Dave Carver (Book 1): Thicker Than Blood (10 page)

Chapter 13

I’ve always thought the Jacquelyn Kennedy Onassis Reservoir, in Central Park, is one of the coolest places in New York. It’s a hundred-plus acres of water, a giant manmade lake, smack-dab in the middle of Mother Nature’s last stronghold in the center of Manhattan.

Krissy and I stood on the track that surrounded the water, leaning against the tall, iron-barred fence that kept prospective swimmers from taking a dip. During the day, the Reservoir track is one of the most popular jogging spots in the city. But during the night —at least this particular night—it was eerily empty. A cold breeze came off the water, sending shivers through my body. Goosebumps prickled on my skin, under the jacket, oblivious to the leather. Waves lapped softly against the rocky shore below. Leafless tree limbs stretched overhead, reaching over the water like skeletal hands. A thick cloud moved slowly in front of the moon, plunging the park into even deeper darkness. Krissy shivered—whether from the cold or the vaguely ominous sense of dread that was impending, I couldn’t say. I opened and closed my hand around the hilt of my sword, but I didn’t draw. The power of the blade flowed through me, lending me a little confidence. The dark feeling didn’t go away, though. I was absolutely sure that someone was watching me from inside Central Park’s trees. The Park’s crime rate isn’t as bad as it used to be, but joggers have long memories. People stay out of the park after sundown, so if we were being watched, it probably wasn’t something that meant well.

My lizard brain hissed. The “flight” part of “fight or flight” yearned for takeoff. I wanted to get away from this reservoir, out of this park, maybe even out of this city. I needed to get in the car and put as many miles as I possibly could between me and this feeling. Krissy took a couple of hesitant steps away from the fence. I couldn’t blame her—I knew what this feeling was and what was causing it, and I still could barely restrain myself from running. I could imagine how paralyzing it would be for a newbie. I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Krissy looked up, and I gave her an encouraging smile. I don’t know what she saw in the darkness, but it was enough to keep her from bolting.

The dark feeling spiked. Like the crescendo of some hellish orchestra, revulsion washed over my body, making every hair stand on end. I sucked a breath of cold, wet air. My muscles tightened. Krissy gasped, a mouselike squeak. She buried her face in my shoulder. I tightened my grip on her shoulder, hard enough to keep her from moving.  Gently, I spun her around so she could see the water. She wouldn’t want to miss what was about to happen next. It was gonna be cool.

Without warning, a man o’ war broke the surface of the Reservoir like a cresting whale. She was an enormous vessel, like something from the golden age of sailing ships. Her three masts reached into the sky like flagpoles, supporting tattered gray sails. You could have played a regulation game of basketball on the top deck. Her hull was made of reddish tinted wood, and I knew that it was thick enough to repel cannonballs, and it was enchanted to withstand magical assaults, as well. Affixed to the bow was a marble figurehead of a woman, her hair and long dress blowing wildly in a long-forgotten sea wind. Beneath the figurehead, a bronze plaque announced the ship’s name:
Guinevere
.

Less than a minute after she breached, she came to a complete, unnatural stop. Not even a ripple stirred the water around the keel. New York’s drinking water flowed off of the deck like 360 degrees’ worth of waterfalls. People emerged from belowdecks, carrying brooms and mops. They pushed excess water over the side, they lowered sails, they lit torches, and they prepared a rowboat. Orange light glowed from the torches, way more light than should have been cast by the relatively small fires.

Krissy’s eyes were wide and perfectly round, like the cannon holes in the sides of
Gwen’s
hull. “Is...is that, like, a pirate ship?”

I winced. “Be careful with the P-word around the crew. They’re a little touchy about that sort of thing.”

“Where did it come from? How did it get here?”

“Magic.” I laughed. “Come on, it’s not like this is the strangest thing you’ve seen in the last twenty-four hours.”

“No,” Krissy said, “no, it really is.”

The ship’s sails were tightly rolled up now. The rowboat had been swung over the side where it was suspended to a complicated-looking system of pulleys and ropes. There were two people sitting inside as the rest of the crew lowered them to the water. As soon as it touched the waves, one of the boat’s occupants began rowing towards shore. Towards us. He moved with the smooth, practiced strokes of an experienced oarsman. In a matter of moments, he had crossed the smooth, black surface of the reservoir and beached the wooden boat on the rocky shore.

The oarsman was a brick wall of a man in a tattered tunic and a gray beard long enough to tie into a navel-length braid. His arms were thicker than my thighs—the right one was covered with a faded tattoo of a rose vine. He wore a loose rope belt, with a curved sword stuck through it. Rosey wasn’t a knight, but he was a friend.

Mayena Strain sat opposite from him in the boat. She wore the black, vaguely militaristic fatigues that were the combat uniform of knights in the Nomad division. Her red-gold hair was plastered to her scalp from the spray of the water.

