Chapter 44: A Mess of Blues

Chapter 43

Palomino looked at the vampires on either side of her. While waiting for Andre to make his move, she’d texted Thalia, Maria-Star, and Eric, alerting them that the queen’s eldest was still on his way—but taking his goddamned time!

And he had Debbie Pelt in tow!

The only question was whether or not he was taking enough time for back-up to arrive.

Palomino knew that help in the form of Maxwell Lee and Chow was coming. As for Thalia, she had lost Andre’s trail due to some bigger threat and was regrouping with Eric and Sookie.

The platinum-blond vampiress steadied herself. Would she rather have Thalia on Andre’s tail—as she’d thought that she would? Yes. On the other hand, if Thalia was concerned enough about some other development that she deviated from the plan, then Palomino knew that Andre must be the least of their worries! And that was a troubling thought, indeed!

“Are we supposed to kill him? Kill Andre?” one of the guards with her asked in a disbelieving tone.

His query was unsurprising to Palomino, given the fact that—up until that very night—Andre had been the queen’s second-in-command. And he’d been in command of all of Sophie-Anne’s guards, including those who were with her.

“Without hesitation—if he tries to get into the surveillance room,” Palomino said firmly.

“But—if we can take him into custody—we should do that—right?” the other guard asked.

Palomino felt—rather than saw—the two guards exchange a skeptical look, and in that moment, a feeling of dread settled upon her. “No hesitation!” she reiterated to the pair. “You know what the queen ordered.”

“We heard her,” one guard said, though there was still a level of uncertainness in his tone about going against the vampire who’d commanded him for so long.

Unfortunately, Palomino had no more time to deal with doubts. Something in the air seemed to change in that moment—as if an electric surge had come to life within the oxygen that the vampiress no longer needed. Still—she felt that electricity, as she always did right before battle.

Raising her sword, she moved her lithe body into attack position. She was not surprised when Andre came surging around the corner with the transformed werefox on his heels. She rushed forward to meet her foes.

Sadly, the guards that were supposed to be right next to her hesitated.

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As Andre rushed around the final corner toward the surveillance room, he was no longer really thinking. He was simply acting, his vampire instincts kicking in—his instinct for survival trumping any wish he might have to die rather than to succeed for Appius.

Palomino—a vampire in Northman’s retinue—ran to meet him. Andre had always found her beautiful, but he saw her only as an obstacle. No. Worse than an obstacle, she was—in that moment—a manifestation of Eric Northman, a manifestation of the infestation of all of Northman’s retinue!

The two with Palomino were well-known to Andre. Brutus and Richard were both competent guards and had been loyal to the regime for decades. Andre had trained them; he had championed them both for important assignments in the Queendom.

But—in that moment—they did not do him proud, for they did not attack him without mercy. And—in their hesitation—Andre saw a road map to victory against the three vampires in that narrow hallway.

If the three had worked as one, then they could have taken the older vampire. But as it was, Andre was able to confront them one at a time. First was Palomino. As she swung her sword in a valiant effort to decapitate him, Andre lowered to his knees and spun his body in a move he’d been practicing longer than the blond vampiress had been alive—more than three times longer, in fact. With one of his knives, he sliced into her kneecap, which immediately caused her great pain. Even as she fell to her own knees, he stabbed her in the heart with his other knife.

Being silver, Andre’s blade did not kill Palomino, but the wound was severe enough to leave her completely incapacitated.

In the second it took him to debilitate the vampiress, Brutus had “unfrozen,” but Andre was ready for him, and he knew his erstwhile student’s weaknesses: he was less effective against a long sword. With that in mind, Andre discarded one of his shorter knives for Palomino’s dropped sword and rose to his feet. Using his superior speed, he engaged Brutus and lopped off his head within moments. Behind him, he heard the sounds of snarls and tearing flesh as Debbie attacked the downed Palomino.

Andre spared a moment lamenting the fact that fate would allow a creature such as Debbie Pelt to even touch one such as Palomino! But—as Richard finally came at him, all of Andre’s attention was focused on that vampire. Richard was a formidable fighter and exchanged several sword-blows with Andre. Unfortunately for Richard, however, Andre was the master of the techniques Richard was using, and after only half a minute, the queen’s child had the advantage over the guard, and he decapitated him.

