Ruegger looked at the girl. She was beautiful,
in the way that Danielle was, but something was wrong with her. She was too ...
composed.
He realized that Kharker must have a tight grip on her mind.
"Release her," he commanded.
Kharker obeyed. The girl seemed to shiver. The
steel washed out of her and she backed up a step, but she was still too
traumatized to do much else. Her face was pale.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Her eyes darted around before settling on him.
She opened her mouth slightly as if about to speak, but then closed it again.
To Ruegger, she looked as if she was about to cry.
"Say something," he said. "Tell
this pompous ass that that's exactly what he is. That if anything, he's
inferior to you."
She said nothing, and this time there was no
sign that she was even thinking of a response.
"What's wrong with her?" he asked the
Hunter.
Unapologetically, Kharker said simply, "I
had her tongue cut out."
"What?"
"I figured she must have talked her way out
of the situation with Jean-Pierre, so I stopped her from speaking. Also, if
she’s to represent Danielle to you, why spoil the illusion with speech? She can
still scream, and that's all that’s required of her."
"You're a fucking monster, Kharker."
"No. But I do have my fun. Now," he
said, "
if
you'll excuse me, I believe you two
have work to do.
Progress to make."
Leaving the
room, he closed the door solidly behind him.
"Jesus," said Ruegger.
He motioned for the girl to sit down. She sank
into the rocking chair, still and dark-eyed, while Ruegger watched her. She was
mute and damaged goods, to be sure, scarred and discarded and here to be used
again.
"Jesus," he repeated, and closed his
eyes.
*
*
*
Later,
just before sunrise, Kharker found himself wandering around down in the portion
of the catacombs set aside for his wine cellar, which was perhaps the most
comprehensive cellar of its kind in the world. The main chamber was incredibly
vast, its ceiling rising high to an earthen dome. The main part of the
collection itself was laid out in a seemingly endless maze of wooden racks
covering several acres. Kharker loved to wander the Labyrinth of the Grape,
running his fingers along the countless dusty bottles, recounting the battles
he'd undergone to save each of them from their respective fates. Sometimes he
had pursued a single bottle around the world for years, going to greater
efforts to acquire it than he'd ever expended on behalf of a certain
elephant—or other beast—that he'd been courting. He was the Hunter, whether it
be
for grapes or blood.
On this night, he took to wandering the smaller
tunnels that emptied out into the main chamber. These were the tunnels where he
kept the best of the best wines, the ones with the highest prestige or simply
the ones that meant the most to him personally.
Suddenly, he plucked a bottle from the shelf and
began admiring it. He held it up to the light and stared at it fondly for a
long time. It was a bottle he'd spent years tracking down, but that wasn't its
real significance. This was the decanter that he'd found himself hunting for
after the conclusion of World War Two.
Once Ruegger had left him, without so much as a
word good-bye, he'd needed something to distract him from his grief, so he had
set out on the quest for this bottle, this wine. It had consumed his thoughts
utterly for a time, taking up the space that the Darkling would have. If he'd
allowed himself to wallow in misery, he might just have killed himself. In a
sense, this bottle had saved his life.
Gingerly, he set it back in its crevice and moved
on down the tunnel, illuminated at this point only by torchlight.
It must be nearly dawn, he thought, and sighed.
Time to go to bed, if he was to continue keeping the vampire hours
that Ruegger was forced to.
He didn't really
need
to sleep, in
the way that younger immortals did, but he desired it (at some times more than
others) and his body was used to the rest.
He wound his way through the smaller, more
protected tunnels and again through the Labyrinth of the Grape. Soon he found
himself going up the staircase. At the landing, he turned around for a final
view of his collection. Beautiful, he thought. They were things that could
bring a man pleasure without ever needing to be held to his breast—and without
him ever wanting them to, either. He ascended the stairs and entered one of the
Lodge's central hallways. From there, he selected a back route and a
seldom-used flight of stairs up to another hall that he then took to his
personal chambers.
His quarters stretched, large and comfortable,
adorned with the heads of animals and draped in their skins and furs. Already
in his smoking jacket, he slipped between the covers of his massive canopied
bed and lit a cigar. The coversheet was zebra hide, and he scratched at its
rough softness with one hand while smoking with the other. For nearly an hour,
he sat upright in bed, thinking of Ruegger. What was he to do with the
Darkling? He had loved the vampire and thought he still did, but was this
Ruegger truly the same creature Kharker had befriended so long ago?
Questions that couldn't be answered, Kharker decided.
Not by him. Still, he was unable to sleep. He called up the mortal musicians
that Jean-Pierre had mocked, the same ones who had played for him on his
birthday. It was not the first time. In fact, the ritual was becoming more and
more frequent, as if he were a baby that had to be lulled to sleep.
