The Children of the Sun (5 page)

“This is nonsense!” Adrianus snarled. He stood up, and the humans on either side drew their guns, pointing them at him. The black woman turned from the window, an odd smile on her face.

“Put your guns down,” the blonde woman told the soldiers.

“But, Captain …” one of them began, and she glared at him.

“What part of the Captain’s orders didn’t you understand, Janus?” the black girl asked from across the room. The man who had spoken glanced at her and, after a moment’s hesitation, lowered his weapon. His fellow guard, the man with the crew cut, did the same.

“Adrianus, you are making a terrible mistake,” Matthias said.

“I do not fear these humans,” Adrianus told him.

“That is the mistake,” Matthias replied, but Adrianus wasn’t listening. He was striding forward toward the blonde woman, gaining speed with each step.

“You should have let them shoot me when you had the chance!” he roared, leaping forward. The blonde woman stood still, ready, and at the last possible moment she ducked. Adrianus’s arms passed over her head and he tripped on her outstretched leg, stumbling forward.

Moving now with that same impossible speed she had shown before, the blonde woman stood and, even as Adrianus was falling, swung her sword in a downward arc. The blade chopped his head from his body and it rolled away, throwing fans of blood against the wall and coming to a stop near the bedroom door. Matthias watched as the corpse – a thing which had moments ago been his son – thudded to the ground, arms fluttering, spurting blood from its neck.

Matthias could hear himself screaming, but the sound was warped and distant, as if it was echoing down to him through a long hallway. He stood rooted to the ground, unable to move, unable to do anything but voice his horror. Mikel, too, was screaming, and he had leapt to his feet.

Matthias didn’t know whether Mikel would have attacked or not, but the blonde woman didn’t give him the opportunity. Lightning quick, still crouched, she reached to a clip at her breast and pulled from it two darts, which she flung across the room in a single motion. One hit Mikel in the chest, another in the arm, and his cries became immediately strangled. He took one step toward her and pitched forward, twisting in the air as he did so, landing on his side.

Matthias watched in horror as his fledgling’s limbs began to seize up and a great torrent of bloody foam gushed forth from his mouth. Even his eyes had begun to bleed, and he was making choked cawing noises of agony that pierced Matthias like knives.

“Have mercy on him!” Matthias cried. Begged.

The blonde woman, up on her feet now and striding toward Mikel’s shuddering, jerking form, glanced over her shoulder.

“There is only one mercy for him now,” she said, and she held the blade up over her head for a moment before driving it down and into his chest, piercing Mikel’s heart and ending his pain. She stood, cleaning the blood from the blade with a dark cloth. Both humans were sobbing now, wrestling with the men that held them but making no real headway in their attempts to escape.

“It’s a pleasure watching you work, Captain,” the black woman said, though Matthias thought he could hear distaste in her voice. The blonde favored her with a sardonic smile.

“Thank you, Vanessa.”

“Oh, God help me,” Matthias moaned. He was still rooted to his spot, standing now between the bodies of his two dead children, shaking and unable to move. The blonde woman turned to him.

“There is no God,” she said. “Even if there was, He wouldn’t want anything to do with you.”

Matthias felt a surge of rage and hatred run through him, and in that moment he almost threw himself at this woman despite her superior speed and obvious skills as a fighter. At least then it would be over; he would be dead like his children, gone to whatever afterworld awaited. He tensed and the woman tilted her head, studying him.

Then he thought of Hell, and of the punishments that might be waiting for the things he had done in his youth, newly made a vampire and intoxicated by the power and the need for blood. The desire to fight passed, replaced by a sort of hopeless anguish, and Matthias felt his body slump. He was a coward; he knew it and could see from the blonde woman’s eyes, her smile, the set of her body, that she knew it, too.

“Will you take my message to the council?” she asked him. “Or will I leave
three
dead vampires here tonight?”

“I will deliver your message,” Matthias told her, his voice hoarse. “I will find this council, and I will tell them what happened here, and surely they will send better men than me to hunt you down.”

The blonde woman gave him a savage grin. “Surely they will.”

“Captain, what about these two?” the black woman, Vanessa, asked. She indicated with her gun at the two human captives.

“They’re tainted. Put them down,” the blonde woman said, and at this the humans redoubled their struggles. The redheaded woman was weeping, saying ‘no, no, no,’ and shaking her head as if by such action she could negate what was happening.

Vanessa’s jaw tightened for a moment at this, but then she nodded and walked over to the two of them.

“You’re still human,” she said. “I’ll make it quick.”

“Tanya, I love y—” the human man began, and Vanessa put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. There was a small popping noise, and most of the man’s brains came jetting out from the opposite side of his head.

“Oh, Jesus
GOD
!” the red-haired woman screamed. Vanessa turned, placed the gun against her forehead, and blew the back of her head out. Matthias, who had not vomited in centuries, felt the urge to do so now and fought against it. The men who had been holding the two humans let their bodies drop.

“Let’s go,” the blonde woman said, putting her blade into the sheath strapped at her back.

They moved as a group toward the balcony, and Matthias watched as one by one they took hold of a rope that had been attached there and climbed over the edge. The blonde woman – the captain – was the last to go. She looked at him for a long moment, not a trace of sympathy or regret in her eyes, and then she smiled, wide and angry.

What a terrible place her mind must be
, Matthias thought to himself.

And then she was gone, and he was alone with five bodies, two of which had been his children. Matthias felt his knees unhinge and sat on the floor just inches from the pool of Mikel’s blood. He covered his face with his hands – his stupid, cowardly hands – and began to weep.