Andre heard a pained yelp from behind him, but he did not turn around to see what had caused Debbie distress. Instead, he surged ahead toward the door of the surveillance room, the bloodlust within him now at a frenzied level and driving him toward the goal of killing Molly and whoever else stood in his way!

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Chow was faster than Maxwell Lee, and he did not wait for his compatriot or the queen’s guards who had been sent as their guides. He’d familiarized himself with the passages of the sprawling estate earlier that evening and knew the general direction of the surveillance room. And—as soon as his keen ears heard sounds of a fight—he simply followed the tell-tale noise.

The Asian vampire had always been able to take in a scene—and all of its many details—with incredible speed, even when he was a human. That was one of the reasons why Kenshin, Chow’s maker, had chosen him for turning.

A samurai before he was turned, Kenshin had trained Chow in all that he knew. However, while his maker’s ambitions had turned toward mastering technology, Chow had enjoyed a simpler existence—without the many “toys” that had been developed in the modern world.

Chow had come to be in Eric Northman’s retinue because the Viking and Kenshin were long-time associates. Though neither elder vampire used the word openly, Chow knew them to be “friends.” Chow actually enjoyed working at Fangtasia—behind the bar. Though his maker made fun of him a bit, Chow had always preferred repetitive tasks—even simple, banal ones like making a gin and tonic, which he’d come to learn was Sookie’s favored alcoholic beverage. Such a task allowed Chow the opportunity for what he called “focused perfection.” He could strive, for example, to make the perfect drink—each time he was asked for one. And each one would be more and more perfect. The perfect amount of ice, the perfect ratio of alcohol, the perfect placement of garnish, the perfect style and weight of glass. He found the whole idea—and the whole practice of achieving perfection—to be meditative.

It appealed to his attention for details.

As he turned the last corner that would take him to the surveillance room, he did not have to pause in order to take in what he was seeing. A werefox was chewing mercilessly into the sludgy remains of Palomino. The creature had clearly torn all the way through her neck, thereby decapitating and killing her. And now the bitch was gorging on her blood! Chow ripped the filthy beast off of Palomino, determined that she was done befouling what remained of the vampiress.

He did not hesitate as he threw the werefox into a wall behind him, nor did he pause when the animal yelped and then whimpered in retreat. Instead, he continued on toward the sound of banging, even as he took in the remains of two vampires whose scents he did not recognize. Chow registered that the banging noise was coming from Andre, who was trying to rip into the control panel that would allow him entrance into the surveillance room.

“Fuck! Shit!” Maxwell Lee exclaimed from behind him, obviously having come upon Palomino’s remains. “What the fuck happened?”

Chow kept his focus on Andre, even as his skilled hands reached into his pocket for his wooden throwing knives. Two, then two more, then two more—left his hands in quick succession. All of them hit Andre, wedging deep into his back—surrounding his heart.

A growling Andre turned to face Chow, his eyes conveying a mixture of pain and purpose. Clearly, he intended to charge Chow. The Asian vampire was steely. Two more wooden knives were already in his hands, ready to find a target in the queen’s child’s heart.

“Stand down, Andre!” Chow commanded. “My aim was true. These two will compete to reach your heart first if you make a move forward!”

“Kill that mother fucker!” Maxwell Lee yelled, coming up next to Chow. The younger vampire was clearly in a rage, and contrasting Chow, he was not fully in control. “Palomino is gone! Her injuries were too . . . ” His voice trailed off. “She’s gone,” he choked out. “Kill him, Chow!”

“One move, and I will,” Chow threatened Andre.

With his peripheral vision, Chow saw that Maxwell Lee had taken a stake out of his pocket.
“We’ll take him into custody if we can,” the Asian vampire said forcefully to his compatriot. “He might have information Eric could use.”

Andre shook his head. “I can’t stop! I must do what was asked of me!” he cried out.

However, before Andre could turn back toward the door to the surveillance room, Maxwell Lee had stepped in front of Chow and thrown his stake toward Andre.

Chow could tell that the stake would miss its mark even before Andre moved to avoid it.

Andre looked murderously at Maxwell Lee, even as Chow pushed his impulsive companion away and stepped in front of him, readying his knives. However, right before Chow let his weapons go, the door to the surveillance room opened. Andre’s attention had been on Chow and Maxwell Lee just enough that he could not stop himself from being swathed by a large silver net.

