Raving Moon, Lords of the Night Book One

Chapter 38: Lunacy

I made my way up the main stairwell, blade in hand and ears hunting for any sign of danger. The headset suddenly buzzed, setting my heart pounding.

"Target engaged! All teams converge on building three, top floor. I repeat-"

The transmission became static. A few moments later something rippled through the air, residual of Magaven's madness. Despite being out of range, it still sent a shiver down my spine. With the fighting and the fall, I was turned around. Unsure which building I was in, I followed the energy and continued to make my way to the top.

They're all dead. Your fiery haired whore, your puppy, even your new ebony-skinned fan. They're all dead. You run through a graveyard in search of ghosts.

Ignoring the old monster's voice was easier with fresh blood flowing through me and the gift of magic slowly filling me up. Unfortunately, pretending not to see him running beside me was much harder. I knew I drew closer to Magaven the more real my father's apparition became.

Listen.

I stopped for a moment, the sound of my breathing an indication of the proximity to dawn. In less than a half hour the sun would rise. If we were still in House Magaven's compound, the thrones would be massacred. Further down the hall, wood and plaster crumbled under the crush of three towering werewolves. They stampeded up to the next level, ripping through the steps in the process. Wood splinters and dust filled the air in their wake.

I would have been in their direct path had I not stopped.

I looked at the old monster, solid, corporeal, smug. Real.

You're a disgrace to my name. How I allowed that servant woman to have you is beyond me.

"You loved her in your own way." I shook my head, ignoring his glare. "You aren't real. You're just my mind playing tricks on me. A sickness exacerbated by the insanity filling this place."

I'm real enough to remind you that you're a failure.

"Quiet, father. There's no time for one of your pep talks."

He laughed. I could scarcely count the number of times that man smiled let alone laughed with anything other than derision.

I carefully followed the werewolves, staying downwind. I found myself wishing I had a sword or one of those firearms loaded with death magic. Sergei's had vanished with his corpse. Either weapon would have given me a much better fighting chance. Their route led into an apartment on the next floor and up through the ceiling. Intuition told me to follow them through the hole rather than heed the old monster's insistence that I return to the main hall.

Sheathing my weapon, I jumped up into a low crawl space. The sound of distant gunfire and screams called to me. Staying low, I crab walked as fast as I could. Soon I came upon holes in the floor, the music of combat filling my ears.

I hazarded a peek down. Beneath me was a large room with high ceilings. Thrones and wererats fought in small circles. All around them were feral werewolves. Gates coordinated a defensive formation around Captain Hawkins, who cradled Mr. Red in his lap. Blood covered the Agatha Avatar, but he clung to life. I spotted Idia and a pair of Cold Locker women firing into the moving wall of wolves. Low on ammo, they conserved their rounds. There was no sign of my partner.

A maniacal laugh swept through the room like an evil miasma. Magaven was close.

What about that one?

The old monster stretched across a crossbeam, his favorite chalice clutched casually in his hand. The smell of fresh blood wafting over to me. He gestured past me and took a sip. Looking over my shoulder, I saw a slim werewolf prowling towards me. Amber eyes glowed in the dim light, drool flecked lips peeled back to reveal large fangs. Growling, it rose up, no longer trying to be quiet.