“Ahoy there, Davy,” the old sailor shouted. “Watch out!” He tossed a rope over the fence, a grappling hook attached to one end. I fixed the hook to the bottom bar of the fence and stepped back. Rosey nodded in approval, and May began climbing the rope, up the side of the shore and over the fence.

“How you doin’ there, Davy?” Rosey shouted as May climbed.

“Not too bad,” I said. “What about you, Rose?”

“Argh, can’t complain, can I? Though ferryin’ you youngin’s everywhere ain’t me idea of a good time.”

“It’s a living though, right buddy?”

“Aye, it is that, I s’pose. Or somethin’ near enough.”

May reached the top of the fence and hopped down. She unhooked the grapple and tossed it back over to Rosey, who caught it with a nod and began coiling the rope. Then she nodded at me. “Captain.”

“Captain,” I said.

She looked down at the water. Rose had stowed the coiled rope and hook under his seat, and he was preparing to row back to the ship. “Thanks for the lift, Rose.”

“Anytime, Missy Strain! Just give us a call when you’re ready for us. Davy, good seein’ you again.”

“You too, Rosey. Say hi to your boss for me.”

Rose shivered visibly at, I knew, the prospect of having to speak to the captain of the
Guinevere
, who was one of the scariest men on the planet. He turned the boat around and proceeded to row back to the ship, moving even faster now that he was down a passenger. The two women and I watched as the crew hauled the rowboat back aboard the ship and stowed it somewhere belowdecks. Before Rose’s moldy boots had touched the deck, the sails were unfurled, the anchor was hauled up, and the water around the keel was spinning. A whirlpool appeared beneath the ship, and
Guinevere
was pulled beneath the surface. As soon as the top mast had vanished into the water tunnel, it closed, and the surface of the reservoir was as still as it had been before the ship arrived.

“How was the trip?” I asked May.

“The usual. Cold. Wet.”

I nodded. “Let’s get you into the car so you can warm up.”

I led May and Krissy through the park, back to where I’d parked Earl’s car. (I’d wanted to take Rob’s Mustang, but the look in his eye when I suggested it told me there were limits even to my captainly authority.) Krissy and May kept shooting each other these little suspicious looks. I pretended not to notice.

Once we were back in the car, with the heat turned up, I started to drive. The fastest way back to the office would have been to take 5th Avenue south to the tunnel. I drove north, slowly. There wasn’t much traffic at this time of night, but there was enough that there was steady thrum of background noise.

“So how was the council meeting?” I asked.

“Man,” May laughed, “Avalon really doesn’t like you.”

“Is it me he doesn’t like,” I said, “or
anyone
threatening his power?”

“You’re right—he really likes having authority over other people.”

“How far do you think he’d go for power?” I asked.

May frowned. “What are you getting at, Dave?”

In the rearview I could see Krissy staring with great purpose out the window. I shrugged and said, “No one outside of the Table was supposed to know where my safe house was, right? So how did the vampires know where I was?”

“She could have followed you,” May said. She was looking over her shoulder at Krissy in the backseat.

“I know how to spot a tail, May. I wasn’t being followed. So someone had to give her the address. Someone who knew where I lived.”

“And you think it was Avalon?”

“I don’t know, but it feels right, doesn’t it? He’s power-mad, always has been. He could have decided he’s gone as high as he can with the Table and he’s looking for other opportunities for advancement.”

May pursed her lip. “He is the type to hedge his bets. If the vamps offered him a position of power in the new world after the war...he may take them up on it.”

“You think McCreary found out and Avalon took him out?”

“I think there’s more to it than that,” I said. “The vampires are preparing an attack on New York, I’m sure of it. It’ll be a spearhead for an assault on the rest of the States.”

“The Table not prepared for something like that,” May said. “And if we’re wrong, then you’ll have made a very dangerous enemy.”

“Agreed,” I said. “We should keep it quiet for now.”

May looked at Krissy again. “And you trust her?”

“Hey,” Krissy said, “anything bad I did was against my will.”

“So you say.”

“Enough,” I snapped. “May, I know an enthrallment when I see one. I trust her. I trust both of you. That’s the only way this can work.”

“Okay,” Krissy said.

“Fine,” said May. “Who else knows about this?”

“No one but the three of us,” I said. “I want to bring Bill in, but that’s where it should stop.”

We drove in silence for a while. I took a left onto 110th Street, another left onto Central Park West, and headed south.

May finally said, “So what do we now?”

“Well,” I said, “first we go talk to one of my new friends, and this time we’re not gonna be as polite.”

Chapter 14

An uneasy silence settled over the car as I drove from the office down the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. Krissy, sullen and full of protestations about being left behind, was back at the office. I was surprised by how uncomfortable I was sitting alone with May. Our relationship wasn’t like a favorite pair of pants, I realized—I shouldn’t have expected to slip back in comfortably. It had been nine months since we were together. A long nine months. Longer, I suspected, for her than for me.

