The Silver Star (Kat Drummond Book 11) Read online

  “Gee, thanks. You are definitely a master of complimenting a girl.”

  “Hey, Brett called you a blood-covered mad woman and then you locked lips for a few hours.”

  “It’s about time and place, my dear Treth. I hope you talk to Gorgo more respectfully.”

  Treth somehow blushed through his semi-translucence. But he smiled, just as he executed the zombie in front of him.

  For too long, my ghostly companion had had no one but me to keep him company. But, as my weird spectral powers grew, we had found a way for him to occasionally contact his long-lost love, beyond the In Between. I was glad. I had Brett. It was only fair that Treth had someone too.

  A gust of flames beat a zombie onto the floor. Before it could stand, I pressed my steel-tipped boot onto its chest and skewered its head. At the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but note that an hour ago, this had been someone’s son. Someone’s father. A lover. A client. A friend.

  But undeath took everything from us. I didn’t kill them. I just closed the casket.

  I looked up after unsheathing my blade from the zombie’s skull, expecting another wave of gurgling corpses. But they were all dead. Scorched, beheaded, skewered, or shot to pieces.

  Beyond the sea of the dead, a group of gunmen in grey lowered their weapons. I wiped mine off on my flaming coat, letting heat kill the necromantic bacteria, and approached the Crusaders.

  Brett raised his visor and gave me a smile. But there was sadness hidden within it. I looked near his feet. A Crusader lay still, black blood oozing from his neck.

  “Haynes,” Brett said, embracing me. We both smelled like sweat and blood. I added a nice fiery aroma to the mix.

  “What happened?” I asked, voice husky, cold. Crusaders seldom died. But sometimes they did. And, every single time, I couldn’t help but feel it was my fault. Even if my logical brain said it wasn’t.

  “Mobbed as we deployed. We tried to break through, but they managed to pull his collar off and bite him. Guy was there…”

  I looked at Guy, Brett’s best friend and a stalwart founding member of the Crusaders. He was telling some recruits to keep a look out and to get ready to sweep the area. Didn’t want Sanitation to come and get bitten. That’d start the entire outbreak up again. Guy betrayed nothing about what he’d done, but I knew that it would eat at him. You didn’t kill a friend, even if you had to, and then sleep well.

  A door nearby opened and Trudie appeared. Her fur and claws had receded, and she looked, mostly, human. It was odd that my werewolf friend always looked more vampiric than wolfish. She stretched her arms and yawned.

  “What’s for lunch?”

  “How can you talk about food when we’re still in the field?” I asked, exasperated. Brett squeezed my hand and then returned to Guy to take care of the sweep.

  Trudie shrugged. Senegal, the sole werewolf in her pack, appeared nearby. Both of them had been helping with evacuation. While werewolves could easily take on zombies, and they were technically immune to the disease, the necroblood infection could still debilitate them. I much rather wanted my unarmed, albeit powerful, friends helping save people with their inhuman agility.

  “How many?” I asked, looking up.

  Trudie frowned, but then put on a fake smile. “A lot. Don’t worry, Kats. There’s plenty we saved. Better than last time.”

  Last time, when an entire mall had been taken down by zombies. That had been almost all clean-up. No one left to evacuate.

  I clenched my fist.

  Necromancers…I thought that there was some humanity in them. Candace had proven that. But, for every redeemable necromancer, there were a dozen more that needed to be put down.

  I passed my friend as she started talking to Senegal about lunch. The red-headed werewolf nodded politely, but I saw him growing nauseous. It seems iron stomachs were a Trudie thing, not a werewolf thing.

  I scaled the now open two-storey apartment and arrived on its flat roof, which Cindy and the others had been using as a base of operations and medical bay.

  The wounded, many missing limbs, lay in rows. Already, someone had erected a bridge to another rooftop to make space for more wounded.

  There were too few of them. Too few survivors. In a city block this big.

