Authors: Bryan Smith
Queen Of Blood (22 page)
They were out on the long balcony overlooking Razor City as they heard the muffled thumps of the first explosions.
Dream frowned. “Something’s happening.”
The Master stood with his forearms balanced against the balcony railing. He looked just as he had the last time Dream had
seen him, and she understood that what she was seeing was part illusion. He had a chameleonic ability to shift his appearance
at will—it was one of the traits of his race—and he’d chosen to present himself the way she remembered him. He was handsome,
with fine, chiseled features, and a muscular body with a deep tan. The same thick, broad shoulders that had so turned her
on the first time. The same intense, passionate eyes. The strength, confidence, and poise he’d possessed in such abundance
was still there too, perhaps even to a greater degree than before.
Because something serious was definitely happening somewhere in the house and he didn’t seem the least perturbed by it. Dream
heard more explosions and a rapid, snapping sound she assumed was automatic gunfire.
Still looking at the red sky of the alien world beyond the balcony, he said, “Do you know what this place is, Dream? That
world out there?”
She frowned again. “No, but—”
He stood erect and turned toward her, took her gently into his arms. She shuddered and slid with a sigh into the embrace.
He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. “That red-sky world is where my kind originated. Our race thrived there
for many thousands of years. Then some ravaging disease blighted it and the survivors took to the stars in silver ships.”
He glanced over her shoulder at the barren landscape beyond Razor City. “It is still a dead world, all of my kind are long
perished, but for some reason it calls to me. See that pyramid in the distance?”
Dream looked at it. “That’s new, isn’t it? Or relatively new. The slaves were working on it for a long time before I got here.”
The Master nodded. “New, yes. However, it is being built according to ancient specifications. When finished, it will be a
precise replica of the pyramids my ancestors used as holy temples. I believe Evelyn intended to eventually use it in an attempt
to resurrect my mortal form.”
Confusion creased Dream’s brow. “Evelyn?”
“You knew her as Ms. Wickman.”
Dream stiffened slightly. “Oh.”
Dream stiffened slightly. “Oh.”
“Of course, she had no way of knowing how close I was to achieving that goal on my own.” His smile this time had a rueful
quality. “It isn’t easy to send information through the veil separating the mortal world and the various afterlife dimensions.
Even those skilled in such things frequently get it wrong. Poor Giselle, for instance.”
Dream shivered and turned her head against his chest again. “What will happen to her?”
“Those sounds you’re hearing? The approach of invaders. They have come for her.” He lifted her head from his chest and stared
into her eyes. “And they will have her.”
Dream felt a fresh sense of alarm. It had been so easy to allow herself to be hypnotized by the sound of his voice, to slip
into a cocoon of comfort while wrapped in his arms. She pushed away from him a little and said, “Shouldn’t we be doing something?
They’re coming here.” She nodded at the open French doors. “She’s in there, in that nasty chamber on the other side of that
wall.”
He smiled and stroked her hair again. “We will do nothing.”
Her eyes gleamed with sudden fright. “Why?”
His smile remained unwavering. “We are in no danger. We could repel the invaders, if we so chose. You are strong enough to
do it on your own, in fact. But we will not do this. They will take Giselle and de part this place, never to trouble us again.
Then we will rebuild this kingdom, perhaps even expand our presence in the land of my ancestors. And we will reign as king
and queen for a thousand years.”
Dream laughed. “A
thousand
years?”
“Yes. It is part of the bargain I made with the death gods.”
Dream stopped laughing. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
The Master shook his head. “I am not.”
Dream shivered. It was a strange thing to contemplate. Suicidal impulses had plagued so much of her younger years, and now
she was looking at a potential lifetime stretching across centuries. The concept was initially jarring, but the more she thought
about it—and the more she stared into her lover’s intense eyes—the more right it felt.
She smiled and touched his face. “Okay.”
He took one of her hands in his, kissed the back of it. “I love you, Dream.”
She tugged at the sash around her bathrobe and pulled open the flaps, exposing the front of her body.
Her breasts were pale in the alien sunlight. The sound of the gunfire was growing louder as she said, “Come fuck me.”
The Master smiled again.
