The Living Night (Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

everything. Let's wait for
the main course to begin this discussion."
    "No," Ruegger said. "Let's do
this now."
    He saw a flash of anger in his old friend's face
but didn't care. Kharker liked a dose of melodrama every now and then, and it
was a penchant that Ruegger wasn't willing to indulge at the moment. In fact,
it was a penchant that he was beginning to resent.
    "I agree with Ruegger," said Kilian,
looking at his watch. "Let's get on with it already."
    He bent down to an attaché case propped up
against his chair leg and hefted it onto the table. He popped the latches and
opened the case, but its contents faced him.
    Ruegger leaned forward.
    Kilian withdrew a Polaroid picture from the
attaché case and tossed it to Danielle.
    "Recognize him?" Kilian asked.
    She stared dumbly at the picture for a long
moment, uncomprehending. Then, slowly, she seemed to recognize what she was
looking at. As the light dawned, she threw the picture down on the table and placed
a hand to her temple.
    " Shit ."
    Ruegger glanced down at the picture to see a
trim, middle-aged gentleman in a nice suit holding up a copy of yesterday's New
York Times to face the camera. In the background, Ruegger saw that the wall
behind the man seemed to be made of stone.
    "Who is it?" Ruegger asked, thinking
that maybe he should comfort her but still unsure whether or not she would
permit him to put his arm around her.
    Danielle shot out of her chair, knocking it to
the floor and breaking it unintentionally. Once up, though, she didn’t seem to
know what to do. She lit a cigarette and glared at the werewolves.
    “Is it really him?” she said.
    "It's Malcolm Verger," Cloire affirmed.
"He changed his name to Martin Ascott, but he wasn't too hard to find for
a determined searcher."
    "What do you want with him?" Danielle
said.
    "The question, dear, isn't what I want with him. I don't want anything with the bastard. It's what you want with him." Seeing the malevolence in Danielle's face, Cloire continued.
"So, tell us, Gutter Angel, what do you want with him?"
    "Stop it," Ruegger said.
    "No, I don't think so, Darkling .
Let's see what your better half has to say."
    The pain in Danielle’s eyes shriveled his
insides.
    "You know what I want," she said to
Cloire. "You all know what I want."
    "We do," Cloire agreed. "You want to play Mussorgsky's "Night on Bald Mountain"
while you slowly and painfully tear him limb from limb. According to the
tabloids and the gossips, that's what you've done with all the others before
him. You've saved him for last, haven't you? So maybe you'll want to take your
time, maybe play "Night on Bald
Mountain" over and
over and over again until you've avenged yourself in style. Maybe you'll spend
hours or days torturing the bastard until he finally comprehends the horror
that you must have felt when he and his buddies were having their way with you.
And when he finally understands, then you can deliver the final blow. Because
then he will know he deserves it." Cloire nodded, leaned back in her
chair. "Oh, yes, we understand. And he does deserve it, he really does.
You're perfectly right in wanting to avenge yourself—and not only you, but all
the other girls he's hurt and killed in his time."
    " But ," said Danielle.
    Cloire smirked. "But you'll never get him
for yourself unless you do what we tell you to do."
    Danielle hesitated. Ruegger wanted to say
something comforting, something wise that she could find strength in, but he
couldn't think of a thing, except one.
    "Baby," he said.
    Her lips trembled. She turned away from him and
faced Cloire.
    "What do you want me to do?" she said.
    Cloire and Kilian exchanged glances.
    "We want you to come with us," Kilian
said. "Ruegger too, of course."
    "How do I know Malcolm's still alive, that
you didn't kill him the second after you took this picture? Or that you haven't
set him free?"
    "That's what the Slayer's here for."
Cloire thrust an elbow into Lavaca's side. "Speak up, Harry."
    Lavaca