Three Days, Three Nights - Act 4
Logan jerked the crate with his toe. It had to be here somewhere. He shook his head. What a mess this was. If the Creep had the book, then somewhere there was an army of nearly invincible vampires with the power to infect anyone they bit — and likely a tenfold army of nearly as powerful infected humans ready to tear every human being in New York City limb from limb.
Logan squinted in the dim light. He rounded the stack of plastic-wrapped cardboard boxes and found the metal chair to which he had tied a vampire months ago and infected him with the Nosphoric Plague in order to prove he himself was not infected. Logan found the exact place where the book had been resting. And was no longer so. He sighed and began to search around the boxes. With a frown, he looked up at the hanging light fixture. The single lightbulb was dark. Tentatively, Logan reached up and give it a twist. The glass object flickered to life, casting harsh shadows across his face. Logan’s eyes stared off into the distance. An idea was forming in his mind. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on...
He dashed out of the warehouse, knocking the metal chair over in the process with a clang. There was one more warehouse that needed checking.
He would enjoy this: “Die.”
A flicker of a snarl flashed across the Slayer’s lips. Faster than the Nosphorus’ mind could register, even with the enhanced chemical cocktail driven by the virus living there, Niki pulled her arm from the unfastened restraint, clutched the edge of the wooden table and tore.
Pierce had just enough time to resurface from inside his overridden mind —his features returning to those of a human— to see the jagged wedge of wood find its way through the last S of KISS. He blinked and time seemed to slow - as it always did in moments of perfect vengeance. As he had always imagined, the pain flashed outward from his vampire heart and consumed him with nothing so much as a cold indifference. Not even a word escaped his lips before he collapsed to dust on the floor.
The silver bracelet landed on the floor with the sound of a tiny bell.
Logan walked into the second warehouse of interest. Here, he had also held a vampire tied to a chair. Pierce. He had tested the Prince’s memory to check for evidence of the Plague. Here is where the vampire had ordered Niki to quit the drug which had owned her.
Glancing up, Logan saw the lightbulb twisted out of the circuit. With a sneer of victory, he gave the bulb a hard turn and it popped back on, flooding the room with light. The man’s eyes widened as the harsh shadows stretched away from him, the wall before him jumping to life.
A dead pimp lay in a corner, pale and ghostly, preserved in the sub-zero temperatures of the New York City nights. Scrawled in blood —presumably that of the pimp— across the wall before Logan were two words.
FORGIVE ME
Logan, his heart skipping a beat, turned and dashed back the way he had come as fast as his legs would carry him.
Addison watched as his master fell as ash to the floor, the old man’s eyes widening. He opened his mouth a let out a shout of fury, his eyes fading to white, the plague taking over completely. He charged.
Niki quickly reached up and unfastened the strap over her forehead. Before her former Watcher had taken a step, she pinched the tips of the silver pins protruding from her throat and pulled. With a groan of vicious pain, she tore the pins from her body and leapt from the table, the silver spike gliding easily out her back where it had entered.
She landed on her feet but felt immediately lightheaded. Three days of blood-loss took its toll and she barely managed to block the random and savage blows the old man threw at her.
Her eyes were mostly closed, forcing her to rely completely on the instincts honed from hours of blindfold practice. She ducked low, her motions sluggish and weary, but intentional and effective. Each of Addison’s blows were deflected, each of his lunges avoided. But his stamina was virus driven and unlimited. Hers was wearing down.
She had delivered a kick of her own to the side of the old man’s head, which only seemed to fuel his anger, but was now on the defensive, barely able to summon enough energy to hold her ground.
Logan stood at the open door of his brand new Pontiac Acadian. This was ridiculous. The Nail Biter was ten minutes away running every single light. He closed his eyes. There was a first time for everything. Quickly opening them again, he reached into his glove box and grabbed the two things he’d be needing. Holding one in each hand, he closed his eyes again and concentrated.
Suddenly and almost unexpectedly, the amateur conjurer vanished in a twist of light.
Niki slumped against the table, her mouth filled with blood. One hand on the hole which worked its way through her abdomen without piercing any major organ and the other blocking the furious slashes of the old man who was desperately trying to tear her to pieces. Consciousness —what was left of it— was slipping away.
With a twist of light, her eyes opened and Logan was standing just inside the door. Addison turned on him, the old man’s eyes white and his mouth open to a snarl. With a shriek, he met the directed beam of Logan’s flashlight, closing his eyes and slamming shoulder to chest into the man.
The two tumbled to the floor and the flashlight spun away into the darkness. It didn’t occur to Logan just then, but that flashlight had seen his very first battle with a Nosphorus several months ago and hadn’t had its batteries replaced since then, which is likely why it flickered and died in the back room of the Nail Biter at that very moment.
Niki considered this as she sank to the floor, the inert device being the last thing she saw before she hit a pile of dust on the floor, unconscious.
Logan grabbed the rabid Addison by the collar and lashed out with the other thing he had chanced to bring. The curved Aztec blade sliced through the old man’s shirt and skin, drawing perhaps a great deal more blood than was necessary. But Logan didn’t care.
The old man collapsed into his arms instantly, a look of utter bliss on his perfectly human face. Letting him sink to the floor, Logan stood, his blade at the ready, searching the darkness for the Nosphorus he knew to be there. But he was alone now. His eyes shifting suspiciously, he crept over to the Slayer on the floor and lifted her into his arms.
Just then a smell caught his senses. He lifted his fingers from her bloodied white shirt to his nose. The ashes slid between his fingers. Still warm...
Logan Kilpatrick closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. When he opened them, he was looking down into the face of Niki Valtaine, vampire slayer. He let his breath out and brought her face up to his own. His considered placing one of his usual gentle kisses on her forehead or eyelid, but with a sudden burst of anguish planted his lips firmly on hers and kissed her as hard as he ever had. She slowly stirred and responded.
Soon he let her down from his arms and they broke the kiss. Without a word, they both lifted Addison onto the table and adjusted the silver spike and pins. Niki took no pleasure as she tightened the straps around his wrists and ankles, taking care to brush his white hair back from his forehead as she wrapped the strap across him there.
When a tear rolled down her cheek as she slid the pins through her adopted father’s throat, Logan’s hand found hers. She locked eyes with him and swallowed hard. Bending down, she found the silver bracelet Addison had given Pearce. She slid it onto her wrist and it hung loosely, threatening to fall off.
Logan’s hand slid around her waist and he pulled her to the door. What was done was done. That, however, was no answer to the tears.
Night 1
Logan and Niki raised their beers under the center light of the Nail Biter’s bar. Three days, they knew, and Addison would be cured. Then the battle would begin. Perhaps the final battle.
“Can I propose a toast?” the newest barkeep asked, tipping his fedora higher on his brow. Niki and Logan shrugged in unison. Whistler nodded. “To royalty.”
Niki closed her eyes for a long moment, then raised her bottle to touch Logan’s, her bracelet catching the light. “To royalty.”
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