The humans’ dark skins sweating and their lids
heavy, they began to play, their instruments resonant in the fur-lined room. It
may not be Jean-Pierre's favorite, but Kharker liked it just fine. The players’
devotion, as much as their music, made him smile. He placed the cigar in the
ash-tray and lay back, closing his eyes. Letting the music wash over him, he
tried to sleep. Slowly, he could feel the real world tugging away. Gladly, he
let
it ...
Someone knocked on the door.
At Kharker’s invitation, Gavin entered. The band
stopped playing, but the Hunter gestured for them to continue.
"What is it?"
"Bad news,” Gavin said.
Kharker swore and reached for his cigar. "What
is it this time?"
"Remember that group of terrorists killed
two weeks ago—I believe it was about fifty miles from here?"
"Yes, I remember. Has there been another incident?"
"Yes, my lord. The bodies were discovered
yesterday by some rebels, but they looked to have been sitting for awhile, over
a week."
"And the bodies?"
"They too had been fed from, yes. Just like
the first group. What's worse, I fetched out a map and lined up the coordinates
of the two slayings, and ...”
"It points right at us."
"Yes, my lord."
"Well, it doesn't tell us anything new.
Whatever it is has already arrived, and it's been here for awhile, maybe a
week. All this new report confirms is that, whatever's out there, it's
immortal."
"It, sir?
You don't mean
them?"
Kharker scowled. "Gavin ... I don't know
what the hell it is."
The manservant nodded respectively,
then
added in a quiet voice, "There's more. One of the
retrieval units tonight ...”
"Damn. Another one's disappeared."
"Yes."
Kharker ran a hand across his chin. "From
now on, Gavin—until this thing blows over—we’ll send out no more units. If this
thing attacks, we'll need all the men we have. If it's immortal, our retrieval
units are only serving to feed it.
So no more, not for some
time."
"Yes, Lord. But what about our prey
that escape
?"
"They’ll perish in the jungle or return
here. It's a waste, yes, but it must be done. Oh, I see what you mean. They,
too, will serve to feed whatever's out there."
"Exactly,
sir."
"Then we'll only take what we need from now
on. No more large Hunts for awhile."
"Yes, sir."
"One more thing.
Since this stalker of
mine seems to be a night-dweller—based on the mosquitoes
that've
been burning up at daylight—I think we should send a scouting party out today.
Say, around noon. Include five immortals in the group."
"It will be done, sir."
"Thanks.
And Gavin?"
"Yes, Lord?"
"At ease."
When the manservant
obeyed, Kharker said, "You've served me well for a long time, my good man.
For over a century.
I want you to know that you've
been indispensable to me."
"Thank you, my lord."
"Enough of that for
now.
Don't call me Lord. Call me friend. When I first saw you as a young boy, I used
you. You were ... attractive. I've been using you ever since. But from now on,
things are going to be more equal between us. I want you to know now, in case
whatever is out there … well … I love you. You are the only one, ever, that I’ve
always been able to count on."
"You don't need to say these things, my ...
friend. I know them already."
Kharker smiled. "Thank you, for everything.
Now go carry out my orders and get some rest."
Gavin withdrew, leaving Kharker with his music
and his bed. The band played on, and the Hunter closed his eyes. He didn't know
what was out there in the jungle, but he had an idea. It was every bad thing
he'd ever done, waiting for him.
And it was hungry.
Chapter 5
The
next evening at sundown, Ruegger woke slowly and rubbed his eyes, then pushed
himself off the floor where he'd slept and stared at the bed. Behind the thick
mosquito netting, the girl still slept, tangled in the cream-colored sheets,
her clothes still on. Well, he thought, at least she'd had one good day's rest,
untouched and peaceful.
Of course, Kharker would find some meaningful
way to kill her someday, and the only way Ruegger could prevent this was to
either kill her first or kill the Hunter. Since he hadn't the desire to perform
the former and lacked the strength to perform the latter, there wasn't much
else he could do for her but to offer her rest.
As he began his dusk rituals, including his
first cigarette of the evening, Gavin knocked and announced that breakfast
would be served shortly.
Ruegger finished his smoke and, without
bothering to button it, threw on a long-sleeved black silk shirt with the
sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He made his way down the corridor to the
breakfast room, where Kharker had already begun eating his
huevos rancheros
.
He greeted Ruegger warmly as the vampire sat down opposite him. Silently,
Ruegger began shoveling rice and refried beans and guacamole and sour cream and
pico
de
gallo
onto a home-made flour tortilla, then rolled the taco up and began eating it,
not talking. About the time he was finished, a servant came out and placed a
hot plate of
huevos rancheros
before him.
After his first bite, he said to Kharker,
"I didn't kill her."
"No," replied his host. "I didn't
think you would."
"Are you disappointed?"
"No. Actually, now that I've had time to
think about it, I'm relieved."
"Relieved?"
"Because I'd been
forcing all this on you.