  A mother and daughter stood by the roof edge, watching the flaming corpses on the street. I walked closer to them and, at my approach, the mother turned to me. Her eyes were hollow. I knew that look. They were the eyes many of us had. The eyes of someone who had seen too much in too little time.

  “I’m…” I started, stammering. “I’m sorry. Sorry that we didn’t get here sooner. That we couldn’t save more people.”

  She looked stunned at my apology. I felt Treth’s pitying gaze. He’d argue that we did what we could. But we could always do better. We had to do better.

  The mother looked down towards her daughter, as if considering if she was genuinely there. She stroked the girl’s head and then looked up at me.

  “You saved her,” she said, simply. “And nothing else matters.”

  Chapter 2.

  Costs

  “You know you don’t have to do this every time?” Brett insisted, as we made our way up a path to a humble suburban home. It wasn’t a rich looking house or neighbourhood, but its owner maintained a splendid garden in spite of that. Fae were rare in this area so, for a garden to be this lush, it took real human grit.

  “I shirked my duties as commander before,” I replied, fidgeting with the buttons on my dress-shirt. “Never again.”

  “None of the other agencies go through as much effort as you. Drakenbane sends out an SMS to the next of kin. If that. I ran into a wife of a guy who died a year ago and she asked when he was coming home. They hadn’t bothered to even notify her.”

  “We’re not Drakenbane,” I replied, coldly.

  Treth nodded his approval but, I could see by his creased forehead that he agreed with Brett’s sentiments. Both of them didn’t understand. I had to do this. Haynes had died under my command. He died for me. This was the least I could do for him. And it didn’t come close to being enough.

  I reached for the doorbell as Brett squeezed my shoulder affectionately. I smiled my thanks. He said I didn’t have to do this. I did, but he didn’t. Yet, he accompanied me every single time.

  I rang the doorbell and waited. Footsteps sounded on the other side and I saw a curtain open a crack near the front door. I pretended not to notice. She knew what my presence here meant. I didn’t need to prompt her. And the worst thing I could do was push her.

  We waited in silence for minutes more. Until, finally, the door creaked open.

  The woman was far from old. Only a sprinkle of white graced her black hair. That fact stabbed me right in the heart. Haynes had been young. Young enough to have a relatively young mother.

  “Mrs Haynes…” I started.

  “I know why you are here, Last Light.”

  Her eyes were red. Puffy. But her sadness was coated by something hotter. Anger. Resentment.

  She stumbled away from the open door without saying another word. Brett and I hesitated.

  “You’re not vampires. You don’t need me to invite you in,” she spat.

  I crossed the threshold. Brett closed the door behind us. Treth walked around the house as if he owned the place, examining photos and flower arrangements. In the years that he had been a ghost, he had forgotten a lot of his manners. Didn’t stop him from lecturing me about mine.

  “Coffee? Tea?” she asked, almost robotically, but with the overwhelming hint that she didn’t feel she owed us any.

  “We don’t want to trouble you, Mrs Haynes.”

  We’d done that enough already.

  She guided us to a quaint sitting room and indicated for us to sit. She dominated an armchair, facing a couch which Brett and I occupied.

  Above her head, resting on a mantle, I couldn’t help but see a collection of photos. Haynes as a child. Haynes as a teenager. Haynes with a man who
looked just like him, but older.

  “Is Rupert’s father here?” I asked.

  “He’s dead.” Blunt. Concise. I repressed wincing.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Of course, you are. And sorry about Rupert, too. When my husband died, they told me he died defending the Three Point Line. Told me that he died a champion of Hope City. But I knew better. He died of his wounds, three hours after the ceasefire. Because the weyline had run out after bombarding the impi with fireballs for seven days solid. And they didn’t have any purifiers with spark left to heal him.”

  She sighed, the sigh of a woman who had lost everything.

  “I’ve mourned my husband for almost a decade now. And I mourned my son the second he joined your…group. Monsters, impi…it doesn’t matter. They all mean an early grave. I told him that…”

  She brought her fist to her mouth, repressing a sob, before continuing.

