Nightfall (Pact Arcanum Integrated Serial Edition) (6 page)

Nick rolled his eyes. “Jeez, Dad, way to bring me down. At least Mom believes in me.”

Edgar frowned. He reached out and covered Nick’s hand with his own. “Nicholas, I have always believed in you. If you want to be a musician for the rest of your life, then I am behind you one hundred percent. But I want you to always have the option to choose a different path. That’s why your mother and I wanted you to apply to this school. With an education of this caliber, you’ll be able to follow your dream without closing any doors, in case you change your mind down the road.”

Nick smiled at him. “I’m doing what I love. I won’t change my mind. Rory even offered to shop my demo mix around to some of his contacts.”

Edgar snorted in amusement. “Rory again. Are you sure you should be hanging out with the headliners so much? You never stop talking about him.”

“I
like
Rory. He’s my friend.”

“Balance, Nicholas. You have a working relationship while you’re on tour with his band. Your friendship might not last beyond the end of the tour. Don’t mistake a tactical alliance for a personal one.”

Nick subsided in his seat, growing sullen. “He’s my friend, not a chess opponent.”

“Just be careful, okay? Trust me.”

“Why are you so down on Rory, anyway? He’s been nothing but nice to me, and you keep telling me to dial it back.” Nick looked up at him, eyes intent. “Seriously. Do you have some kind of problem with him?”

Edgar met his son’s gaze and chose his words with care. “You’re seventeen years old, and he’s twenty-seven. I’m concerned about the amount of time you’re spending with him.”

Nick looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Um, you’re not accusing him of perving on me, are you? Because Rory’s not like that.”

“I’ve seen you two together, Nick. You flirt with him, and he doesn’t object.”

“We’re just playing, Dad. He’s usually so tightly wound, I just try to lighten the mood a little to relax him. I don’t even know if he likes guys.”

“So, if he ever decided to take you up on one of your invitations, you’d turn him down, right?”

Nick was silent for a second too long. “Of course.”

“I see.”

“Dad, do you trust me?”

“Yes, but—”

“If you trust me, then back off.”

Edgar considered Nick’s defiant expression. “All right, Nicholas. Use your judgment.”

They didn’t say anything more to each other until they arrived at the gate.

* * *

Edgar dropped Nick off at the trailer he shared with the rest of his band. On his way back to the rental car, he stopped in the security office. “I need to speak to Rory Brennigan.”

The security officer raised his eyebrows. “For what?”

“It’s a personal matter.”

“Sure. Why don’t you leave your name and—”

“My son is a minor and touring with him. I have some concerns. Do I really need to draw you a picture of how ugly this could become?”

The security officer regarded him thoughtfully. “I could let you speak to the band’s executive assistant. He can make a decision as to whether you need to speak to Mr. Brennigan personally.”

“Thank you.”

The officer wrote him a temporary pass and directed him to one of the buses farther down the parking lot. Edgar followed his directions and found the bus with the correct number. He knocked on the door. Then, feeling something strange, he laid his hand flat against the cool metal.
What the hell? The damn door was warded!

The door opened, revealing Antonio, who stared at Edgar in shock. “Ed? What are you doing here?”

Edgar shook off his surprise. “I could ask you the same question. I thought you lived in San Francisco?”

“My duties took me in another direction.”

“What are you talking about? The security office said you’re the executive assistant to Nightfall. What does that have to do with your duties? You’re one of the Winds, not a gopher!”

Antonio waved him inside. “We can’t discuss this here. Come in.”

Edgar followed him into the bus. “What’s your involvement with this tour?”

Antonio frowned. “That is Sentinel business, which has no bearing on you.”

“It’s my business as long as my son is a part of it!”

Antonio’s jaw dropped. “Wait. Your son?”

“He’s the lead singer of the opening act, Prussian Blue.”

“Oh, damn. I knew his name was Jameson, but I didn’t make the connection. I’m sorry, Edgar. If I had realized, I would have advised the members of Nightfall to reject his application to open for them.”

“Why? What does this band have to do with Sentinel business?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Edgar felt a ripple of magic as the perimeter ward shut down. He turned around to face the door, just in time to see it open to reveal Rory. For the first time, Edgar got a close look at the musician’s eyes.