And did as his Queen bade.
Marcy was in the bathroom with her sister. Ellen was perched on the toilet, with her jeans down around her ankles. Marcy knelt
in front of her and coaxed her sister with words she almost certainly didn’t understand. Hygiene was a big problem for Ellen.
It had been hard to get her to understand that she couldn’t just squat and shit on the floor any time she felt the urge to
go. Nor had it been easy to instruct her on proper use of the toilet. You had to watch for signs indicating she was on the
verge of needing to take a dump. She would get restless and start pacing about their room, panting and whimpering like a dog
in need of going outside. In fact, the process had been very similar to potty-training an animal.
Ellen whimpered again. “Muhmuh…muh—”
Marcy sighed. “Come on Ellen. Squeeze. You can do it.”
“Muh…muh—”Tears of frustration welled in Ellen’s eyes. “Muh—”
“Oh, the hell with it.”
“Oh, the hell with it.”
Marcy stood and extended a hand to her sister, who accepted it with dumb gratitude, a drool-flecked smile tugging at the corners
of her mouth. Ellen stood, and Marcy helped her get her jeans tugged back up and snapped shut. They had just reentered the
bedroom when Marcy heard the faint sound of something she needed a moment to recognize as heavy metal music.
She frowned.
It was the first time she’d heard recorded music of any sort since arriving at this place. Though the music was muffled, she
had a sense that it was coming from somewhere outside the house. She was moving toward the bedroom door to investigate when
the boom of the first explosion sent a hot spike of fear through her heart, freezing her hand on the doorknob. The sound was
massive and the concussion seemed to rattle the whole house. It was followed immediately by more explosions, just as big and
loud, which was followed by the stuttering sound of gunfire. Ellen screamed and threw herself against Marcy, jarring her hand
away from the doorknob. Her hands clawed and scrabbled against Marcy’s clothes as she mewled inarticulately. Marcy shoved
her away, sent her tumbling to the floor. Ellen landed on her ass and let out a pained squeal. The sound ripped at Marcy’s
heart, but the panic engulfing her was too immense to allow any room for coddling her simpleton sister. She had to figure
out something to do, and fast, before whatever was happening downstairs got any closer.
Then she had it. The only answer possible.
Dream. We’ve got to get to Dream.
“Upstairs.” She looked at Ellen. “Get your ass up. We’re going upstairs.
NOW
.”
She hurried over to the nightstand beside the bed, yanked the drawer open, and pulled out her Glock. She checked the magazine.
Full. She popped it ba ck in and turned around in time to see her sister moving toward the door. Ellen’s hands fumbled with
the doorknob for a moment before seizing it. A burst of adrenaline sent Marcy dashing back across the room.
The door came open and the sound of gunfire grew abruptly louder. Screams and confused shouts echoed down the hallway.
Ellen stepped into the chaos and Marcy followed.
The straight razor felt good in her hands, like it belonged there. Alicia flicked it open and moved to the head of the bed,
where she stared down into the wide eyes of the girl tied to the headboard. She was a young thing, slim and blonde, with a
cute face and a nice figure. The ball gag affixed to her mouth and face enhanced her prettiness in a perverse way, emphasizing
her youth and vulnerability.
Alicia sat next to her and pushed sweat-soaked strands of blonde hair away from the girl’s forehead. The girl shivered at
Alicia’s touch.
Alicia smiled. “Once upon a time, girl, I was in your place. Tied up for no good reason other than the pure hell of it. A
damn shame, ain’t it? That there are people in this rotten world who get their kicks this way?”
Tears welled in the girl’s eyes and spilled down her flushed cheeks.
Alicia wiped the tears away and licked them off her fingers. “Mmm. Anyway…as I was saying, it’s a shame there are people
like me in the world.” She laughed and placed the blade flat against the girl’s white belly. “A shame for you, anyway.”
She pressed the blade into the girl’s flesh, penetrating just slightly, perhaps an eighth of an inch, and drew a red line
all the way down to her hip. It wasn’t a mortal wound by any means, but the girl squealed and rocked against her restraints.