  “If only I’d been wrong.”

  Mrs Haynes stared into space as Brett and I sat in silence. There had to be something I could say. Something to console her. Anything.

  But what do you tell a grieving mother?

  Nobody had ever said anything to me that made my parents deaths any better. Perhaps, there existed words that could console true grief. But I didn’t know them.

  “How did he die?” she finally asked.

  I opened my mouth to respond. But I didn’t know what to say. That he had been mobbed by the undead. That his neck had been torn out, his blood rapidly blackening as his comrades tearfully put him out of his misery the only way they knew how. A bullet to the head. Before I could utter a pained word, Brett squeezed my knee as he leaned forward, staring Mrs Haynes in the eyes.

  “He died a hero, ma’am. He helped save many people. Without him, dozens more would have perished.”

  She snorted derisively.

  “Hero? That’s what they said about Robert. It’s supposed to make me feel better. But it never has.”

  The air grew thicker as I felt our welcome coming to an end. I stood up and took something out of my pocket.

  “I know that nothing can truly make amends for what happened,” I said. “And nothing will make it any better. But I know Rupert would have wanted you to have this. I am not buying his life. I could never do that. But he earned this in his service and sacrifice. And now it belongs to you.”

  I handed her an envelope. It contained a stack of bills. With it, I included Haynes’ Crusader badge, ripped from his body and cleaned of his blood.

  She stared at my offering with disgust, sadness and…finally, acceptance.

  She took it without thanks. I didn’t ask for any.

  “The Crusaders mourn their fallen too, Mrs Haynes. And you have my sincerest condolences. For all times. If you ever need anything from us, please call the number on the card in the envelope. Rupert was family. And that means you are too.”

  Before we overstayed our welcome any longer, I turned my back on the widow and now childless widow and proceeded to the door.

  Brett lagged behind. He reached out towards her as she stared at the badge. I saw pain in his eyes. Perhaps, I should do this without telling him. He didn’t have to suffer like this. Only I needed to.

  Brett caught himself and withdrew his hand. He muttered his condolences and followed me outside.

  He carefully shut the front door behind us, and we made our way towards his black armoured van. Some neighbourhood kids were taking pictures of it with their cell phones, posing next to the Crusader logo emblazoned on the side.

  A few kids beamed as they saw me and I tried to smile back, but I couldn’t.

  “How did you handle things like this in the Corps?” I asked, quietly.

  “We never did,” Brett replied. “We were all orphans, widows, widowers. You didn’t join the Corps if you had someone to go home to.”

  Like all of Brett’s reminiscing about the Corps, it was matter of fact. Distant. As if he was reciting ancient history about Khazars. Not the happenings of a death squad that he had called family for many years of his life.

  “I’m sorry…” I said, in spite of his coldness. Brett still hurt about the Corps. I knew he did. And, in his fitful sleepiness, he relived those days again and again.

  “Don’t be.” He squeezed my hand. “The Corps was family. But a twisted, genocidal cult of a family. The Crusaders…it’s much better.”

  “Sometimes, I wish it wasn’t a family. That it was back to old times. It was easier when it was just me. Treth can’t die and I don’t have to mourn if I’m the one dying.”

  Brett frowned as I said that.

  “Would you go back to that? If you could? Solo hunting?”

  I contemplated his question, as Treth also waited for my answer.

  “No,” I finally responded. “But that doesn’t make it any easier. I’m the commander, but I wish it was someone else. I don’t want people dying for me.”

  “It’s a choice they make,” Treth replied. Brett didn’t respond as he saw me staring pointedly in Treth’s direction. Brett couldn’t see or hear Treth, but he had gotten really good at noticing when I was talking to the ghost in my head.

  “The Crusaders are needed,” Treth continued. “Brett wasn’t lying. Haynes died a hero. He died saving people. That matters.”

  “But he died, nonetheless. While I was in command.”

  “Kat, there is no duty so great that you cannot leave it,” Brett stated, sternly. I looked at him, shocked by his words.