AIR.

Rory stepped up into the bus, closing the door behind him. “Are you Mr. Jameson? The Security Office informs me that you have some kind of complaint.”

Edgar shook his head. “No complaint. Your assistant just explained a misunderstanding.”

Rory looked at Antonio. “What kind of misunderstanding?”

Antonio took a deep breath. “It was a personal matter. I have assured Mr. Jameson that his concern is groundless, and he has nothing to fear.”

Rory glanced back and forth between them, then shrugged. “Fine. Let me know if you need my input.” Then he turned around and walked out.

Edgar faced Antonio. “The Wind of Air. Are the others here, too?”

“Earth and Fire. We haven’t identified Water, yet.”

“I’m pulling my son out.”

“You can’t. It will draw attention to the Winds, which they can’t afford.”

“I’m not going to stand by and let Nick get drawn into your damn war.”

“Listen to me, Edgar. I cannot allow you to disrupt the tour. The Winds need to remain anonymous. If I have to get Takeshi down here to order you to back down, I will.”

Edgar stood there fuming. He might be retired, but Sentinel programming wouldn’t allow him to disobey a direct order from one of the Winds. “Swear that you will personally guarantee his safety.”

“He’s Sentinel latent. Just by existing, he’s at risk.”

“Promise me. Give me your word that you’ll keep him from harm, and I won’t bring your camouflage down around your ears.”

“I will do everything in my power to make sure he isn’t exposed.” Antonio sighed. “That’s honestly the best I can do. If you were anyone else, I’d have Rory wipe the knowledge out of your mind.”

“Great. I feel honored.”

“You should. I’m doing this for you.”

Edgar frowned. “What?”

“Takeshi’s strategy is paying off. He might do the enemy some real damage in his tenure, enough that your family might be safe for another generation. Don’t screw it up by exposing him.”

“Fine. Nick can stay. You just hold up your end.”

“I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

Edgar stepped back to the door and paused before turning back to Antonio. “One last thing. If anything happens to him on your watch, there’s nothing on earth that will stop me from killing you. Remember that.” Then he opened the door and walked away.

March 2020; Denver, Colorado

Liang assessed the seventy-three Nightwalkers before him. “And these are all the soldiers you have left?” he asked the local strike leader.

The strike leader, Native American by birth, from a nation that had long since perished, nodded. “The four local Sentinel teams have been coordinating attacks against us. They have been particularly effective recently, suggesting a deliberate overall strategy.”

Liang smiled grimly. “As it has been throughout our territories. There can be only one explanation: the Winds have reemerged to lead them.”

The strike leader swallowed nervously. “But why concentrate their attacks here? Surely they cannot know of the Master’s Sanctum.”

“It is possible. These new leaders must have been studying us for some time,” Liang replied. “Over the past two months, we have suffered tremendous losses at all of our sanctuaries, greater than I have seen at any time since the war with House Curallorn.” He sighed. “What remained of our strength in Asia was so depleted by targeted attacks that the other houses have already begun annexing our territory. The Master anticipates that our people in China will be completely overrun by superior forces within weeks.”

The strike leader stared at him in shock. “Master Liang, are you saying the enemy has singled us out for extermination?”

“It may be. Or perhaps we are only the first step in a wider campaign against us all. In any case, this insult must be answered.” He grinned, and his fangs gleamed. “Tell me everything you know about the local Sentinel teams that have been plaguing you.”

April 2020; Atlanta, Georgia

Ana’s singing held the audience spellbound, the notes of the descant winging their way across the stage as Takeshi picked out a sparse melody on his guitar. Her voice dropped, and Takeshi slammed out the final chorus, with Rory joining in with a dramatic rumble on the drums. Then they all lined up at the edge of the stage to take their bows. Squinting from the bright lights, Rory leaned over to hold his drumsticks out to a girl who had his face plastered across her T-shirt. Reaching forward, she grabbed the sticks from his hands, clutching them to her chest and staring at him as if he were a risen saint. Rory grinned at her before the three of them headed backstage, still waving at the crowd until they disappeared from view.

