Queen Of Blood (25 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Back outside, now.

It wasn’t yet noon, which didn’t seem possible. Allyson felt as if a lifetime had passed since they’d gone charging into the
strange house. So much had happened. So many people had died. It didn’t seem right that a space of little more than an hour
could encompass the extinguishing of all those lives. But it had. The sun was obscured by clouds and the air was tinged with
winter’s chill. But Allyson didn’t mind that. It was a clean chill. Natural. She remembered her glimpse of that black room
and shuddered.

The girl called Giselle had been loaded into the minivan parked behind the package truck. She was in the rear, her wrist stumps
bound with a thick layering of silver duct tape. The girl looked numb, her eyes staring at something beyond this place. The
young Asian man was sitting beside her. He sensed Allyson’s scrutiny and his head swiveled slowly in her direction. A very
small smile darkened the edges of his cruel mouth. Allyson turned away and moved to the Jeep.

Chad and Jim were there, arguing in low voices. Chad was doing most of the arguing, though. Jim kept his head down and stared
at the ground as he listened to his friend rant.

“Jim, you just can’t do this. You can’t go with them. It’s insane.”

Jim sighed—an immensely tired sound—and at last lifted his head to look Chad in the eye. “Perhaps. Regardless, I am going.”
He looked at Allyson and managed a tired smile. “Hello, Allyson. I want you to know how proud I am of you.”

Allyson flushed with embarrassment. She smiled and abruptly threw her arms around the old singer. He laughed and after a moment
returned the embrace. Then she broke the embrace and stepped back, saw that he was smiling, too. It transformed his haggard
features, making him look decades younger. For a flickering moment, she glimpsed the rock god of old, the impossibly good-looking
and intelligent young lion who had taken the world by storm.

She swiped tears from her eyes with the base of a palm. “Chad’s right, you know. You should go with us. There’s nothing you
can do for that girl.”

Jim’s smile slipped some, but didn’t fade entirely. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.” He glanced at the minivan and the last
of his smile evaporated as he looked at the frail form of the girl huddled against the door. “Giselle has made mistakes. She’s
done bad things. Unforgivable things. But there was a time when she did amazing things. A time when we worked toward a common
goal. She was incredibly brave then, and her actions ultimately saved the lives of thousands. Including—” He indicated Chad
with a tilt of his chin. “—your man here. For that alone, I owe her my company for what’s left of her journey. I owe her
whatever comfort I can give her, meager though that may be.”

Chad made an exasperated sound and shook his head. “Look, I get what you’re saying, okay? I understand it. But you’re putting
your life on the line here.”

Jim’s smile this time was smaller, sadder. “It won’t be the first time.”

Chad opened his mouth to respond to this, but hesitated at the sound of the minivan’s front passenger door slamming shut.
The old Asian man was ensconced in the shotgun seat now. Bai was standing outside the open side door, watching them expectantly.

“Leaving now!” she called to them.

Jim shuffled a few steps in that direction. Then he turned toward Chad and Allyson, addressing them one last time as he walked
backward. “I wish you both the best of luck with whatever the future holds. You can be happy, but you should stay underground.”

He reached the minivan and turned away from them.

He slipped into the rear compartment and settled into the space between the younger Asian man and Giselle. Bai threw the
door shut and moved to the other side of the van. She slipped behind the wheel and pulled the driver’s-side door shut. She
didn’t so much as glance Chad’s way. There was something dismissive about this. He was already a part of the past for her.
A toy she’d amused herself with for a time and was now discarding. The lack of even token acknowledgment made Allyson hate
the bitch more than ever.

The minivan’s brake lights came on and the engine purred to life. It was a well-maintained car, easily the best-running vehicle
in their meager fleet, so of course Bai had commandeered it for the drive up here. But Allyson’s resentment on that count
faded as she watched Bai quickly execute a three-point turn and start down the hill. The sooner the Order people were gone
from her sight the better.

