The King

TWELVE

The Benloise Art Gallery was located in downtown Caldwell, about ten blocks away from the skyscrapers and only two from the shores of the Hudson. The plain, unassuming building was three stories high, with a double-height gallery space on the first floor, staff offices in the back, and Benloise’s bowling alley of an office just under its flat roof.

As Assail parked his Range Rover in its rear alley, he breathed in deeply. He hadn’t done any coke before he’d left home because he wanted to keep sharp. Unfortunately, his body was twitchy from the lack of stimulation, and an addict-like preoccupation with what he hadn’t done muddled his mind.

“You want us to come in with you?” Ehric demanded from the backseat.

“Only one.”

Assail got out and waited for them to decide. Damn it, his hands were shaking, and in spite of yet another round of flurries falling from the sky, he was starting to sweat.

Should he just do the coke? He was close to nonfunctional like this.

Ehric joined him, coming around the back of the SUV. “What ails you?”

“Naught.”

A lie on so many levels.

As they approached the back door, Assail gave up. Digging into the breast pocket of his Tom Ford coat, he pulled out his dark brown vial. Unscrewing the black lid, he filled the interior spoon with a serving of white powder.

Sniff.

He repeated on the other side, and then took a single, double-barreled huff that ensured everything got home.

The fact that he immediately downshifted into “normal” was another warning sign he chose to ignore. Calm and focused was not what he should be feeling after two hits—but he wasn’t going to waste time on it. Some people had coffee. Others had a different coca product.

It was all about whatever got your move on.

As he came up to a heavy steel door—which was a security measure disguised as a commentary on the industrialism of the art market—there was no reason to ring any bell, and certainly not to knock. The three-inch-thick monster was hardly something to waste one’s knuckles on.

And indeed, things were opened promptly.

“Assail? What you doing?” the Neanderthal on the other side demanded.

Such an inspiring command of English grammar. And the greeting also told him that Benloise and his men didn’t know who had done the kills in West Point the night before—otherwise one could assume this titan of intelligence would not be so banal.

Those black masks they’d worn had been such handy equipment. And disabling those security cameras a critical tactic.

Assail smiled without flashing his fangs. “I have something to give your employer.”

“He expecting you?”

“He is not, no.”

“Okay. C’mon.”

“This is my associate, by the way,” Assail murmured as he stepped into the office area. “Ehric.”

“Yeah. I figured. C’mon.”

Striding through the high-ceilinged space, their footfalls on the concrete floor echoed up to the exposed ductwork and wiring above. Talk about organized chaos. A lineup of serviceable desks, stacks of filing cabinets, and random pieces of oversize “art” choked the huge space. No workers. No phones ringing. The legitimate face of Benloise’s wholesale drug business was on after-dark shutdown.

As expected.

Out in the gallery space proper, he shot a quick look around as the guard who’d let them in disappeared through the hidden door to the second floor.

No one but a pair of guards standing watch by the way up to Benloise’s office.

Assail regarded the men. Their stares were sharper than usual, their weight shifting incessantly, their hands moving around as if they felt the need to constantly reassure themselves they were armed.

“Lovely evening, is it not?” Assail commented as he nodded subtly at Ehric.

As the guards froze, his cousin took the cue to go on a wee walkabout, the vampire strolling around an exhibition of shredded newsprint molded into various phallic symbols.

“A little on the cold side, of course. But the flurries are rather picturesque.” Assail smiled and took out a Cuban. “May I light up?”

The one on the right pointed to a laminated notice on the wall. “No smoking.”

“Surely there can be an exception in my case?” He clipped the cigar’s end and let the butt fall to the ground. “Yes?”

The guy’s muddy brown eyes flicked down. Returned. “No smoking.”

“Nobody here but us.” He outed his lighter. Popped the top.

“You can’t do nothing like that.”

Mayhap Benloise specifically screened them for a lack of vocabulary? “In the stairwell, then?”

The genius glanced over at his partner. Then shrugged. “Guess it’s okay.”

Assail smiled again and flicked up a flame. “Let me in, then.”

It all happened so quickly. The one who’d been doing the talking twisted his torso and popped the latch that sprang the door—as, at that moment, the other chose to take a stretch, curling his arms out from his body.