I got to thinking that if someone else were trying to force
a new lifestyle on me, I'd resent it, and ultimately I'd resist it just on
general principles, no matter what this new lifestyle's merits might be. So now
I respect you more for resisting me than I
would've
later if you'd gone along with what I'd wanted. I guess I was too anxious to
have things back like they used to be. I didn't stop to think about making you
comfortable with it. When I first met you, you were already quite on the
opposite side of conventional morality, so I didn't have to do any persuading;
that's why we were so close."
"You taught me things ...”
"I taught you how to be honest with
yourself, how to love life from all angles. Things are different now. You've
changed, and the harder I push you the harder you're going to push back. Please,
forgive me."
"I can't, Kharker. You've gone too
far."
"What, cutting out the girl's tongue? Is
that anything worse than I do nightly in the Hunt?"
"I suppose not."
"There you are. Come to think of it, we did
some much worse things back during the War, didn't we?"
"Those times are past."
Kharker buttered a tortilla and sopped up the
last of his plate with aplomb. "I'm glad you inspired me to get those
Mexican cooks," he said. "I'd forgotten just how delicious this stuff
is."
"Kharker ...”
"Yes, my son?"
"I need to leave. I need to find Danielle.
If you hold me here, I'll only resent you more."
Kharker nodded, took a swig of his orange juice.
"Yes, things can't go on like this for any longer. I've anticipated this
and have made preparations to shake things up around here."
"I don't want to be shaken up. I want—"
Kharker raised a hand, commanding silence.
"Look, Ruegger, you can't go back to Danielle yet. I don't say this just
to keep you around here longer—although I would like that. I say this because
in all likelihood she hasn't finished what she needs to do. She has a decision
to make, and if you interfere before she's ready you’ll only make things worse.
So, please, stay here a few more days and I’ll arrange transportation for you
to Roche's Castle. I'll make sure that he understands that you're to be given
special protected treatment. Does that sound like a deal?"
Ruegger shoved his plate away. Slowly, he
nodded, because despite Kharker's ulterior motives, the Hunter was right: what
Danielle needed to do, she needed to do alone.
"It's a deal," he said, and stood.
"Going somewhere?"
"I need a walk."
Kharker wiped at his lips with a napkin.
"I’m sorry about all this. You know I love you, Ruegger. You do know that,
don't you?"
"I know," Ruegger said, and left.
He returned to his room, hoping to find the girl
for company, but she was gone and he realized that Gavin must have waited for
him to leave before abducting the girl from her slumber.
Gritting his teeth, Ruegger pushed downstairs
and into the forest. He tried to turn his mind to the beauty around him, to
focus on it and not
himself
, but it wasn’t easy.
Please, Danielle
, he thought.
Be strong. Be safe
. Before long, he
stumbled into a small clearing and upon the remains of the two men he and Kharker
had killed the night Danielle left him. Little remained of the corpses except
for the bones, most of which were broken at least once; what Ruegger and
Kharker hadn't finished off, the creatures of the jungle had.
He examined a black collar on the ground, where
he had thrown it after ripping it off the human's neck with his teeth.
"I’m so sorry," he muttered, inhaling
the ripe and rotted scent of death and taking a step backwards. “I’m so, so
sorry. I didn’t know ...”
Another scent hit his nostrils.
A shade.
Crouching, Ruegger glanced all around. What was
this?
Something stirred in the jungle.
Ruegger caught a flash of pale skin. Then,
insanely, the bare-chested creature stepped forward into the clearing, his eyes
green and his expression grave. His chest, covered in blood, signaled that he had
recently fed.
"Jean-Pierre," Ruegger growled.
"That's me.”
With a howl, they flew at each other.
*
*
*
In
the Elephant Room, Lord Kharker glanced up from an ancient hard-backed book as
Gavin entered.
"You bring news?"
"I'm afraid so. The scout party you sent
out to discover the remains of the lost retrieval unit ... They too have
disappeared."
"Shit."
Kharker clenched his
fist and forced his breathing to become regular. "Do we at least know the
area in which they vanished?"
Gavin cringed. "We have it narrowed
down."
"Narrowed down ...”
"It’s a large area, my lord, and our
tracking devices have been destroyed utterly."
"Christ. Is there anything else?"
"Nothing.”
Bowing, Gavin departed. Kharker re-opened his
book and stared down at its heavy pages, but the words had lost their meaning.
He groaned, closed it, and sat there smoking in silence.
*
*
*
Ruegger
wrapped his hands around the albino's throat and threw himself forward so that
his greater weight sent them crashing through the rib cage of one of the
corpses. They thrashed, filthy bones snapping beneath them, each seeking some
advantage, each knowing that, if they made a single mistake, this could end
very quickly.