  Treth snorted. He disagreed.

  Brett wrapped his arms around me, and I rested my head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat.

  “The person who matters most will always be you. We can be heroes. We can save people. But not if it means destroying ourselves. Say the word, and we can end this. We can leave. Leave the Crusaders. Leave Hope City, even. No more Conclave. No more monsters. I love what we have done. What we’re doing. But I love you more than any of that. If this ever needs to end…know that I’ll be right beside you.”

  Treth was aghast, as all his altruistic knightly teachings about duty, honour and sacrifice were all shot down by my boyfriend.

  But perhaps that’s why I’d fallen in love with Brett and not Treth.

  A few tears trickled down my cheeks and I rubbed them away before the kids could see.

  “Thank you…now, let’s get back to HQ. If we’re absent for any longer, Jane and Conrad may implement their long-awaited coup d’état. I’m sure Trudie would back them if they have enough snacks.”

  Brett snorted in amusement and we got into his van.

  “We have a job to do,” I finally said, as Brett pulled off. “Maybe it’s about duty. Maybe it’s about getting paid. Regardless, I’ll pull through.”

  “You always do,” Treth and Brett replied in unison.

  I rubbed my chin, leaning back in my seat as I contemplated the outbreak earlier today. I still smelled burning flesh. An aroma I had long since gotten used to after acquiring my coat and working with Hammond.

  “There’ve been too many outbreaks of late,” I said aloud.

  “Jane’s contact in Garden’s PD said that they arrested three wannabe necromancers in the last few weeks,” Brett replied, corroborating my statement.

  “Gangsters and edgy teens love necromancy. And there are plenty of both in this damn city. But it’s not an easy discipline. You can’t just buy a textbook on it.”

  I rubbed my chin some more. My coat hummed, as if doing its own contemplation.

  “Grafscripp is hard to come by,” I continued. “And closely guarded by necromancers. They’re a jealous lot. People who want to share aren’t prone to raising armies of mindless servants. But with this many necromancers on the loose, and this many outbreaks…I can’t help but think there may be someone proliferating necromantic texts.”

  “The Conclave?” Brett suggested.

  I smiled. Brett was jumping on my conspiracy bandwagon. Great!

  “Bingo. But I can’t reall
y be sure. I’ll have to ask Candace when I see her…”

  But it was uncertain when that would be. I could contact her by other means, all of which were dangerous. I reserved those for emergencies.

  Even so, I focused my senses on Candace’s eye in my socket, and the soul-link that it allowed.

  Candace had sand between her toes. She was warm. Content. But underneath that, there was still a sense of pain and angst.

  My soul-sister always felt that way. Even during the joy of Christmas lunch, where she joined my family and me, there was still a darkness underneath the surface.

  I didn’t know if there was anything that could remove that scar. But, at least I could be thankful that she was safe. For now.

  Chapter 3.

  Agenda

  We promptly arrived back at the Crusader HQ, nestled in the suburbs of Hope City and opposite one of the city’s most important institutions – the Gravekeeper Tavern. The once seedy pub was still seedy, but now that its clientele was primarily made up of off-duty monster hunters, it was now both seedy and monster free.

  The Crusader HQ used to be a bank and then a restaurant. Both showed themselves in its design. The bottom floor had a kitchen (converted into a lab), freezer (used to store monster corpses) and a sitting area, which had become a meeting area for hunters comparing kills and awaiting their next jobs. The second floor had more of the obvious banking paraphernalia - a vault which we had converted into an armoury, a surveillance room (now the domain of our tech-wizard, Pranish), and many offices. One of those offices was still the residence of Brett and me. Months back, a rampaging cyclops had destroyed my home. The owner of the house, my mentor, Cindy, had moved in with Brett’s best friend, Guy. As such, Brett and I had found new accommodation. That accommodation, for now, had been the CEO office of the Crusader HQ. As we were ultimately nocturnal creatures, we didn’t really care where we laid our heads at night. But, recently, the HQ had become busier and busier.