Then she was panting in agony behind the ball gag. Her whole face was red and Alicia wondered whether it was possible to scare
a person this young enough to induce a heart attack. It didn’t seem likely, but she supposed it was possible. It would be
regrettable.
She was just getting started on her.
It was funny. This thing she was doing to this girl, some anonymous runaway she didn’t even know, was exactly what she’d planned
for Dream back when she’d first recorporealized. But things had changed somewhere along the way. Being with Dream made her
stronger and made all sorts of interesting things possible. The time she’d spent on the road with Dream and those kids had
even been kind of fun. So she’d stuck with them, resisting the sometimes powerful urge to kill them all, and things had worked
out just fine. She was in a perfect situation now, in just the right place for indulging the dark compulsions that were always
lurking in the back of her mind.
Strange.
She’d never had impulses like these in her first life. The original Alicia Jackson had been just as tough and no-nonsense,
but she’d also been a highly moralistic person. That conscience had not made the journey back from the other side of death
with her. It bothered her a little, that some piece of her essence was missing, but not enough to matter.
There were three black-clad Apprentices in the room with her. Two young men and a slender girl about the same age as the runaway
tied to the bed. The men were lounging in chairs. They looked bored. This wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen a thousand times
by now. The girl, though, was sitting in a chair close to the bed, an avid expression on her face, her eyes glittering with
a dark, eager hunger.
Alicia smiled again. “Sophie? Could you do me a favor?”
Sophie looked at her. “Yes, Mistress?”
“There’s a bottle of perfume over there.” She nodded at the vanity sitting against the wall behind Sophie. “Fetch it for me,
would you?”
Sophie grinned. “Of course.”
She hopped up and bounced over to the vanity, displaying an adolescent enthusiasm Alicia found charming. She found the bottle
and brought it over to Alicia. “Here ya go.”
“Thanks, Sophie. Now sit down again and watch. This will be fun.”
Sophie did as ordered and Alicia looked into the bound girl’s eyes again as she removed the stopper from the bottle. She moved
the bottle into position over the long incision. “This is another thing that was done to me years ago. Let me tell you something,
girl. You may think you’re hurting now, but—”
The blast of bludgeoning heavy metal riffery startled Alicia and the bottle slipped from her fingers. The music was very loud.
Very close. She thought about it a moment and realized she’d been hearing another, lower sound prior to the intrusion of the
music, a sound she now recognized as the rumble of engines.
Alicia stood and moved toward the bedroom door. “Just what the fuck is going on out there?”
She opened the door and stepped out onto the second-floor landing. She peeked down the stairs and saw a number of Black Brigade
soldiers heading into the foyer. Curiosity got the better of her and she started down the stairs. The gunfire was already
starting by the time she was halfway down. Then the first AT7 shell slammed through the door, passed through the foyer, and
detonated when it struck the wall arch outside the living room. The explosion ripped apart bodies and rocked Alicia off her
feet, sent her tumbling down the stairs.
She was just getting to her feet when the next shell came streaking in. The next explosion knocked her off her feet again
and for a moment all she felt was a stunned confusion. She heard loud voices and bullets buzzing by everywhere. Then she felt
an immense pain and lifted her head to look at her stomach. A piece of shrapnel had ripped through her abdomen, eviscerating
her.
Then the black boot of a fleeing Black Brigade soldier came down on her face as she died a second time. In the last moment
before she expired, she experienced a surprising—and intense—feeling of relief.
The invading force stormed through the demolished entrance to the house and spread out through the ground floor. The sound
of gunfire was ceaseless, the stuttering eruptions blending into a cacophonous din.
Chad and Allyson were among the last through the entrance. They came in charging, then fought not to stumble over the strewn
body parts and debris. The large foyer had been transformed. It was now a hellish slaughterhouse. Blood and pieces of bodies
everywhere. Chad had seen the aftermath of brutal, violent death before, but never in such abundance, not even during that
seemingly endless firefight through the tunnel to the Master’s house years ago.
He saw the body of a brown-skinned woman lying still in the middle of all the carnage. He frowned and moved closer. “It can’t
be.”