Ehric materialized directly before the back cracker, clapping his hands on either side of his astonished face and snapping that neck around. Not to be o’ershown, Assail stabbed forward with the knife he had surreptitiously taken out of its hip holster, catching the guard who’d been enforcing the rules directly in the gut. Next move was to disappear his lighter and clap his hand over the man’s mouth—stifling the grunt that threatened to give them away.

To finish things up, he freed the blade with a jerk and moved upward.

The second stab went between two ribs directly into the heart.

The man dropped to the floor in a loose shamble.

“Tell your brother to ready the Rover,” Assail whispered. “And drag this out of the way. He’s going to take a minute or two to bleed out and that heavy breathing is audible.”

Ehric went into cleanup mode, grabbing thick ankles and pulling the dying man behind one of the vertical displays.

Meanwhile, Assail slipped into the hidden stairwell and lit the cigar, puffing up clouds of smoke as he moved the broken-necked guard’s hand in the way so the door stayed propped open. Ehric joined him a split second later, accepting his own Cuban and likewise lighting up as he let things shut behind them.

The linguist who’d gone to check with Benloise peered over the banister above. “What you doing?”

So that phrase was both a greeting and an inquiry. One shall make a note of that, Assail thought.

He blew out a blue stream and indicated the closed door panels. “They said we couldn’t smoke out in the gallery.”

“You can’t smoke in here, either.” The man glanced over his shoulder as if his name had been called. “Yeah, okay.” He turned around again. “He said he’ll be a minute.”

“I believe we’ll join you, then.”

The bodyguard just wasn’t on his A-game tonight, was he. Instead of controlling the situation, he simply shrugged and permitted his enemy to get closer to him, to his boss.

Such a gift.

Assail typically took his damned time, but not tonight. He and Ehric hoofed it up the metal flights at a good clip.

He was halfway to goal when he realized he’d made a mistake. Likely because of the coke: There were video cameras all over the facility’s interior—and yet he had done nothing about them.

“Faster,” he hissed under his breath to his cousin.

Reaching the top landing, Assail bowed to the guard. “Where would you like me to put this out?”

“I don’t fucking know. He shoun’t told you to light up.”

“Oh, well, then.”

Ehric, on cue, pulled another dematerialization, appearing behind the guard. With a slap, he covered that mouth, and yanked the guard back.

Presenting Assail the perfect captive target.

With a vicious move, he sliced his blade across that throat easy and quick as a cough. Then it was another case of drag-off once again.

Assail barged through the office door, pushing it wide. Across the vast space, Benloise sat alone behind his raised modernist desk, the glow of the lamp by his side pulling his features out of the darkness so that he rivaled some of Goya’s best portraits.

“…I’m coming up north right now—” Benloise stopped short, his visage becoming instantly impassive. “Permit me to call you back.”

Caldwell’s drug wholesaler hung the phone up so fast, the receiver banged into its cradle. “I believe I told you to wait, Assail.”

“Indeed?” Assail looked over his shoulder. “Mayhap you should be clearer with your subordinates. Although, God knows, it is so hard to find good help, is it not.”

The natty little man sat back in his throne-like chair, his expression unchanging. Tonight’s bespoke suit was in a deep navy blue that emphasized his perma-tan and dark eyes, and as always, his thinning hair was slicked back from his forehead. One could smell his cologne from across the office.

“Excuse me for rushing you,” the gentleman said in that educated, I’m-not-a-drug-dealer accent of his. “But I have another appointment.”

“I would certainly hate to detain you.”

“And your purpose is?”

Assail nodded once, and that was all it took. Ehric flashed behind that raised desk and locked on the wholesaler, dragging him out of his heavy chair by the head. A Taser later, and Benloise was a limp doll in that very nice-fitting navy blue suit.

As his cousin threw the man over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold, no words were exchanged. No reason to—they had sketched this out beforehand: the infiltration, the securing, the removal.

Of course, it would have been so much more satisfying to stage a Hollywood movie confrontation whereupon Assail answered the wholesaler’s question as to purpose in violent detail. The real world of kidnapping and intimidation, however, did not afford such immediate gratification.

Not if you wanted to get your man and keep him.

