He’d spent his childhood in England, but his father had been appointed British ambassador to Portugal when he was ten. By the time he was recruited by Black Swan, he spoke perfect Portuguese, which was why he was sent back to Brazil after he was inducted into knighthood.
There was no one to grieve for him. His parents and older brother had been killed in a sailing accident off the Spanish coast near Barcelona and there was no other family that would recognize him as an adult without being told who he was. No wife. No steady girlfriend. Not many regrets. Like the Native Americans supposedly said, it was a good day to die. That was what he told himself every night when he went out to hunt.
He was moving as quickly as he could, keeping to one side of the alley. He wore dark clothes and was glued to the shadows on the wall while his partner mirrored his actions on the other side. He was so intent on reaching the girl in time, that he never saw the shadow in front of him take form until it had sunk its teeth into his trapezius. He yelled out from the shock or the pain or the anger at being overtaken.
In less than five seconds his partner had staked the vampire from behind. It slumped to the ground between them. The two knights stood and stared at each other in the dim light, a world of communication passing between them. It was a rookie mistake. He’d let his emotions, his desire to save that girl, override his training.
Rev had been partners with Jorge for seven years. The bond they shared couldn’t be described to anyone who’d never had the experience of being certain they were going to die. He’d shared that experience with Jorge many times.
They couldn’t say how long it would be before Rev was overtaken. The resurgent strain was converting humans much faster than the old virus. Minutes.
In the darkness he could see the shine of tears streaking down Jorge’s face. There wasn’t anything to say. They both knew the score. They both knew that, if Jorge had been given the choice, he’d trade places with his partner. For seven years they’d patrolled together. And for seven years each had silently reaffirmed that he would give his life for his partner. If it came to that.
Rev didn’t look panic-stricken. He didn’t even look upset. He simply smiled at his partner and Jorge would never forget what he said. “I love you, brother. Quit this madness. Find a girl. Live a long life. Give your babies a kiss from me. And remember there’s never a good day to die.” Then he held his arms out to his sides.
According to the explicit instructions they’d been given on how to proceed in such a circumstance, they both knew what had to be done. Jorge raised his stake, but the uncontrollable sobs were racking his body so hard he was afraid he would miss Rev’s heart. He knew he had to get control of his feelings long enough to dispatch his friend or cause unnecessary suffering. And there was already enough suffering. He loved Rev Farthing far too much to let his execution be anything besides quick.
So he sucked in two deep breaths, gritted his teeth, gave his head a vigorous shake, and screamed at the same time he summoned all his might toward driving the stake into his fellow knight’s heart. He did a good job. Rev didn’t linger. Jorge sank to his knees next to the body and called the cleanup location in to his Sovereign.
For a while he sat motionless next to his partner’s corpse, feeling a hundred years old and wishing he had died, too. Then he leaned down, planted a kiss on his Rev’s cooling forehead, left the cell phone lying on top of the body and walked away. Away from the alley. Away from his partner’s corpse. And away from Black Swan.
When cleanup arrived a few minutes later, all they found was one dead vampire and Jorge’s cell phone lying on the ground not far away.
The following morning, the Rio Unit Sovereign set down his coffee, opened his portaputer and TOP SECRET file on the transfer of Sir Farthing to Jefferson Unit in New Jersey. Everything seemed to be in order. He’d just never heard of an urgent middle-of-the-night transfer before. “Nice of them to tell me,” he grumbled before getting to work on revising the schedule rotations.
Shamayim
Kellareal found Sol in the library that had been created for his benefit, sitting at a table in the middle of an immense room with a four story ceiling and gallery views of the stacks on every floor. Sol was looking down at the book he was reading, but looked up when he caught movement in his peripheral vision. He watched the angel approach and stop in front of him on the other side of the table.
“Mind if I sit?”
Kellareal was wearing the white robe that was his customary uniform when he visited the planes of Phase One. Sol’s eyes drifted over him before making a conciliatory gesture toward a chair on the other side of the table. He closed the book he’d been reading. “Do I know you?”
“The answer is no, but only because of chance. We narrowly missed meeting. There was an incident involving one of your knights and I ended up being in and out of Jefferson Unit for a while. You were away on holiday.”
“What incident?” Sol’s brow furrowed as he instantly slipped into caretaker mode and became more concerned about the fact that one of his knights was involved in an “incident” than about the fact that he was stuck in some kind of pastoral purgatory. “Which knight?”
Kellareal responded with the barest of smiles. “All was resolved and is well. At present, the topic of conversation is what to do about you.” The angel glanced around. “Let’s get out of here.”
Instantly they were seated at the bar where Sol had conversed with Ragnal over a beer. The same pleasant-looking bartender put two chilled Lone Star beers on the bar.
“Anything else?” He looked from Sol to Kellareal and back to Sol.
Sol shook his head.
Kellareal said, “No. Thank you,” and watched the man until he was out of sight. His black eyes slid back to Sol.
“You were saying…” Sol did revolutions in the air with his right hand to hurry the Enforcer along. “…what to do about me.”
“You know, your sense of self-preservation doesn’t seem to be fully developed.”
Sol searched Kellareal’s face. He’d made note of the angel’s height and unusual looks. White blond hair and black eyes wasn’t exactly a common color combination.
“You want me to be afraid of you?”
The angel grinned. “No.” He scraped a hand back and forth over his chin. “But most people are.” Sol started to open his mouth, but Kellareal held a hand up. “I know. You’re experiencing some anxiety and you want me to move toward the point.”
Sol waited.