The dead woman looked just like Alicia Jackson, Dream’s long-dead best friend. And it wasn’t just a strong resemblance. That
wouldn’t have troubled him. No, this woman was a precise replica of the woman Chad remembered. He knew Alicia had no siblings—identical
twin or otherwise—so he was unable to make sense of what he was seeing on any level. He stared at Alicia’s slack features
and forgot his surroundings. The moment nearly cost him his life.
He detected a blur of movement in his peripheral vision and looked to his right in time to see Allyson raise her weapon and
send a burst of automatic fire at the second-floor landing. Red dots blossomed across the black shirts of two armed men. The
men fell backward against more black-clad men behind them. Allyson hurried to the foot of the staircase and kept firing the
whole time. More men in black fell dead before they could get a bead on Allyson with their own weapons, and in a moment the
landing was clear, the surviving enemy combatants retreating to a safer position.
The sound of gunfire became more sporadic and eventually died down to the occasional pop. Allyson seized Chad’s arm and tried
to tug him back toward the front entrance, leaning close to whisper into his ear.
“Come on, goddammit, this is our chance, let’s get out of
here.”
Chad was numb. Part of it was the mystery of Alicia. The wall-to-wall gore was another part of it. But a bigger factor was
this firsthand experience of Allyson’s total willingness to kill anyone in the way of what she wanted. She’d done it before,
of course, starting with the men who’d broken into his house. Then again on the way up here, dispatching the men who’d been
her traveling companions. But now he’d watched her mow down at least four more men, acting with deadly precision and concentration,
not stopping until she was certain the threat was gone. In a flash, Chad realized no one had ever cared for him as intensely
as Allyson did. No one had ever been so willing to step into harm’s way and sacrifice for him.
So he let himself be dragged toward the door. He would follow her anywhere now. They reached the door and would have stepped
through it if not for the presence of the older Asian man and his younger male sidekick on the porch. The men regarded them
with even, unreadable expressions. Each held an identical silver sword. Chad immediately understood that they had assumed
this position to prevent the very thing he and Allyson were attempting.
“Fuck. We’re not going anywhere yet.”
Allyson started to raise her weapon. “Goddammit.”
Chad pushed the barrel down. “Don’t. You’d be dead before you could squeeze the trigger.”
Allyson made a sound of frustration and twisted away from him. “Fine. Fuck them. Let’s finish this thing.”
A number of the Camp Whiskey soldiers had filtered back into the foyer. Jim was among them. There was a bright splash of blood
across the front of his shirt, but he did not appear to be wounded. Chad assumed he’d killed someone in close combat. Bai
reappeared, too, her sword dripping blood. She pushed her way to the middle of the throng and rattled off a quick set of instructions.
“The ground floor is clear. Now we advance. You. And you.” She pointed at two of the camo-attired men. “Up the stairs. Get
close, but not close enough to draw fire. You know what to do.”
The two men nodded and wasted no time following her orders. They unclipped gas masks from their belts and slipped them on.
Then they crept up the stairs one careful step at a time. They stopped at a point about halfway up and hunkered down. One
man kept his weapon trained on the second-floor landing while another man unsnapped two stun grenades from his belt. He tossed
one up to the landing. It landed with a loud thump on the hardwood floor and rolled down the hallway. The second one bounced
off the wall beyond the landing and for one tense millisecond Chad was sure it would come tumbling back down the stairs. But
the grenade caught a funny bounce as it hit the floor and went backward down the hallway. This all happened in the space of
maybe five seconds. Terrified screams resounded in the second-floor hallway as several people saw the bouncing black objects
and recognized them for what they were.
Then there came a loud, teeth-jarring BANG!
And another.
Then smoke was billowing from the hallway and a number of Camp Whiskey soldiers went racing up the staircase as Bai screamed
at them:“UP! UP! UP! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”
To Chad she seemed like a madwoman herding human cattle. Then she was at his back, the heel of her hand slamming between his
shoulder blades, driving him forward. “GO! FIGHT!”
Chad’s feet found the staircase and he began to move up even as he heard gunfire erupt anew above him. He fumbled with his
own gas mask and somehow managed to get it on. Then Allyson was racing up the staircase, hurrying past him to put herself
between him and the bad guys yet again.
Chad ran after her.
