Paint It Black (26 page)

'Pull? I don't understand what you're getting at.' Morgan's good eye suddenly dropped its pretense at civility and began darting about. His shoulders tensed and he stood a little straighten, his body language that of a man who has suddenly realized he's in trouble.

'We have company, I fear.'

Sonja followed his stare, scanning the room as she did To her surprise, she spotted half a dozen undead making their way across the dance floor towards them. To the eyes of the humans nightclubbing it up, the intruders looked perfectly normal. No one seemed to notice their rotting flesh and decaying features, in any case.

'They're Luxor's brats,' Morgan snarled. 'That accursed half-bastard of Pangloss's must have told him I'd be here, but I never thought the hermaphrodite so bold!'

Sonja found herself standing shoulder to shoulder with Morgan, facing the approaching vampires. Part of her still wanted to slay Morgan and get it over with, but this sudden change in her game plan was forcing her to rethink her priorities.

'Maybe he thinks we've formed a truce, that we're teaming up against him?' she muttered.

Morgan nodded. 'That makes sense. Luxor is nothing if not insecure.'

The assembled vampires seemed to shudder, as if the air surrounding them had winked. They were shifting into overdrive.

Sonja shifted as well, preparing to meet her attackers on their level. Fighting in high gear used up a lot of energy, but it was the only way she could hope to get out of the situation with her head still attached to her shoulders.

The frantically dancing nightclubbers seemed to freeze in mid-step, like the images on a videotape placed on pause.

The strobes ceased their stutter, becoming spotlights, as the thumping bass of the disco transformed itself into a muffled heartbeat.

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) Luxor's brood surged forward, yowling like banshees.

Sonja met the first one head on, driving her switchblade into its chest. She glimpsed a moment of pain and confusion in the vampire's features before it folded around her fist like a punctured pool-toy. Before she could pull the blade free, a vampiress in seventies retro bell-bottoms and a macrame tube-top slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. Sonja rammed her palm into the vampiress's chin as she made to rip out her throat, snapping her lower jaw like a piece of celery.

The vampiress shrieked her displeasure and tried to plunge a hooked thumbnail into Sonja's right eye. Sonja dodged the attack, biting off the vampiress's thumb and spitting it back into her face.

A vampire dressed in black leather pants joined the fray, kicking Sonja in the side of the head with a steel-toed Doc Marten. As he drew back his foot to deliver a second blow, Sonja snagged his bootlaces and yanked, jerking his feet out from under him. She scrambled back up, driving her elbow into the vampiress's gut. The hilt of the switchblade jutted from the dead vampire's rapidly decomposing chest and it came away with a sucking sound. The retro vampiress landed on Sonja's back, clawing at her face with three-inch-long fingernails. Swearing under her breath, Sonja reversed her grip on the knife, ramming it into the creature's left eye. She yowled once and let go, dropping onto the floor to spasm like a hooked fish at her enemy's feet.

Morgan seemed to be holding his own ground with a lot less sweat. As Sonja watched, he plucked one of his attackers out of midair and, with a practised turn of his hand, twisted the vampire's head completely around, so that it was looking at Sonja from between its shoulders. The vampire's eyes blinked, more surprised than pained, then went gray. Morgan tossed the dead thing aside as casually as

he would discard a broken toy.

Before Sonja could decide whether to aid him or join with his attackers, the leather-pants vampire was back on his feet, slamming his head into her gut like a billy goat. The force of his blow drove her into the wall, cracking the plaster.

Sonja rammed the silver blade into the back of his neck, between the third and fourth vertebrae. The vampire dropped, his body twitching and jerking as the silver toxins swept through his central nervous system.

Sonja looked up in time to see Morgan twist the head off the final member of Luxor's suicide party and hurl it in the direction of the packed dance floor. Despite everything, she really had to admire the guy's style.

Kill him.

She was tired. The battle had taken a lot out of her and

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) it was more and more of a struggle to remain in high gear.

Assessing her condition, she could tell she'd sustained a skull fracture and four broken ribs, possibly a ruptured spleen.

Nothing she couldn't handle, really. But there was no way she could take down a vampire of Morgan's power. Part of her was even relieved that she would not be forced to act on what had, only minutes before, seemed the only sane thing to do.

Kill him.

She stood there, nursing her splintered ribs, and it suddenly occurred to her that it was the Other's voice, and not her own

- nor that of the vanished Denise - that was the most strident when it came to her obsession with Morgan. At first the three voices had been united, equally strong in their hatred, in their desire for revenge. But, over the years, Denise's voice had flagged, and now she discovered her own passion fading as well, leaving only the Other's disembodied voice the strongest and most vehement.

Kill him or die, the Other growled. Kill him or we're all Doomed.

'Shut up,' she whispered. 'I'll do it when I'm good and ready.'

When she looked up again, Morgan was gone. But the jeweler's case he'd presented to her was lying on the ground at her feet, the thorny crucifix glinting up at her.

Silver. It was really silver. Considering the horror vampires held for the metal, it must have taken a great deal of courage on his part to even touch the case, much less carry it on his person. She found herself oddly moved by this show of bravery. She bent down and picked up the crucifix, dangling from its velvet choker.

He might be a murdering inhuman monster, but at least the guy had taste.

She grimaced as something deep inside her (the spleen ?) began hemorrhaging. She had to get out of the club and drop back into human time if she wanted to keep out of the morgue. She hated waking up to find some coroner splitting her open like a Christmas goose.

She waited until she was out of the fire exit before slipping out of overdrive. There was a chorus of shrill screams as the vampire's head landed amidst the dancers. The owners of the Cherub Room would no doubt have a hard time explaining to the cops where the hell six horribly mutilated - not to mention inexplicably decayed - corpses were doing in their club.

