Darren Shan - Hell's Horizon

“Maybe you’re right.” He grinned through his tears. “But it wasn’t just Wami I was after. There were the priests and The Cardinal. They could have stopped him. All those years ago, they knew what he was up to. They could have shielded me. But they sat back and let him destroy me. I wanted to hurt those demons as well.

“The villacs would have destroyed your life anyway. I couldn’t have protected you from them. They’d have swatted me aside and spun their own devious webs. I could have used one of Wami’s other children — I’ve discovered several — but, by using you, I could hit the villacs and The Cardinal too.

“So I worked with them. I handed your head to them on a plate. And you know something? It would have been worth it.” He nodded madly. “Your life, Ellen’s, Nicola’s, my own. If you’d killed Wami, I could have gone to my grave happy. I’d have sacrificed this whole stinking city if I had to.”

I shook my head uncomprehendingly. “You were like a father to me. Didn’t it ever bother you, the way you manipulated me?”

“Why should it?” he replied weakly. “I was willing to sell my soul in return for a slice of revenge. A man who surrenders himself totally will hesitate at nothing. I’m not saying it was easy — my love for you was true — but if I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t do any different.”

He tapped his chest. “I’m empty here. Wami tore my heart out and devoured it. I’d have killed myself years ago, but hate kept me alive. I couldn’t die before I made him pay.”

We were going in circles. It was time to pin him down to facts.

“Tell me more about your plan,” I encouraged him, wiping tears from my cheeks. “You set me up with Nic, then used Jinks to pit me against Wami?”

“Yes.” A hint of pride invaded his tone. “I noticed Allegro’s resemblance to Wami when I busted him and had been keeping him in reserve. Nicola wasn’t part of the villac organization — she was one of Priscilla’s puppets — but she knew a bit about them and was a willing accessory.”

“OK,” I moved on. “Manipulating Nicholas, the Fursts, Kett… I follow most of that. What about Ellen and Priscilla? Did you plan to toss them together?”

“I already told you I didn’t. Priscilla didn’t know about Ellen until she ran into her in Cafran’s. The plan was for you to fall in love with Priscilla, then for her to be killed. You’d have found evidence linking her murder to Wami, and that should have been enough to prompt you into action.” He paused. “Priscilla wasn’t aware of that element of the plan. She thought you were being set up for a fall. The villacs told her you were to be sacrificed to the god of the sun.”

“What did you plan to do if I didn’t kill Wami?” I asked.

Bill frowned. “I hadn’t considered it. I was so sure…” He petered out. “After Ellen it would have been redundant to kill Priscilla. Since Ellen’s death failed to turn you against him, it was unlikely that Priscilla’s would. So I faked my kidnapping, hoping my disappearance might push you over the edge.”

“You didn’t arrange for Ama Situwa to see Priscilla and Ellen together?”

“No. That was either a stroke of misfortune or set up by the villacs . You found out the truth far swifter than I imagined. I was working on ways to convince you that Wami had kidnapped me. Now…” He sighed miserably.

I leaned back in the chair. A lot was clear, but there was much I still couldn’t get my head around. “What I don’t understand is why you assumed I’d be able to kill Wami. He’s an elite assassin. What made you think I stood a chance?”

“You’re his son,” Bill said.

I raised an eyebrow. “You thought paternal instinct would stay his hand?” Bill nodded. “That’s ridiculous!”

“I know Wami better than you do,” he disagreed. “He isn’t as emotionally lacking as he seems. I wouldn’t say he’s capable of love, but his children mean something to him and he’s never harmed any of them. If anyone was capable of getting close enough to him to strike, it was you or one of your siblings.”

“What about Valerie at Ziegler’s?” I asked. “She almost killed me. What would have become of your plans then?”

“They’d have evaporated.” He shrugged. “That’s life. There are no guarantees.”

“Who chopped off your finger?”

“I did it myself,” he said, caressing the bandaged stub. “Hurts like the Devil. It would have been simpler to send hair samples or toenail clippings, but I wanted to be dramatic.”

Bill reached behind his chair, produced a bottle of vodka and tossed it to me. I caught it in midair. “A toast to our success?”

“Later,” I said. “When we’re through.” I put it aside. “How many people have you killed over the years?”

“Do numbers matter?” he sighed. “We’ve both killed. Once you murder, your soul is damned. The ones that come after are inconsequential. The first is all that really counts.”

“Tell me what Wami did to you, Bill.” It seemed a good time to ask again, but he shook his head mutely.

“Have a drink,” he said instead. “We’ll get roaring drunk together and maybe I’ll tell you then.”

It sounded like a good idea. I’d be dead soon — why not enjoy one last tipple? The bottle had slipped down the side of the chair. I retrieved it and unscrewed the top. The fumes were intoxicating. I pressed the tip to my mouth.

I stopped and fixed the top back in place.

“Why do you keep pressing alcohol on me?”

Bill frowned. “What?”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve invited me to drown my sorrows. Why are you so anxious to get me back onto the bottle?”

Bill stared at me in silence, then at the vodka. He smiled, then laughed. “Jesus Christ! You know what I was up to?”

I shook my head. “Tell me.”

“I was trying to save you!” His face had lit up. “All those years of planning, manipulating people, working with the priests, secretly plotting against them, The Cardinal and Wami. I devoted my life to it. Yet there I was, closing on my goal, but at the same time unconsciously trying to screw myself over.”

“I don’t follow,” I said.

“If you fell off the wagon, you wouldn’t have been of any use to me. It would have been a waste sending a drunken sop against Paucar Wami. But part of me must have wanted to spare you the trap I’d set. If you hit the bottle again, I’d have had to turn to one of his other sons.”

“You were subconsciously offering me a helping hand?” I asked dubiously.

“Crazy, I know, but I guess I wasn’t as hell-bent on revenge as I believed. Not as big a bastard as I thought.” He winked at me as if it were a big joke. I couldn’t help smiling in response, though I saw nothing funny in it.

The sound of the front door opening wiped the smile from Bill’s face. He sat up and buried the detonator down between his thigh and the arm of this chair. “More company,” he noted. “How delightful.” He was trying to make light of it, but there was a strain to his voice.

Moments later the old priest with the mole, and the translator — clad in a rough brown cape — entered. They kept to Bill’s rear but he could see their reflections in the dark glass of the front window.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted them. “You’re late.”

“You were supposed to bring him to us,” the translator said harshly.

“Change of plan,” Bill said easily. “It’s a cold night. I have a weak chest. I decided to stay in. You don’t mind, do you?”

The young man grunted. “It makes no difference. As long as he is safe, we are content.”

“Oh, he’s perfectly safe. Aren’t you, Al?”