Andre fell to the ground, his skin hissing as the silver met it.

Chow warily took in and nodded at a large vampire—clearly one of Sophie-Anne’s people—who had thrown the net. A second large vampire—his hands gloved like those of the first—held a second net, obviously in case his larger compatriot had missed.

“Thanks for distracting him for us,” a distressed Molly said as she stepped around the guards and looked out into the hallway—to where Palomino’s remains stained the floor. As Andre writhed in pain, Molly took the opportunity to kick him as hard as she could, which—unfortunately—wasn’t that hard, given her age.

“Because of you, Palomino is gone, you son of a bitch!” she yelled at the incapacitated vampire, her cheeks streaming with bloody tears. She kicked him again.

Molly swiped at her eyes, smearing the blood. “Don’t just stand there!” she yelled at Chow and Maxwell Lee. “Take this bastard to Eric! And find the bitch that was with him!”

“What bitch?” Maxwell Lee asked.

“There was a werefox,” Chow paused, “finishing off Palomino. I threw her into a wall and then came for Andre. She must have left the scene right before you arrived.” The Asian vampire looked at Molly and caught a pair of gloves that she threw to him so that he would be protected from the silver net on Andre. “I am sorry I did not get to Palomino in time to save her,” he said with a little bow.

Molly swiped at her eyes again. “There’s more. We couldn’t see what happened clearly. Outside in the yard, there’s just not enough cameras, but . . . .”

“What’s happened?” Maxwell Lee asked.

“Most of Sookie’s two-natured guards are down. And Warren is,” Molly paused and let out a sob, “gone.” She took a shaky breath she didn’t need in order to compose herself.

“Andre might still be useful,” she said with determination. “Just get back to Eric with him. And keep an eye out for the werefox! I’ll send updates to everyone about her position. Right now, she’s not showing up on any cameras. But—before that—she was running around without any sense of direction.”

“Will you be alright here?” Chow asked her.

“Thalia thinks Andre was sent to take out this room in general and me in particular,” Molly growled, practically spitting at Andre’s prone form as he continued to struggle uselessly against the net. “So—I don’t know if we’ll be fine or not,” she added honestly. “But we’ll be here watching as long as we can be.”

Chow nodded and waited for Molly to close and secure the door before he gathered the ends of the net so that he could maneuver it into a position to pull Andre to his feet. With the net secured in Chow’s strong hands—and also securely keeping the older vampire under wraps—the Asian vampire started back toward the ballroom with Maxwell Lee at his flank.

His sharp eyes took only a moment to catalog the remains of Palomino; in truth, he’d never really gotten along with the platinum-haired beauty. But she’d been one of “them”—one of the close-knit group of Area 5 vampires who seemed to gravitate toward the leadership of Eric Northman.

Chow recalled briefly the first time he’d met Eric. The Asian vampire had heard the phrase “commands respect” in regard to individuals who inspired that emotion from others; however, he’d rarely met someone who could truly command respect without actually “commanding” it. Eric was different; perhaps, it was the confidence he radiated or the fairness that he was known for. Maybe it was that Chow’s maker, Kenshin, had already clearly respected the Viking. Maybe it was something for which there was no word, just a feeling “commanded” within those who could recognize Eric’s worth—those who wanted to be a part of that “worth” by being “worthy” of Eric’s respect.

Indeed, those who stayed in Area 5 for long periods of time were what Chow would term to be vampires of the “best quality.”

So—even not liking Palomino—he’d respected her.

And he regretted her loss.

Chow pulled the net which tethered Andre just a little tighter, enjoying the sizzling sound of his flesh. And then he twisted the netting so that it would bite into the queen’s child. It was the least he could do for his fallen comrade.

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FIVE MINUTES EARLIER

Appius teemed with anticipation as Hallow began a whispered chant. How fun the next moments would be! He double-checked to make sure that any video cameras in the area would get—at best—obscured images of what he was about to do. Then, he adjusted the hood on the jacket he’d decided to wear on his little walk so that the clothing provided the most coverage possible.

After all, he still wanted his appearance to be a surprise. But offering a ruckus as close as possible to the guesthouse his child was staying in would—hopefully—add to Eric’s reticence about going there. After all, if Hallow was correct about the magic around that dwelling, there would be no getting into there—at least, not quickly.