She felt the tension, too. There was a faux chirpiness in her voice when she said, “So, how’s the new job treating you?”

I shrugged while still keeping both hands on the wheel. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, May, and, oh yeah, I got one of my people killed the first day. So it’s not great.”

May was silent for a couple of blocks. It felt like a long time. “I heard about that. It wasn’t your fault, Dave.”

“Wasn’t it? She got killed ‘cause I sent her out without backup. Seems like my fault.”

May took a short, deep breath. She was pausing, gathering her thoughts. “Let me give you some advice, Dave: Don’t let a death get in your head. You’re not these people’s friend—you’re their leader. People are gonna die.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And another thing,” May snarled, “what the hell kind of knight lets herself get knifed from behind? Don’t they teach us how to watch our backs?”

“She was in friendly territory,” I said. “She didn’t see it coming.”

“Well, she should have,” said May. “We’re at war. It sounds like Larsen forgot that. As far as I’m concerned that means anything that happened to her is her own fault.”

I looked away from the road for a moment. May was breathing heavy like she’d just sprinted a mile. Her eyes were wide. That scared me. May was always compassionate, but she didn’t lose her cool. Not like this.

“We’re at war, Dave,” she whispered. “Forget that and you die.”

“Are you okay?” I said. “What happened to you?”

“The girl you knew, that was peacetime May.” She snorted. “I guess wartime May is a little rougher around the edges. I’m a war leader—so are you, now. You can’t fear or guilt stop you from doing what needs to be done. If you’re afraid to get anyone killed, you’ll get everyone killed.”

“I guess I’m not ready for that.”

“Well
get
ready. The vampires aren’t gonna give you time to put your pants on.” She fixed me with a cool stare. “Besides, not all of us got to spend the last six months on vacation.”

That stung. “What choice did I have?” I snapped. “Do you have any idea what they did to me in Guyana, May? They tortured me. Every day. For hours at a time. They’d burn me, cut me, ran me through with wooden stakes—yeah, I think they liked the irony of that one. And that’s leaving aside this,”—I pulled the collar of my T-shirt down so May couldn’t miss the lumpy, red, and jagged scar tissue that circled my neck. The vampire bites. “Three months of being treated like a human fucking juicebox. I’m sorry I couldn’t just hop back on the ship and get to work.”

May was quiet for a moment. “Bill did.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m just not as tough as Bill.”

If the earlier silence had been tense, this one was downright angry. Quiet, seething rage bubbled in my veins so intensely I expected to seep out of my pores. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. Who the hell was she to suggest I was some kind of coward? She had no idea what I’d gone through in that place...

Wait.

That was right, wasn’t it? She
didn’t
know what I’d gone through. And, more importantly, I didn’t understand what she’d gone through.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” May mumbled, the apology unspoken but suggested.

“I know,” I said. “And I’m sorry. I guess I’ve just had a crappy day at work.”

May smiled, put her hand on top of mine on the steering wheel, and gave it a squeeze. “You’re a lot like him—Bill, I mean. He told me that he considered hanging it up after we got him out, too. But he said he’s a warrior and he couldn’t just walk away. You’re the same—it just took you longer to realize that.”

No words came to mind—I was too busy blinking back tears. She was right, of course. I could never have a normal life, not when part of me was still wrapped up in the Table. I’d always know that there were people out there, people like Earl and Rob and May, fighting the monsters on behalf of humanity. On my behalf. I couldn’t let them stand alone. I realized I’d never considered what leaving the Order had done to May. She had risked her life and committed the Table to a costly, possibly apocalyptic war to pull my ass out of the fire, and how did I repay her? By turning tail the minute I was free and heading for the proverbial beach house. What kind of an asshole move was that?

I looked May in the eyes and gave her a sad smile. She returned it with one of her own, so I knew she’d gotten the message:
Thank you.

We were well into darkness now, and approaching the warehouse in Brooklyn. I pulled over. Rob Haney had parked closer to the building that morning, but without the backup of the sun, I wasn’t as confident.

“Oh—” May said before we got out of the car. “I almost forgot. I got you a present. Call it a ‘welcome back’ thing.” She reached into the backseat and took out the bag she’d carried with her from
Guinevere
. From inside she took a brown-paper-wrapped package and handed it to me.

There was no tape or string holding the paper in place, so the package came apart easily. I sucked in a breath as a beauty of a combat knife fell into my hand. From the end of the black plastic handle to the tip of the hawk’s-beak blade, it was about a foot long. The sheath was black nylon, and it had a clip so it could be attached to a belt. I drew the knife. The blade was shiny steel. There was a small sapphire embedded in the blade, near the hilt.