Jean-Pierre shoved his fingers up towards
Ruegger's eyes. Ruegger tilted his head back as far as it would go, but still
they kept coming. He snapped his mouth, causing Jean-Pierre's fingers to
retreat, but not fast enough. Blood spurted Ruegger’s mouth and for a moment he
thought he'd severed the digit, but no such luck. With a surge of strength,
Jean-Pierre hurled his body back and yanked his finger from the Darkling's
mouth.
"I'm sorry, did that hurt?" Ruegger
said.
"I just hope you enjoy pain as much as I
do, because if so you're going to be having a lot of fun here in a minute."
Jean-Pierre's hands shifted into claws, which raked
across Ruegger's abdomen, eager to spill his intestines. Ruegger released his
grip on Jean-Pierre's throat and flung himself away.
They leapt to their feet. Crouching, they
circled each other warily, their hands and teeth primed for combat.
Ruegger feinted to the right. Jean-Pierre
out-guessed him and struck in low towards the Darkling's midsection. Caught off-balance,
Ruegger jumped sideways and out of the albino's reach, landing on the ground
with his feet in the air. Jean-Pierre charged, but the Darkling caught him with
his feet and hurled Jean-Pierre into the jungle.
Then they were on their feet again, circling.
"This is getting dull," said the
albino.
He leapt effortlessly into the arms of a tree
overhead, disappearing into the
overbrush
.
Ruegger followed, scrambling past twisted
branches and gnarled vines, chasing the albino's scent as they went further and
further up the tree. He could see his quarry moving above him and knew that
sooner or later Jean-Pierre would have no place to go.
Ruegger gained on him. He could almost reach out
and grab the albino's bare heel. Ruegger thrust himself upwards faster, almost
tasting victory on his tongue.
Triumphantly, Ruegger pounced onto the same
branch that Jean-Pierre occupied to discover that the albino was no more. In
the Frenchman's place stood a large hairy beast with large pointed ears,
unnaturally red eyes and a snout so long and wicked it looked surreal. One of
its claws slashed across Ruegger's chest.
The vampire
stumbled
backward, arms out to steady himself. Quickly, he bent and retrieved a long
silver knife from one ankle holster and a .38 caliber pistol from the other.
"Come on, you bastard.”
The werewolf took a step forward.
Ruegger shot the two-legged, translucent-haired
beast with his pistol, emptying his clip into the monster's throat and face. The
pain didn't stop it, but it did enrage the creature.
Jean-Pierre stormed towards Ruegger. Using his
mindthrust, Ruegger cracked the branch at its base, spilling both branch and
immortals into the clutch of gravity. Before he started to fall, Ruegger
launched himself into the air and grabbed at an overhanging limb, smiling to
himself as he watched the werewolf fall away beneath him to the ground almost a
hundred and fifty feet below.
The creature threw its arms around a branch
about fifty feet down and hung on for dear life. It knew that a fall from this
height would incapacitate it long enough for Ruegger to be able to finish it
off.
Jean-Pierre poised on the branch, red eyes
glaring up.
"Having fun down there?" Ruegger said.
"
Not
yet!
Soon I’ll be eating your liver."
Jean-Pierre climbed.
Without looking back, Ruegger did the same, knife
clutched between his teeth, the pistol discarded and forgotten. Propelling
himself upwards as fast as he could, he made a bee-line for the top of the
tree. Sweat stung his eyes. It was then that Ruegger remembered that
Jean-Pierre had tasted not only Kharker's blood, but Vistrot's as well. And
Vistrot was one of the Elders.
Not only that, but Jean-Pierre had just fed.
Ruegger mounted the highest branch that would
support his weight. Reluctantly, he glanced down. Jean-Pierre ascended rapidly,
his speed only enhanced by this other form. Studying him, with his eyes of brimstone
and his ears that looked like devil's horns, Ruegger felt a momentary punch of
fear. He forced himself to examine his options. There weren't many.
He closed his eyes. Summoning all the
considerable powers of his telekinesis, he forced the tree itself to obey his
will, made its bark ripple and its branches extensions of his own arms.
He sent the limbs toward Jean-Pierre. They beat
him and wrapped their hard lengths about him. For a moment the albino was
caught in this wooden cocoon and Ruegger could hear his cries of pain, but then
the limbs cracked and splintered around him, and the demon surged upwards,
covering the final stretch that separated him from Ruegger.
The Darkling removed the knife from his mouth
and looked at his reflection in its moonstruck blade. (Unlike depictions in
popular media, vampires did cast reflections.) Ruegger’s black eyes had become
livid, and a hot red ember seemed to burn in each one.
Using all his strength of mind and body, he
flung the knife downwards, hurling it end over end towards the angry head of
Jean-Pierre.
The albino threw a shaggy forearm in front of
his face. The blade passed clean through the bone and muscle of the limb to
bore straight through the Parisian's skull and lodge there, the blade poking
out the back.