As soon as he turned the lock on the performers’ dressing room, Rory rushed to the bathroom and threw up noisily. Ana and Take casually waited for him to rejoin them. Rory had excellent stage presence but the worst case of performance anxiety they’d ever seen. He mostly used his Gift to control it during their shows, but it always hit him hard as soon as he relaxed. Take tried to prevent him from eating much beyond nutritional shakes before a show, knowing most of it was just going to come right back up again afterward.

“Are you okay?”
he thought along the link.

“Peachy,”
came Rory’s sardonic reply as he washed his mouth out and brushed his teeth.

Ana shook her head. “It amazes me that you’ve been performing since high school and you still haven’t got over this. Maybe you should see a shrink.”

Weak laughter floated from the bathroom before Rory returned and sat down. “And tell him what? That I kill vampires to steady my nerves? That would really go over well.”

A knock sounded at the door. As Take went to answer it, Ana instinctively readied a defensive spell.

“Don’t worry about it, Ana.” Rory dismissed her concern. “It’s Antonio, and he’s alone.”

The Fire Sentinel, wearing an all-access security pass around his neck, brushed past Take as soon as the door opened and sat near Rory. “We’ve had a setback.”

“How bad is it?” Take locked the door and took a seat across from Antonio.

Antonio shrugged. “We lost three of the four teams in Denver.”

Ana blinked. “Three! How the hell did that happen?”

“Apparently, the remaining local vampires rallied around a leader we haven’t seen before. He was strong and powerful. He went up against two Earth Sentinels at once and cut them to pieces. He also broke through another team’s kinetic wards and allowed the vampires to take them all down with machine gun fire.”

Rory frowned. “And we have no idea who he was?”

“That’s the only upside,” Antonio said. “Most of the security footage survived, and our remaining team in Denver has been studying his moves in case he attacks them next. One thing is clear: he’s definitely one of the older vamps to be that tough, and he’s Asian.”

Takeshi raised his eyebrows. “Jiao-long himself?”

“Either him or one of his lieutenants from before Jiao-long moved his house from China to America more than a thousand years ago. Most of the vamps after that period were sired here and are of Native American descent.”

“Antonio, I want to see that security footage,” Takeshi said, his expression growing fierce. “If this was Jiao-long, then that’s our best evidence of his fighting style. It will be invaluable when we finally track him down.”

“I agree.” Antonio reached into his pocket and handed Take a scrap of paper scribbled with symbols in Arcolin, the iconographic language spoken when the Gift was created. “Here are the jump coordinates for the base where the last team is reviewing the records. I already told them to expect you.”

April 2020; Denver, Colorado

The white light of the teleport matrix faded, and the three of them looked around to find four Sentinels guarding them, their machine guns unwavering.

Takeshi raised an eyebrow. “Brothers and sisters, my name is Takeshi Nakamura, and I am the Wind of Earth. My companions are Anaba Nizhoni, the Wind of Fire, and Rory Brennigan, the Wind of Air. I was told you were expecting us.”

A woman with blonde hair tied back in a long braid strode forward and gave them an appraising glance. She looked to be around fifty years old—ancient in their profession. Standing directly in front of Take, she glared at him in challenge for a minute and then gave a silent signal to the rest of her team to lower their weapons.

“Forgive the discourtesy, my Lord,” she said. “We can’t be too careful these days. My name is Marjorie Clemens, element Earth.” She indicated each of the others in turn. “My quad members are Thomas Jackson, Fire; Helena Carinne, Air; and Joseph Harvey, Water.” She turned back to Take and extended her hand. “It is truly a pleasure to finally meet you. Your strategy of watching and waiting was difficult to follow at first, but I can’t deny that it has worked.”

Takeshi shook her hand. “I’m glad we’ve been so successful, Marjorie, but they’re not out of the fight yet. This counterattack proves they’ve still got some cards up their sleeves.”

She nodded. “Yes, my Lord. We’ve been studying this new bloodsucker; he’s a tough one.” Her mouth thinned into a bitter smile. “I knew most of the team members who died. They were well protected and experienced. The footage we’ve recovered from their security setup shows they were overwhelmed in minutes.”