It
was there that Ruegger's Keeper and the Darling of Lord Kharker began to speak.
At first, the conversation was slow and strained, but by small leaps and bounds
they began to grow comfortable with each other once more, though Ruegger sensed
vaguely that something was missing.

By and by, he remembered how hypnotizing
Kharker's presence was and how difficult it was to remain detached when
speaking with him. Ruegger recalled that a discussion with his old friend
wasn't merely hypnotic but intoxicating as well—a feeling not diminished by the
fact that a steady storm of wine flooded his head. At last, Ruegger allowed
himself
to (as Kharker had put it) relax—to lower his
guard—and it quickly became more like old times. They told stories and chuckled
and bullshitted and drank. As the hour wore on, their eyes met more and more
frequently.

Just when things were starting to run smoothly,
Kilian walked into the room.

"Jesus, Kharker. How do you live in this
place? There's nothing here, for gods' sakes. Not even a fucking
television."

At Kilian's intrusion, something in Ruegger
realigned, as if he were waking up. As much as he loved Kharker, he didn't want
to fall back into their old routines. He'd broken free of the Hunter's spell
once and was glad to be out of it. At the same
time ...

"How do I live here," Kharker repeated
slowly, casting a rueful glance at Ruegger. "Well, I keep myself
amused."

Kilian pulled a sour face. "I don't see
how, you old buzzard. And what the hell is that music—Glen Miller?"

"Jimmy Dorsey," Ruegger said.

The werewolf shrugged. "I didn't listen to
this crap back in the twenties and I can't say I'm enjoying it now."

"Pull up a chair," suggested Kharker.

"Well … as long as
there's
something to drink."

"There is."

Kilian joined the conversation, for all the good
he did it. Ruegger found him to be a troubled and dour creature, though (the
Darkling hated to admit) not without his good points, chief among these being
wit. Nevertheless, Ruegger had promised Danielle a long time ago that he would
dispatch the swine-killer and he had no intention of going back on his promise.

"So what is it between you and
Cloire?" Kharker asked the new arrival after a quarter-hour of
teeth-pulling small talk.

Kilian shrugged.
"Nothing.”

The Hunter smiled. "You're no gentleman,
Kilian. You have every right to kiss and tell. It's obvious: you and Cloire are
lovers. But I seem to remember that it was Byron who—"

"Oh, for God's
sakes!
This is stupid. Cloire and I aren't lovers. We've hated each other too long for
that to be true."

"Yet it is."

Kilian sighed and stared down at the carpet.
"And yet," he agreed tiredly.

"Speaking of Cloire," Ruegger said.
"Where is she?"

"On a walk.”
He said it with a smile
that Ruegger didn't like at all.

Kharker, who also seemed to sense that Kilian
was holding back something, said, “What kind of walk?”

Before Kilian could answer, Harry Lavaca
appeared at the entrance to the room and all eyes turned toward him. He looked
sweaty and defeated. Without a word, he walked past the immortals and the
fireplace to arrive at the bar, where he poured himself a bourbon and tonic and
took several generous swallows. Only then did he nod at Ruegger.

Ruegger returned the greeting.
"Rough evening?"

Harry pulled up a chair to join the circle.
After he'd had a seat, he looked at Lord Kharker. "Mind if I take a load
off?"

Kharker cast a warm look at Ruegger and began
chuckling.