Screw 'em. That's what they get for letting just anyone in.

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) 17.

Why didn't I kill him?

He was standing right there. I could have killed him. It wouldn't have been easy, it wouldn't have been clean, but I could have done it. I could have at least tried.

But I didn't And the funny thing is, I didn't even want to.

This wasn't like the first time I saw him after my transformation.

Back then I'd wanted to kill his ass but good. But something in me short-circuited. There is a dominant-submissive switch that gets thrown whenever a broodling wants to destroy Its sire. But it's not infallible. It takes willpower and determination to overcome it but It can be done. But that's not what happened to me tonight It's not like I couldn't move against him. I just looked at him and whatever it was eating my belly simply disappeared.

Maybe it's because he doesn't look like Morgan anymore. He doesn't look like the Morgan of my nightmares. He doesn't look like the Morgan who killed my friends. He's ... changed, I never believed such a thing was possible for vampires, but seeing Pangloss in his final hours has made me unsure. There's so much I still don't know about my kind,'about the world we exist in ...

The only part of me that seems to be certain about Morgan is the Other. It wants him dead with lilies on his chest But I can't figure out why. Morgan is a vampire. The Other is his creation. So why does it want to kill him? The Other is the part always eager to wreak havoc on those weaker than itself.

The part that revels in hurting people. So why does it want to destroy Morgan, a creature that shares the same interests? I've spent my existence fighting the Other, trying to ignore its needs and desires. What should I do now?

Perhaps Morgan is right, perhaps it's time for me to put my vendetta aside. It no longer really concerns me. Do I want to turn into a pathetic, vengeful moron like Luxor or Pangloss? For immortals, the Nobles seem to be a particularly petty group, constantly warring with one another over perceived slights.

With everything that's happened lately - Judd, Palmer, Lethe, Pangloss - maybe I need to take some time out and reassess what's going on. I ...

Shut up. Shut up.

I'm not going soft I'm not. It's just that I'm tired. I'm so damn tired.

I need to think. Need to sort out what I'm feeling. What's

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) important to me.

Bullshit!

I'm not falling in love with him! That's bullshit and you fucking well know - what do you mean, it's her doing?

Denise is dead.

from the diaries ofSonja Blue.

All in all, it went quite well. I could have done without Luxor's kamikaze squad, but in the end that worked to my advantage. It seems to have weakened her resolve against me. Good. It will make the seduction eas ier.

I have seduced thousands upon thousands of women over the centuries. Casanova was a rank amateur, compared to myself. There is little genius in coercing a woman to surrender her virtue. I,

on the other hand, rob them of far more than

their maidenheads. Oh, yes, they bleed, but

in & far grander style. Yes, I have lured a legion of fair women to their dooms, but none was as deadly and as dangerous as my precious Sonja.

I must be careful that she does not scent the truth behind my motivations. She must believe that my affections are sincere. And, in part, that is the truth. I do love her.

I must confess I was proud of her tonight. The way she handled Luxor' s dog soldiers was poetry in motion! She is indeed a prodigy. To think she's only twenty-five years old! Most vampires don't attain such skill and self-possession until they're well into their first century! She is strong, like a samurai blade tempered in the forge of a master smith. No wonder Luxor feared that she and I might team up against him!

Together, no Noble would dare stand against us.

She has never scuttled under rocks or into dumps ters to hide from the sun. But neither has she submitted to the will of another. That is why she must die.

If only there was another way. The thought of destroying her pains me, but not as much as loving her does. I can only hope my dress rehearsals have been successful in preparing me for what I must do.

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) This will not be easy for me. in fact, it nay very well prove to be the hardest thing I've done since I broke free of Pangloss's fealty, five hundred years ago. I take no pleasure in what I must do. Although she is the one who ruined my face, forcing me to walk the earth for the rest of my days a sneering otto-eyed freak, I will not rejoice when she is no more. She is the only thing I have ever loved, and I must kill her. I have to kill her. There can be no other end to this. I am Morgan, Lord of the Morning Star. I will be slave to nothing living or dead. Not even love.

from the journals of Sir Morgan,

Lord of the Morning Star.

There was another barbed-wire rose and parchment note tacked to the refrigerator when she woke up. No doubt Jen's work again. However, judging by the bloodstains on the carpet and the crimson fingerprints on the wall, he hadn't been entirely lucky in dodging the booby traps this time.

Sonja removed the note and read it, deciphering the spidery script that seemed both calligraphy and a spirograph drawing

- the secret language of the Pretenders.

Morgan wanted her to meet him on the top of the Empire State Building.

How romantic.

The observation deck of the Empire State Building, the most famous once-tallest skyscraper in the world, was officially closed to the public. But nothing is off limits to creatures who can step between the cracks of perceived reality.

At street level the wind had not been particularly noteworthy, but one hundred and two storeys above the sidewalk was a different matter. It grabbed at Sonja's clothes, tugging on them like a persistent child, while her hair fluttered about her skull. Even with the windbreaks and protective barriers designed to keep suicides from plummeting down onto Fifth Avenue, the strength of the elements could not be denied.

Morgan was waiting for her, balanced on one of the railings, his hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the city that lay spread before them like stars reflected in a still pond. The wind made his opera coat flap and snap like a banner. He spoke to her without bothering to look over his shoulder to see if she was there.

'I knew you would come. Do you still wish to kill me?'

'What else is there to do? I don't play cards.'

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) Morgan laughed and turned to look at her, his twisted smile growing wider. 'You do have a sense of humor, then?'

'About some things. You're not one of them, though.'

He pointed at the thorny crucifix hanging from her neck.

'You honor me. I take it you liked my little token of affection?'