Chapter 3
Time in the Ring

Whenever Stephen or Jakob had spoken of the places they went to spar, Two had pictured something dirty and dank, poorly lit, where sweating men wrestled atop a concrete floor covered in split cardboard boxes. When she and Theroen arrived at the address that Jakob had given them, she was surprised both by the size of the building and by the amount of light streaming through its few windows.

The building was made of steel frames and wooden slats. It was located in Elizabeth, New Jersey and sat in a giant lot filled with derelict machinery and massive, empty shipping containers. The guard at the gate had been expecting them and they had made their way through the hulking piles of metal, arriving at the club to find many other cars parked around it. When they got out of their own – a silver Porsche that Theroen had selected to “tide him over” until he could hunt down a replacement for his beloved Ferrari – they could hear nothing from inside the building.

“It’s not what I expected,” Theroen said, and Two laughed.

“I was just thinking the same thing. I thought it would be smaller and … grungier, I guess.”

Theroen nodded, smiled, and gestured toward the entrance. “Shall we?”

Inside, the building more resembled a modern gym than anything else. It was primarily a large, brightly lit open space. Two could see signs for locker rooms at the back. Weights and exercise machines sat on one side of the building, but the majority of the space was taken up with two boxing-style rings, around which sat perhaps three dozen vampires. Both rings were occupied; the combatants in the far ring were using swords, while those in the nearer ring were fighting hand to hand. Most of the crowd was focused on the sword fighters.

A few of the vampires turned to look as Two and Theroen entered the building, but most paid them no attention. Two saw Jakob sitting on the bleachers near the sword fighters, his fledgling Sasha perched next to him and watching the fight with single-minded interest. Jakob raised his hand, stood, and came toward them. They met halfway across the floor, and he gave Two a quick embrace before shaking Theroen’s hand.

“Welcome! Forgive the lack of hospitality from the others … this has been a particularly tight match.”

Indeed, it seemed to Two that both combatants were equally skilled. They came at each other again and again, feinting, twisting, trying to find an opening. The vampires observing them were mostly silent, with the exception of a few shouts of encouragement.

“Not a problem,” Theroen said. “Frankly, the less ceremony that accompanies my entrances and exits, the happier I am.”

Jakob grinned, nodding, and beckoned them to follow him. Two and Theroen walked with him, watching the fighters and their flashing blades. Jakob pointed to the ring with the two hand-to-hand combatants.

“Those are younger fighters,” he said. “You’ll probably draw more attention than those two just because you’re new, but don’t be offended if some in the group pay more attention to the experienced fighters.”

“That’s fine,” Two said. “Am I going to be fighting hand-to-hand or with swords?”

“Your choice. Someone will be happy to challenge you in either case. I’m quite positive you’ll be picked quickly … new meat always is.”

Two heard Theroen chuckle beside her and glanced up at him, smiling. He seemed calm and unconcerned, as always, but Two could see he was watching the swordfighters carefully.

“They don’t wear much in the way of armor,” he said as they reached the bleachers and sat down next to Sasha. The men in the ring were both wearing jeans, and they were shirtless. The only protection on their upper bodies was a band of stiff-looking leather around each man’s neck, and more on each of their wrists.

“The loser will bleed,” Sasha said without turning. “It’s part of the battle.”

Two glanced at Sasha’s left arm, which had been lopped off just above the elbow in the battle with Aros’s Burilgi forces. She was not currently wearing her prosthesis, and the stump protruded out from her T-shirt sleeve.

“Nice to see you, too, Sasha,” Two said, and the dark-haired woman looked over at her and smiled.

“Sorry, enjoying the fight. Welcome.”

“Thanks. I’m excited to give it a shot!”

“I’m curious to see you fight. Jakob says you’ve become quite good.”

“He’s probably overrating me because he’s the instructor,” Two said, and Sasha laughed.

“He’s a good instructor. I’m sure you will do well.”

“Merely good?” Jakob questioned, his voice filled with mock outrage, and Sasha gave him a cool glance.

“Maybe if Two wins a couple of fights, I’ll upgrade you,” she told him, and Jakob laughed.

The four of them let the conversation fade, paying attention to the fighters in the ring. The two men were battling in near silence, save the occasional grunt and the clang of blade on blade. Two watched their motions, studying them, trying to predict their next move.

“The taller one is tiring,” Theroen muttered into her ear, and Two thought he was right. The man, who had cropped blonde hair, was slowing down, breathing hard. The other fighter, who had shaggy brown hair and tan skin, was shorter but faster, and he seemed gifted with more stamina. He was pressing his advantage now, and the taller fighter was being forced to expend more and more energy defending.

The brown-haired vampire brought his sword down in an overhand swing, and the taller vampire grunted with the force of it as he blocked. He fell back a step, faltered, and it was all the advantage the shorter man needed. He lunged forward, passing his sword behind his back from right hand to left, and swung at his adversary’s abdomen. The taller vampire had no time to counter and the blade bit into his side. Several of the vampires in the audience burst into cheers.

“
Pishka’tah
!” the injured vampire roared, dropping to one knee, and it seemed to Two that the shout came more from anger than pain. The word was a sort of mild profanity in the vampire language, translating literally to “forsaken blood,” but used mostly in the way an American might say “damn it.”

“Do you yield?” the shorter vampire asked. He had pulled his sword from the wound and stood now in a ready stance.

“Aye, God’s ba’s,” the other man said in a thick Scottish accent. “Yeh wore me down, Ric.”

“You almost had me at the beginning,” Ric said. He stepped over and reached out his hand.

“Lot of good it did me,” replied the taller man, taking Ric’s hand and standing up. Blood was pouring from his side, and Two could see someone entering the ring with bandages.

“Good fight, Calum,” Ric said, clapping the blonde vampire on the shoulder and heading for his corner.