“Is that—”

“A sword-gem?” May asked. “Yeah, I had the Swordmakers whip it up special for you. It’s not as powerful as a sword, but it’s been specially tailored for you.”

“How?” I asked.

She pointed at the still-red cut on her neck. “This is the knife that the kid in Bucharest was using. The gem’s been baptized with the blood of someone you love. The Swordmakers say it will work.”

“Wait a minute—someone I love?”

She grinned sheepishly. “Well, I hope it will work.”

“You know I love you, right?” I said.

She nodded. “Yeah. You, too.”

“So how about it?” I asked. “I mean, I’m not saying right now, but maybe after the war...”

Her smile faded. “I’m leaving the Round Table after the war, Dave. I already talked to Bill about it. You were right: this war’s changed me, and I don’t like it. I started this, so I’ll see it through, but then I’m done. There’s a small magic school outside of San Francisco that’s offered me a position. I’m gonna move out there and just...live peacefully for a while.”

“Hell, May,” I said. “If anyone understands that, it’s me.”

“Maybe after the war we can revisit this conversation,” May said. She forced a smile. “Besides, if we don’t win the war all of this will be moot.”

“That’s true,” I said. “So let’s make sure we win.”

Flavian had gotten smarter since my last visit. He’d replaced the venom-addled watchpeople with a couple of burly, serious-faced men in long, dark coats. Both of them were in their late thirties and might as well have been wearing buttons that read “I am a mercenary.”

Mercs were the fourth type of human that vampires tended to employ, after thralls, junkies, and groupies, and typically the most dangerous. They were the most experienced and usually the best equipped at causing trouble for well meaning knights. Subtlety—or lack thereof—aside, these guys presented a problem. They were guarding the only entrance to the warehouse. We’d have to find a way to get past them. I wasn’t afraid of mercenaries, but it never pays to underestimate a professional killer. A bullet will kill you just as dead as a set of fangs. And these guys were definitely packing, in flagrant violation of New York State’s concealed carry laws. Those coats were long and thick enough to have been hiding submachine guns. Flavian wasn’t taking any chances.

I don’t like killing humans—I’ve only done it seven times in my career with the Table—but sometimes you don’t have a choice. If the alternative was letting these guys ventilate me, I’d put them down. Fortunately, though, the mercs that vampires hire aren’t usually the coldest ice cubes in the tray. They’re often susceptible to distraction.

And few people can be more distracting than a talented witch.

There was a little bodega across the street from the warehouse. From the looks of it, it had been abandoned for weeks, if not longer. So the guards were surprised when the door opened and a young man stepped out.

He was dressed in a black canvas jumpsuit. His hair was longish but not unruly. He was clean and had a strong jaw and a slightly crooked nose. If I say so, he was extremely handsome. From his hip, he drew a medieval-style arming sword and waved it over his head like a runway flagger.

The mercs blinked at each other for a moment. Then they produced automatic pistols from under their coats and opened fire at the young man. He turned and ran. The knight—who, I must say, had a debonairness that should have served him very well with the ladies—flung himself to the ground and covered his head with his arms.

The air rattled with the aftershocks of the automatic gunfire. After a moment the knight climbed to his feet, picked up a broken piece of brick, and flung it across the street at the two guards. It didn’t come close to making contact, but it served another purpose: it pissed them off. They slammed new clips into their guns and raised the weapons. The young swordsman turned around and...well, he mooned them. The mercs fired.

He took off at a waddle/sprint down the dark street, away from the warehouse. One of the mercs took off after him. The other one remained behind while first the swordsman, then the gunman disappeared into the murky Brooklyn darkness. His eyes scanned the streets, but for up to thirty seconds at a time, he stared after his buddy. Moron.

May and I sprang from our hiding place in an alley and sprinted down the street towards the gunman. As we ran, May lifted her hand, and the merc was yanked off of his feet and slammed into the wall, hard enough to knock him unconscious. Even working that kind of magic May reached the downed guard before I did. She picked up the gun, waved a hand over it, and the weapon melted down into silvery water. She worked another spell over the guard, and he started snoring.

Panting, I jerked my head after my incorporeal doppelgänger and asked, “How long will the illusion last?”

“
Glamour
, Dave,” May said with a patient smile. “It’s called a glamour. An illusion is something a stage magician does for money. And about fifteen minutes, give or take.”

I nodded down the road again. “Is that how you still see me?”

She shrugged. “I always liked you with the shorter hair and without the beard.”

“I notice you still have a pretty good image of my ass.”

May laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Some things you never forget.”

“So fifteen minutes?”

“Long enough for this guy’s buddy to be distracted, but not long enough for him to cause much trouble.”

“Speaking of trouble...” I said, and drew my sword. I brought the blade down on the padlocked door. The lock fell away with a shower of sapphire sparks. I picked up the handle of the door and pushed it up. Then, together, May and I entered the lair of the vampires.