Although he soon felt more magic in the air due to Hallow’s chanting, he knew—thanks to his ability to sense the motives behind magic—that her spell was not meant to harm him. His ability could, however, sense that the magic around the estate as a whole was meant to keep him—and others—out.

He knew the moment that Hallow had succeeded in lowering a section of the magical barrier. He smiled at the witch.

“I shall rejoin you in a few moments,” he informed—even as his fangs snapped into place.

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Maria-Star slowly made her way toward the fence where the two shadowy figures had been standing for the last several minutes. She’d shifted and been on high alert since Thalia had texted that there was a being of incredible power nearby. And—then—Eric had informed everyone that the being could very well be his own maker: Appius Livius Ocella!

It wasn’t as if Weres kept up with gossip on all of the vampires in the world. Indeed, not even her mentor, Colonel Flood, concerned himself with finding out much about the vampires living in the United States unless they fit into one of three criteria—criteria which he’d taught to Maria-Star.

“Even in your duties for the Sheriff,” he’d told her, “don’t bother to learn about any vampires unless they are over 100 years old and/or close enough to you to make a difference.” To those two items, he’d added a third: “If you ever hear about a vampire and your instincts tell you that he or she is bad news, then trust your gut.”

Though Maria-Star lived in a rather isolated territory of the United States, there were several vampires that fit into the last category for her. There was something about the way that the Nevada King and his Lieutenant were discussed that had Maria-Star on alert about them, for instance. Both Felipe de Castro and Victor Madden seemed lacking in honor if the stories she’d heard were correct. Freyda in Oklahoma seemed childish and spiteful. Maria-Star, therefore, had an eye in that direction, too. A few other North America vampires seemed a bit shady to her. But none of them were discussed in as negative of terms as Appius Livius Ocella was! He might as well be the boogie man for all the stories and rumors that passed about him. And that was from halfway around the planet!

When Eric and Sookie had met with all the guards about a month before in order to inform them about who Eric’s maker was and a little about what he was like, Maria-Star had felt a shiver travel down her spine. Her mother used to say that such feelings were “people walking over her grave.”

After that meeting, Eric had given them all the chance to leave their employment, but none of them had done so, even though life had felt a little more unguaranteed after the mention of Ocella.

Ironically, that meeting was why Maria-Star had let herself pursue a relationship of some commitment with Padma, despite the fact that they were both Sookie’s guards. Having a relationship with a coworker was something that Maria-Star had always intended to avoid—no matter how alluring that individual was.

And Padma was extremely alluring to the bisexual Were.

But, with Ocella in the mix? Well—Maria-Star had decided that life was too damned short to let anything get in the way of her “living it.”

Of course, the two—because of their duties—didn’t get much down time together. However, for the last several weeks, they’d made that time count. It wasn’t love. But it was definitely a lot of very satisfying lust!

The Were double-checked that the “panic-button” on the top of her paw was activated. All of the two-natured creatures on her team had similar items—thanks to the ingenuity of Molly—so that they could immediately alert Thalia and Eric if they were in dire-straits.

Maria-Star’s attention moved above—where she saw that Willow had begun a fly-by of the shadowed figures. The werehawk, of course, would have to stay inside of the magical barriers of the estate, but hopefully, Willow would be able to give her and Onawa a heads-up if the figures seemed to be up to no good. As she paused in her progress to give Willow a chance to complete her circuit, the Were found herself doubly glad that she’d taken a chance on a relationship with Padma, for if Appius really was in the vicinity, that relationship might very well be her last.

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Warren had been keeping his eyes on the shadowy figures through his scope for the last several minutes. Willow had already completed one circuit, flying about twenty feet from the estate’s barriers, but had not seen much. Now she seemed to be going closer to the shadowy figures.

The sniper had also been keeping track of Onawa and Maria-Star, who were moving stealthily closer to the fence.

Warren was perfectly relaxed in his sniper’s pose. His resting heartrate was always low because he was in good physical shape. But—in that moment—it was even slower than usual. His trigger finger brushed the mechanism that would fire a bullet into the air, despite the fact that he knew the barrier spell would not enable it to meet either of the two shadowy figures outside of the fence.

Still, he was ready.

Or so he thought.

Even through his scope, Warren missed what happened in the next few moments. All he could say with certainty was that one moment he was watching two shadowy figures right beyond the queen’s fence-line, and the next, there was only one person there.

