Bryan Smith: Queen Of Blood

Allyson frowned. “Okay. But how did he do it?”

Chad looked at her. “You saw that big jacket he had on, right? There was a lot of ordnance in that truck. I bet he helped himself to some grenades before we went into the house. Hid them deep in that jacket. It must have been so easy to just reach in his jacket and slip the pin out of one of those grenades. All he had to do then was wait a few seconds.”

Allyson’s eyes misted. “That…shit, that really took some guts.”

Chad nodded and said, “Yeah.”

They drove in silence for several more miles. Traffic thickened as they neared the exit that would carry them back to the interstate. Allyson thought of something as she hit the turn signal. “He said we should stay underground. “Why do you think he said that?”

Chad shook his head. “Jim spent most of his life underground. Probably he just thinks…thought it would be the smart thing to do.”

“Or maybe he thought we might still be in danger somehow. Either from the Order or…whoever’s in charge now at that house we just shot up.”

Chad shrugged. “Could be.”

Allyson steered the Jeep along the curving interstate ramp. “So what do you think we should do?”

“Right now?” Chad grunted. “Let’s just keep driving and figure it out later. All I want at the moment is to get to a hotel somewhere, preferably one at least a hundred miles from here, then shower, have sex with you, and sleep for a day.”

Allyson smiled. “Sounds good.”

The Jeep hit the interstate and Allyson put the pedal down.

Six months later

Dream sat on a high throne made of gold in the pyramid’s main pavilion. Seated to her left in an identical throne was the Master. He looked resplendent in his long, tousled hair and fine clothes. He sensed her looking at him and smiled.

Dream shifted her attention to the mass of people gathered below. They sat in rows with their heads bowed. Perfectly still. Afraid to move until instructed to do so. They were right to be afraid. These were the denizens of Razor City, the now-thriving slave community founded by the late Giselle Burkhardt. Theirs was a brutal existence. They lived day-to-day, never knowing when they might be summoned to sacrifice or be killed by some other cutthroat member of their own community.

They were gathered to pay official tribute to their new Queen and Master. A few of them would soon be called to the altar situated between the crowd and the high thrones. They would give their blood to honor the death gods and exalt the reign of their new rulers. The perimeter of the pavilion was ringed with armed men clad in black. Formerly called the Black Brigade, Dream had redubbed them the Palace Guard. She liked the sound of that better. It was like something out of a fairy tale. And therefore more fitting for a Queen.

It was far from the only change made in the months since she was reunited with the Master. She had more control over her powers than ever, could conjure things and mold the fabric of reality with astonishing precision. She had reshaped herself into a replica of her younger self. Her hair was golden blonde again, long and flowing. Her skin was a sun-kissed tan again, and the age lines at the edges of her eyes and mouth were gone. Some of her improved control was a result of the Master’s guidance. More of it was her exponentially increasing natural skill level. A shining example of what she could do was standing in front of the altar.

Marcy stood with her hands clasped before her, facing the crowd. A ceremonial dagger was in a sheath attached to her belt. The girl was perfectly restored. Dream had recreated her down to the finest detail, including memories and personality. It had become so easy to retrieve such things. The recreated Marcy didn’t know she had died. It was the one bit of memory Dream had seen fit to erase.

A marshal drum beat resonated in the pavilion. The man beating the drum stood next to the altar. The drumming abruptly swelled and ended with a flourish.

There was a moment of perfect silence.

No one inhaled or exhaled.

Then Marcy unclasped her hands, unsheathed the ceremonial dagger, and turned toward the thrones. She bowed slightly at the waist and said, “Your Highness, we are ready and await your command.”

The Queen nodded. “Begin.”

Marcy bowed again and turned away from her. She issued a silent command with a head gesture and the Palace Guard moved into the crowd. They jerked a number of men and women to their feet and prodded them toward the altar. The doomed ones went to their fates with their heads bowed. Each of them knew there was only one means of deliverance from this place. They accepted this because they had no choice. Many of them even embraced it.

Dream settled into her throne again and watched happily as the evening’s first blood was spilled. By the end of the ceremony, the blood ran in thick, red rivers from the altar, staining the floor around it a stark shade of dark crimson.

Blood was everywhere.

Dream saw this.

And she decided it was good.

There was no greater glory than that derived from the sacrifice of innocents. It ignited her senses and fueled the darkness that had always lurked in her heart and had now been unleashed, given freedom to reign. It was a thing she hoped to enjoy for centuries to come. With her perfect lover at her side, she would happily wade through an ocean of blood. And with any luck, the wider world would one day bow before them.

She looked at the Master and he met her gaze.

He smiled again.

And she saw the promise of eternity in his dark eyes.

She reached toward him, clasped hands with him.

The Queen shivered at her King’s touch.

As always, thanks and love to my wife, Rachael. Thanks also go out to the rest of my family, including my brothers Jeff and Eric and their families, Cherie Smith (No. 1 mom of the millenium), Oscar and Dorothy May (grandparents extraordinaire), Jay and Helene Wise (in-laws of the highest caliber). My friends Keith Ashley and Shannon Turbeville. Kent Gowran, David T. Wilbanks, Mark Hickerson, Tod Clark, Bill Lindblad, all the cool people at the Black Circle Saloon and Brian Keene’s Message Board of Madness-you guys rock hardcore. Of course, I owe a large debt to all the people who bought House of Blood and demanded a sequel. And last but definitely not least, thanks to Don D’Auria for making it happen in the first place.