Chad sighed and slumped against the side of the Jeep, watching with numb resignation as the minivan quickly made its way down
the winding dirt path. “I can’t believe he’s going with them. How could—”

The explosion made Allyson stagger backward. Chad dropped to his knees and screamed. The minivan’s interior was on fire. The
roof had been blown out, its mangled remains a soot-gray mess. A column of black smoke rose into the air. Allyson’s mind reeled.
She couldn’t begin to process what had happened. And then the fire ignited the gas tank and a second explosion demolished
much of what was left of the minivan. Allyson’s knees went weak and she clutched the Jeep’s side mirror to remain upright.

Chad got to his feet and rushed down the hill. He was screaming something. Useless words of denial. Allyson watched him stumble
and fall, banging his knees on the hard ground. And then he was on his feet again, charging full-out toward the smoldering
wreck of the minivan. Allyson regained her composure and shoved herself away from the Jeep, hurrying down the hill after
him.

Chad stopped a dozen yards from the burning van. The heat was too intense to get any closer. He was on his knees again and
sobbing by the time Allyson reached him. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around him, forcing his head away from
the awful sight. He buried his face against her breasts and wailed. Allyson stroked his back and cooed to him. Nonsensical
things. The things a mother might whisper in a baby’s ear. She felt useless and stupid. She looked over his shoulder and was
able to make out smoking remains in the minivan’s seats. A scent of burning meat permeated the air. Allyson’s stomach did
a slow roll.

She gripped Chad by the hand and stood up, pulling him upright against his will. He looked at the minivan again, a stricken
look contorting his features. Allyson turned him away from it and they began a grim march back up the hill. They reached the
Jeep and Allyson helped Chad into the passenger seat. He was pliant, now, acquiescing to her every instruction without resisting.

Allyson climbed behind the wheel, dug the Jeep’s keys out of her pocket, and twisted them in the ignition. The engine sputtered
a few times, then came to reluctant life. She goosed the gas pedal a few times, and when the Jeep was running more smoothly,
she put it in gear and started down the hill.

They gave the ruin of the minivan a wide berth.

They drove in silence for miles, leaving the house on the hill far behind.

Chad spoke up when they at last left the rural road behind and started down a much busier state route. “Jim planned that,
didn’t he?”

Allyson hesitated a moment before replying. She’d been working toward the same conclusion, but it was nonetheless a hard thing
to admit. “Yeah,” she said at last, “I think he did.”

Chad slumped in his seat and stared blankly at the road ahead. “Hell. It makes sense, in a really fucked up way. He couldn’t
take out the Order people in a direct confrontation. So he waited until he had them where he wanted. He sacrificed himself
to avenge the deaths of his friends and to save Giselle from whatever sick thing they had planned for her.” He laughed, a
short, sharp, bitter sound. “I’ve got to hand it to him, I guess. I’ll bet those arrogant assholes never saw it coming.”

Allyson frowned. “Okay. But
how
did he do it?”

Chad looked at her. “You saw that big jacket he had on, right? There was a lot of ordnance in that truck. I bet he helped
himself to some grenades before we went into the house. Hid them deep in that jacket. It must have been so easy to just reach
in his jacket and slip the pin out of one of those grenades. All he had to do then was wait a few seconds.”

Allyson’s eyes misted. “That…shit, that really took some guts.”

Chad nodded and said, “Yeah.”

They drove in silence for several more miles. Traffic thickened as they neared the exit that would carry them back to the
interstate. Allyson thought of something as she hit the turn signal. “He said we should stay underground. “Why do you think
he said that?”

Chad shook his head. “Jim spent most of his life underground. Probably he just thinks…thought it would be the smart
thing to do.”

“Or maybe he thought we might still be in danger somehow. Either from the Order or…whoever’s in charge now at that house
we just shot up.”

Chad shrugged. “Could be.”

Allyson steered the Jeep along the curving interstate ramp. “So what do you think we should do?”

“Right now?” Chad grunted. “Let’s just keep driving and figure it out later. All I want at the moment is to get to a hotel
somewhere, preferably one at least a hundred miles from here, then shower, have sex with you, and sleep for a day.”

Allyson smiled. “Sounds good.”

The Jeep hit the interstate and Allyson put the pedal down.