And then there was a loud squawk followed by a slapping noise.

“Willow!” Warren thought to himself as he moved his rifle slightly in order to try to see his friend in the sky. But he did not see her there.

In the next moment, he heard a growl to the left. Onawa!

There was a loud snap! And then a whish! And then more growls—to his right.

Again, Warren moved his gun, this time in the direction where Maria-Star had been. He was desperate to sight something—desperate to fire on their enemy!

He heard more growling—and then what seemed to be the sound of a claw cutting flesh.

A second later, he was able to find the makers of those noises. Through his scope, he saw two figures locked together. And then one was thrown through the air at least 30 feet!

Fur and drops of blood seemed to float behind the thrown figure, which landed nearby Warren’s tree with a whimper.

Instinctively, the sniper knew that it was Maria-Star who had been thrown, but he did not move his gun again so that he could see her through his scope. No—indeed—his eyes were now seeing the figure who had thrown her! Through his infrared scope, he saw a hooded vampire, its fangs glinting in the limited light.

Warren did not think. He simply aimed at the heart of the creature.

He fired once.

Then twice.

Then a third time.

All silver bullets with wooden cores.

Months before, when he’d first started working for Eric Northman, the vampire had instructed him not to use any silencing mechanisms on his weapon. Warren knew that was because a shot fired—even if it missed its target—could be an alarm.

Despite his human status, Warren could count on one hand—with a few fingers left over—how many times he’d missed a target since he’d received his training as a sniper. Even as a teenager, he’d been incredibly able with a firearm. His father had first taken him hunting when he was eleven. With a .22 rifle that had seen better days, Warren had killed his first deer with the first shot he’d ever fired—though his dad had given him a brief tutorial, which included three key pieces of information: what the safety was, how to load in the bullets, and how to pull the trigger.

Aiming had come naturally to the boy.

The three loud bangs of Warren’s latest shots were still echoing in the air when he felt his body being pulled from its nest as if a tornado had suddenly appeared out of nowhere and yanked him from the oak tree with surgical precision.

In the next moment, Warren felt his gun being wrenched from him. He yelled out as he felt and heard a snap.

His back had been broken.

He heard a cry from below him. Onawa? Willow? Maria-Star?

He couldn’t move his head to tell, though he felt as if he were flying.

A second later, he recognized that whatever had grabbed him had landed just outside of the fence. He saw a woman in front of him. He felt tears of pain streaming from his eyes.

“We need to get the fuck out of here,” the woman said nervously.

“This one fired wooden bullets at me!” came a masculine voice that must have belonged to his captor. Warren tried to move his head to the right so that he could see the man, but he could not. In fact, his whole body seemed to be beyond his commands. He could not feel his arms or his legs, and his head was being held up—as if his captor was holding him by the scruff of the neck. But Warren could feel nothing but the wind hitting the tears on his face.

He did, however, smell the metallic scent of blood.

The man continued speaking, his voice very casual. “I think I’ll take him to Alexei. Come—Hallow—put your arms around my neck, and I will fly us back to the vans. Surely, Andre will be ready to let us into the estate by now.”

After a moment, Warren was aware that he was flying again—but the world seemed to blur around him. And then that world blackened a little, but he fought against losing consciousness. He forced his eyes to stay open.

All the war zones he’d been in—he’d never been afraid.

But he was afraid in that moment—though not for himself. Warren knew with certainty that he would soon be dead—either from his current injuries or due to this Alexei that had been mentioned.

Alexei—that name sounded familiar to Warren, but it took him a moment to remember that it belonged to Appius Livius Ocella’s other child. Warren found himself wishing that he was capable of pushing the panic button on his wrist. But his limbs were useless.

But he’d had time to fire! Three times.

Surely, those shots would be a warning to the others—and a call to others who could come and help Onawa, Willow, and Maria-Star!

Yes. Warren comforted himself that his last act, firing those three shots, would do some good for the people he loved—for Mustapha and for the family he’d found.

Finally, he closed his eyes, knowing that he’d never open them again. He concentrated upon picturing his beloved Mustapha’s face.

Only when that face was clear in the perfect vision of his mind’s eye did the soldier allow himself to quit fighting.

go to Chapter 45

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Thanks for reading! Please comment if you have the time and inclination. — CKat

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