With Ehric tight on his heels, Assail fell into a jog, crossing the office’s glossy black floor and descending the stairs with alacrity. As they hit the gallery space, there was a moment of pause, a quick check for sounds of incoming confrontation.

None. Just the muffled pant of the stabbed guard’s dying breath and the copper scent of blood from his gut wound.

Out through the staff-only door into the office space. Passing by those desks and the hanging mobile made of mangled car parts.

The Range Rover was parked so close to the rear exit, it was practically in the building, and with sure moves, Assail opened the backseat and Ehric threw Benloise in there like a duffel bag. Then it was a case of slam, slam, screech.

They were off and cruising at the speed limit between one heartbeat and the next, Assail in the front passenger seat, Ehric sitting behind him with their cargo.

Assail checked his watch. Total elapsed time was eleven minutes, thirty-two seconds, and they had a good number of hours before sunrise.

Ehric took out a set of handcuffs and clipped them to the “art dealer’s” wrists. Then it was a case of slapping the motherfucker awake.

When Benloise’s eyes opened, he recoiled like he was in a bad dream.

In grim tones, Assail finally answered the question that had been posed to him. “You have something that is mine. And you’re going to return it to me before dawn—or I will make you wish you were never born.”

A half an hour after the epic confrontation with her husband, Beth was in the back of the Brotherhood’s Mercedes S600 with her half-brother beside her and Fritz behind the wheel. The sedan was brand-new, the wonderful smell of fresh leather and varnish like aromatherapy for rich people.

Too bad the sniffy-good wasn’t doing a damn thing for her mood.

As she stared out the tinted window, the descent down the snowy mountain to the rural road at its base seemed to go in slow motion—although maybe that was because the sound track to the trip, which should have been Vivaldi or Mozart if you went by the ethos of car commercials, was the toxic tennis match of that happy little chat with Wrath.

Shit. Her hellren had always been autocratic—and again, that had nothing to do with his station in life: Screw the crown; it was his personality. And over the last couple of years, she’d watched him throw that attitude around in countless situations, whether it was with the Brothers, the glymera, the staff—hell, the TV remote. But with her, he’d always been … well, not subservient. Never that. She’d always had the sense, though, that he deferred to her. Whatever she wanted, when she wanted it—and God save the fool who got in his way.

So yes, she’d assumed the kid thing would be the same—that he’d cave, given how important having a baby was to her.

Instead? Total opposite—

A soft touch on her elbow reminded her of two things: One, she was not alone in the sedan’s vast backseat. And two, she wasn’t the only person who had problems.

“Sorry,” she said as she dropped hands she wasn’t aware of having brought up to her face. “I’m being rude, aren’t I?”

Are you okay? John signed in the dim interior.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely.” She patted his heavy shoulder, knowing this whole thing with the seizures had to be weighing on him: the trip into town, the MRI, the results that were going to follow. “More important, how are you?”

I guess Doc Jane made it to the medical center okay.

“Yup.” Beth had to shake her head, her gratitude to Jane and her human partner, Manny Manello, choking her up. “Those two are amazing. Human health care is expensive and tough to navigate. How the two of them pulled this off, I have no idea.”

Personally, I think it’s a waste of time. He turned his head away. I mean, come on. I’ve had the episodes for how long? Nothing’s ever come of them.

“It’s safer to get everything checked out.”

John’s phone went off with a bing! and he tilted the screen so he could see it. It’s Xhex.

“So she made it there okay, too?”

Yeah. He exhaled in a hard rush. This whole being-driven-in thing is ridiculous. I could make the trip in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, but if you’re just a regular human, you’d come by car. Easier to keep the lie up, you know.”

Even better, we could have scrapped this bullshit. He laughed a little. I’ll tell you, I’m sorry for whoever meets Xhex at the door. She was prepared to do a sweep of the entire hospital complex—and when she’s like that? You don’t want to tell her no.

The respect shining in his eyes was a stinger. Considering the way Wrath had acted.

“Xhex is one lucky female,” Beth said roughly.

It’s the other way around. Trust me—why are you looking like that?

“Like what?”

He seemed to flush. As if you’re going to cry.