EPILOGUE

Six months later

Dream sat on a high throne made of gold in the pyramid’s main pavilion. Seated to her left in an identical throne was the
Master. He looked resplendent in his long, tousled hair and fine clothes. He sensed her looking at him and smiled.

Dream shifted her attention to the mass of people gathered below. They sat in rows with their heads bowed. Perfectly still.
Afraid to move until instructed to do so. They were right to be afraid. These were the denizens of Razor City, the now-thriving
slave community founded by the late Giselle Burkhardt. Theirs was a brutal existence. They lived day-to-day, never knowing
when they might be summoned to sacrifice or be killed by some other cutthroat member of their own community.

They were gathered to pay official tribute to their new Queen and Master. A few of them would soon be called to the altar
situated between the crowd and the high thrones. They would give their blood to honor the death gods and exalt the reign of
their new rulers. The perimeter of the pavilion was ringed with armed men clad in black. Formerly called the Black Brigade,
Dream had redubbed them the Palace Guard. She liked the sound of that better. It was like something out of a fairy tale. And
therefore more fitting for a Queen.

It was far from the only change made in the months since she was reunited with the Master. She had more control over her powers
than ever, could conjure things and mold the fabric of reality with astonishing precision. She had reshaped herself into a
replica of her younger self. Her hair was golden blonde again, long and flowing. Her skin was a sun-kissed tan again, and
the age lines at the edges of her eyes and mouth were gone. Some of her improved control was a result of the Master’s guidance.
More of it was her exponentially increasing natural skill level. A shining example of what she could do was standing in front
of the altar.

Marcy stood with her hands clasped before her, facing the crowd. A ceremonial dagger was in a sheath attached to her belt.
The girl was perfectly restored. Dream had recreated her down to the finest detail, including memories and personality. It
had become so easy to retrieve such things. The recreated Marcy didn’t know she had died. It was the one bit of memory Dream
had seen fit to erase.

A marshal drum beat resonated in the pavilion. The man beating the drum stood next to the altar. The drumming abruptly swelled
and ended with a flourish.

There was a moment of perfect silence.

No one inhaled or exhaled.

Then Marcy unclasped her hands, unsheathed the ceremonial dagger, and turned toward the thrones. She bowed slightly at the
waist and said, “Your Highness, we are ready and await your command.”

The Queen nodded. “Begin.”

Marcy bowed again and turned away from her. She issued a silent command with a head gesture and the Palace Guard moved into
the crowd. They jerked a number of men and women to their feet and prodded them toward the altar. The doomed ones went to
their fates with their heads bowed. Each of them knew there was only one means of deliverance from this place. They accepted
this because they had no choice. Many of them even embraced it.

Dream settled into her throne again and watched happily as the evening’s first blood was spilled. By the end of the ceremony,
the blood ran in thick, red rivers from the altar, staining the floor around it a stark shade of dark crimson.

Blood was everywhere.

Dream saw this.

And she decided it was good.

There was no greater glory than that derived from the sacrifice of innocents. It ignited her senses and fueled the darkness
that had always lurked in her heart and had now been unleashed, given freedom to reign. It was a thing she hoped to enjoy
for centuries to come. With her perfect lover at her side, she would happily wade through an ocean of blood. And with any
luck, the wider world would one day bow before them.

She looked at the Master and he met her gaze.

He smiled again.

And she saw the promise of eternity in his dark eyes.

She reached toward him, clasped hands with him.

The Queen shivered at her King’s touch.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As always, thanks and love to my wife, Rachael. Thanks also go out to the rest of my family, including my brothers Jeff and
Eric and their families, Cherie Smith (No. 1 mom of the millenium), Oscar and Dorothy May (grandparents extraordinaire), Jay
and Helene Wise (in-laws of the highest caliber). My friends Keith Ashley and Shannon Turbeville. Kent Gowran, David T. Wilbanks,
Mark Hickerson, Tod Clark, Bill Lindblad, all the cool people at the Black Circle Saloon and Brian Keene’s Message Board of
Madness—you guys rock hardcore. Of course, I owe a large debt to all the people who bought
House of
Blood
and demanded a sequel. And last but definitely not least, thanks to Don D’Auria for making it happen in the first place.