She batted away the concern. “Allergies. I always get watery eyes this time of year. Maybe I’ll pick up some Claritin while we’re out tonight.”

In December? Really?

As she became the one who was looking away, Fritz picked up speed along the rural straightaway. Slowed down coming into a curve. Reaccelerated when they were out the other side. The Mercedes handled everything with total ease, the ultra-padded seat absorbing the shifts of her body, a gentle warmth being pumped onto her feet.

They should have put the tagline “Ambien Edition” on the car.

Although again, any rock-a-bye-Benz-y effect was wasted on her.

She had a feeling there was going to be no sleep at all until she and Wrath worked things out—or …

Another tap on her arm. You know, you can talk to me about anything.

Beth swept her hair back … only to pull it forward over her shoulders again. Where the hell to go with that. There were so many choices—but John had enough on his plate already.

Beth. Seriously.

“How about we get through this with you and—”

It’ll give me something else to think about, and I could use that right now. When she didn’t respond, he signed, Come on, please. I’m worried about you.

“You are a total love, you know that?”

And you’re not talking, are you.

She stayed quiet for a while. Up ahead, a sign for the Northway appeared, the “I-87” glowing in the headlights. If they got on and kept going, instead of taking the first of the downtown Caldwell exits, they could be in Manhattan in about an hour. Farther south than that would put them into Pennsylvania and then down to Maryland and …

“You ever wish you could just get away sometimes?” she heard herself ask.

Before Xhex came around? Sure. But now …

God, to think Wrath was the one she wanted to bolt from. Never saw that coming.

What’s going on, Beth.

There was another long silence, during which she knew he was hoping she’d string some nouns and verbs together for his benefit.

“Oh, you know, just a marital moment.”

He shook his head. Been there, done that. It sucks.

“Too right.”

Finally, he signed, You can use Darius’s house, you know. If you need some space. You gave it to me, which was great—but I always think of it as half yours, too.

She pictured the Federal-style mansion deep in human territory, and her chest burned. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”

And even if she wasn’t, the last place she wanted to go was where she and Wrath had fallen in love.

Sometimes good memories were harder to bear than bad ones.

Can you at least give me a topic? My head is running in all kinds of directions.

It was going to take them another fifteen, twenty minutes to get to the St. Francis medical complex. Long time to sit in this awkward silence. And yet it seemed a violation of her and Wrath’s privacy to talk about the baby thing … or maybe that was just an excuse to hide the fact that she didn’t want to burst into tears.

“Do you remember anything about your seizures. I mean, like, when you’re in them?”

I thought we were talking about you.

“We are.” As he glanced over at her, she met his eyes. “You were telling me something. Halfway through, you looked up at me … and you were mouthing something. Can you remember what it was?”

He frowned as though he were running a check of his memory banks, his gaze going unfocused. I really can’t … I just … I got up to the top of the stairs, looked into Wrath’s study, saw you … and then it wasn’t until Xhex took me down the hall to our room that my lights really came back on.

“They say it was in the Old Language.”

John shook his head. Not possible. I mean, I can read it some and understand a little if someone talks to me. But I can’t speak it.

She inspected the ends of her hair, even though she knew there were no split ends; one of the doggen had trimmed it just last week.

“Well, is there something you want to tell me anyway?” She glanced over. “You can be honest with me about anything. Wrath has, like, a dozen Brothers. I only have you.”

John frowned again. No, I—

A sudden trembling scrambled his hands, choking off whatever he was signing—and then he jerked back in the seat, his body going rigid.

“John!” Beth reached out to her brother. “John—oh, my God…”

As his eyes rolled back in his head, the whites flashed like he was dying. “John—come back…!”

Jerking forward, she knocked on the partition. “Fritz!”

As the butler dropped the smoky glass, she barked, “Hit it—he’s having another seizure!”

Fritz’s shocked eyes flipped up to the rearview. “Yes, madam. At once!”

The old butler stomped on the gas, and as the Mercedes torpedoed up the Northway’s entrance ramp, she tried to help John. The seizure had taken him over, though, his back straight and unforgiving as a ramrod, his hands curled up to his chest and cranked into Dracula claws.

“John,” she begged in a cracking voice. “Stay with me, John…”